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Monday, Monday

12 Sep

I had this grand idea to get organized.  The pool season has ended and so it’s time to stop neglecting the house/kids/myself.  As I do with most of my grand ideas, I looked to Pinterest (aka “Carol’s brain” because how did I ever do anything or have an idea on my own without Pinterest).  And with any great idea that can only be completed with the help of Pinterest, I had to spend hours searching and pinning and then clicking on pins and filtering through pins.  I finally decided to do this…


Yep, 147 pages!  Not to be confused with 148 pages which would totally be overboard.

…and then there were all of these checklists that had to be printed out and organized.  (because you have to organize your organization binder to help you organize)


…and then I had to fill in checklists, make menus and plan a whole week of cleaning.

The more lists I completed the more overwhelmed I felt.  *This is already backfiring.  Why do I feel less organized.  What’s that?  What’s happening?  What’s going on?

So I worked and typed and penciled-in this and that in my binder all weekend.  And finally, at 3 AM this morning, I had the week ready to go.  I looked over my Monday morning checklist and thought to myself “Ok, it seems like a lot.  I’m overwhelmed, but wait… some of this I can really knock out in the hour that I have in between dropping Phoebe off at her bus stop and dropping Leila off at her bus stop.  Tess will be asleep.  This may work!  I’ve got this!”

…But then Tess woke up at 4 AM crying and I couldn’t get her back to sleep until after 5 AM and feeling exhausted I started reasoning with reality.  “I have to get up at 6:30 AM to get Jax off to school.  Let’s be real.  I’ll be too tired and want to take a nap after all of the kids are gone.  I’m going to have to add “nap” to my to-do list.  Is that contradictory?  Can you add “nap” to a to-do list that is supposed to keep you organized and timely?  Screw it!  Adding “nap” to my to-do list will be the first thing I “to-do”.”  Zzzzzz…

As predicted, I was exhausted to the point of delirium, but I got Jax up and ready, then I got Phoebe up and ready, and then I opened my binder and set to cross things off quickly, so I could get to “nap”.  I did a load of laundry, took care of the dog, woke Leila up and got her in the shower, realized that most of the things I actually do weren’t even on my to-do list, but thought things were going well… until Leila walked up to me in the hallway mid-“laundry” check-off.  Soaking wet with tears in her eyes she stammered, “Mom, I just remembered, I was supposed to do a project this weekend.”  

“A project?!  Not a worksheet or a chapter to read, but a whole PROJECT?!”

“Yes!  I need to make a poster about something for health class.”  Still dripping under her towel, she shuffled through her binder and handed me a sheet with her project requirements. 7 research bulletin points, to be exact.

“Crap!  Ok, get dressed.  Seriously, Leila?!  You have to be at the bus stop in 20 minutes.  It’ll be fine.  Dry your eyes.  Mommy to the rescue!  Let me see what I can knock out.”  I quickly turned to the computer and tapped away at the keyboard, scrambled for a gnarly piece of leftover posterboard, a glue stick and my paper cutter.  Frantically, I searched, copy and pasted, printed, cut and glued and all the while it was killing me that I couldn’t rephrase most of it and that it wasn’t pretty.  It dawned on me that most people with OCD are probably unorganized because if it’s not perfect then it’s not good enough, so why even try?  I had completed 5 bulletin points before she had to leave for the bus stop.  She walked out of the door without a project and both of us were deflated, but I trudged on and when it was completed I jumped in the van with what is quite possibly the worst looking poster on “Stuttering” the teacher will ever be handed.  I zipped to the bus stop just as the bus was coming down the street to pick her up.  *Yay!  I got to be her hero!  She gave me a giant hug, as I told her to study the poster on the bus and really learn her topic.

I left the bus stop smiling, but even more exhausted.  I came home to stare blankly at the mess the haphazard project had left behind in its wake and then look over even more blankly at my “to-do list” with its one… lone… check.  Nope, “do Leila’s weekend project for her” wasn’t on there.  Just then… *crunch* *crunch* “Shit!  What’s the dog into?”  Fabulous, “cleaning up shards of gnawed on colored pencils” isn’t on my to-do list either.  F U, Monday!



When life gives you lemons…

13 Mar

… laugh at the little things.

Last week, I started feeling pretty awful.  Lymph nodes began flaring again, chest inflammation, irritability… blah, blah, blah, so I closed down my Etsy shop.  Just in time, as luck would have it!  Leila had also been sick with a virus for over a week.  She was coughing non-stop, but it was productive and her doctor listened to her chest several times and said she had normal breathing sounds, so not to worry.  She began vomiting mucous, but my doctor said again, not to worry, she would be fine.  After 5 days of her vomiting mucous and gasping for air, I had had enough and asked Michael to take her to urgent care.  I would stay behind with the little ones because they had their own congestion issues and I didn’t want the petri dish of a hospital make matters worse.  At urgent care they took xrays and noted something, but they weren’t quite sure what it was, they recommended a ct scan, which would have to be ordered by her doctor the next day, started her on antibiotics, and sent her home.  She had coughing spells and difficulty breathing throughout the night.  After we sent Jax off to school in the morning, I told Mike not to wait for her doctor’s office to open and to just take her to the ER, where they could run a ct scan.  I paced with worry while the little ones slept and when Mike called me a few hours later to ask me if she could have been exposed to TB and I could hear her in a fit to catch her breath in the background, I had had enough!  Still without a license and not wanting to expose my neighbors’ kids to whatever my children had, I asked a dear friend to drive me and the kids to the ER.  Like a scene out of Terms of Endearment, I hovered over her, fussed over her condition at the nursing desk, got her a warm blanket, tissues, more meds, begged for the doctor to come talk to me immediately… I was a mess.  They performed new xrays and though there was a discrepancy, they were sure that her lungs were ok.  They ran a TB test and started her on a stronger antibiotic.  The nursing staff stood by my side and comforted me, while they explained for nearly an hour why she was doing much better than she sounded.  They were so very kind to me.  We went home and 2 days later, I decided to get out of the house for a bit and drove everyone to the local pharmacy to get some more meds for our at home infirmary.

And guess what???  While at the pharmacy (obviously, because it was the only place we had been within 48 hours), Tess picked up the dreaded stomach bug.  Oy vey!  I stayed by her side and woke up with her every 15-30 minutes and washed and rewashed blankets and sheets and pjs.  While doing one load of laundry, I asked Mike if he could watch Tess as I had just put her in the bathtub.  She had an “incident” in the bathtub, which Mike tried to swipe down the drain.  The “incident” resulted in him contracting the stomach bug, himself!  Woo hoo!  And within 24 hours, I came down with it, as well.

As the 3 of us laid in a king sized bed, taking turns in the bathroom and changing runny diapers, I heard faint giggles coming from Tess.  In the quiet of the night, I listened as Mike snored over and over again and with each bear like growl a tiny toddler laugh followed.  Though I had just hovered over the commode and I was destined to return in nearly 30 minutes, and I felt like a bus had hit me, AND had one of the most stressful weeks, since Phoebe’s surgeries… I let out a giggle too each time… after Tess would giggle… after Mike would snore.  It’s the little things, or the little people, rather that just make life spectacular, even when it’s rotten.

F you and your postpartum

15 Apr

Where did I leave off? After hemorrhaging with Tess and then going into a super-mega-hyperthyroid phase, I was put on medications to lower my thyroid levels. Months later I never felt any improvement, but my levels had normalized. I was told I was euthyroid, that it was probably just postpartum thyroiditis and that my continued symptoms were due to postpartum depression. I glared at that doctor long and hard and upon her asking me “why does that upset you? Why are you rolling your eyes?”, I stormed out of her office. Now, I know to her that probably only confirmed her postpartum theory, but I knew she was wrong and didn’t want to waste another minute humoring her lazy theory. Many months, many doctors, and thousands of dollars later it would turn out that she was very, very wrong, indeed! I will not bore you with the details of my symptoms and how many tears I cried at the feet of countless doctors, in this post. Maybe when I’m not as weak I will be able to tie in some humor to these stories and blog in flashback mode. Today, I’m just going to go straight to it… The Diagnosis
In October of 2012, I was diagnosed with Hashimoto’s thyroiditis. Not one of the 3 endocrinologists that I had seen before then even bothered to test me for it. It wasn’t until my ophthalmologist said, in jest, that I sounded like I had an autoimmune disorder and maybe I should see a rheumatologist. The rheumatologist tested my thyroid antibodies and the were quite elevated. TPO antibodies are supposed to be 1000 (fact: they were higher than the testing range, so we actually don’t even know the exact level) and Thyroglobulin Antibodies were 1843, supposed to be <35. Apparently, my immune system had decided to attack my thyroid. Great, let’s treat it! Au contraire! Hashimoto’s remains untreated by most doctors, no matter the extent of the patient’s symptoms. After much research and dozens more doctors, it came to my doctor’s attention that my blood calcium kept coming back high. Some doctors ignored it, but a new endocrinologist wanted to see if my parathyroid was causing the problem. During a lengthy 5 hour radiology scan, they found a small tumor, so yet another diagnosis: hyperparathyroidism. Great, let’s do something about it! Au contraire! The tumor is still small so they want to do more scans in a month. Frustrated I sought the help of a holistic doctor to get a prescription for natural thyroid medication. While reading over my lab results to prepare for the appt, I noticed that my Lyme lab said negative, yet I tested positive for the P23 Bb antibody band. So I researched some more and discovered that because of CDC regulations my test was a false negative! The specific band that I tested positive for would ONLY be present if indeed I was infected with the Lyme virus! Guess what? I did some more digging and it has been documented that Lyme disease can, in fact, cause Hashimoto’s disorder. Holy hell!
Great, let’s do something about it! Au contraire, again! Because of CDC regulations the only way you can get treated for chronic (long time infected) Lyme is by finding a Lyme Literate MD. They are extremely hard to find, as they don’t advertise thanks to CDC and they don’t take insurance for the very same reason. Yay! In the USA it is easier to get a prescription for OxyContin to feed an addition than it is to get a life saving antibiotic! Insane!
I am finally going to see an LLMD today, but I was able to talk the holistic md into prescribing me antibiotics in the meantime. I recently had a mammogram because of my chronic large axiallary lymph nodes. The doctor went over the images with me. She and her assistant stared at the images of my nodes in amazement. She told me that the texture is not indicative of lymphoma or carcinoma of the breasts. I smiled and said “yay, that’s good news!” She didn’t seemed relieved in the slightest though. Her face was rather concerned and said that I have some sort of chronic systemic infection. She requested that my doctors test me for tuberculosis, sarcoidosis, Lyme, bartonella, and other infectious diseases. Great! Here we go again!


6 Feb

I am the cow in the “Animal’s Angels” against cruelty ad.  The only difference is that I’m not opposed to being shoved around by a forklift to get from point A to point B.

I want my body back!  It is difficult to breathe, you know, with my lungs, stomach, intestines, and other various organs being smushed into my throat.  I waddle down the hall just to go to the bathroom and I’m breathless.  The swelling has gotten so bad that I wake in the middle of the night every 15 minutes to examine my hands because OMG, The Pressure!  They are going to EXPLODE!  Can hands explode???  I don’t remember being so miserable during my other pregnancies, but Mike is quick to remind me that “Oh yes, yes [I was]!”  I can’t eat I’m not supposed to eat anything that’s worth eating.  4th pregnancy… 4th round of gestational diabetes.  I’m on that stupid high protein, low carb diet, that a lot of people are quick to tell me “is not so bad”, “I don’t mind it”, “I eat that way anyway”.  Oh go f*ck yourself, (sorry Tourette’s is also another awful symptom during pregnancy) I’m pregnant and have found this crazy, stupid, obsession with food… buttery, sugary, starchy, greasy, elephant sized portions of food… you know… Man vs. Food kind of food.  I eat until I can’t move without wincing and by the time it finally starts to digest and I can move an inch, I eat some more.  I have no idea why my blood sugar is out of control, nor why my thighs now have their own zip code.  All jokes aside, I’m going to ask my OB this week how she is planning to get a baby out from in between them, since I don’t think it’s physically possible for my inner thighs to separate.  When I went to the dietitian she said, “you can eat as much meat and cheese as you want!  Enjoy!”  She had a smile on her face as though she thought I should be pleased with this news, but instinctively my upper lip curled in horror.  Meat?  Cheese?  What are these things you speak of?  The closest I get to “meat” is a giant bacon covered burger from Five Guys… oh… and it has cheese on it!!!!  Does that count?

So, I curse and I complain and I’m all out miserable.  If when I eat the foods that I want to eat, I swell and a couple hundred fat cells all over my body loosen their belts.  If I try to stick to the diet, my swelling reduces and I can walk without seeing the walls shake and hearing sound effects, but I’m angry… Jack Nicholson “Here’s Johnny!” kind of angry.  To make matters worse, 1/1,000,000,000th of what goes in my body actually makes its way out.  There is an entire, wasteland inside me somewhere (probably in my throat hanging out with my lungs and all of the other organs) and I can’t tell you how great that feels.

Also, I have a plethora of these giant uber-awesome age spots that have popped up here there and everywhere.  My cheeks and the skin under my eyes have now slid down my face and flop like under-cooked scrambled eggs somewhere down my neck.  Now that I mention it… pregnancy just seems to make the throat/neck area a popular gathering place.  To make matters worse, pregnancy has also made me anemic, so the dark circles under my eyes and the age spots are only magnified by my almost translucent pasty white skin.

To summarize:  Like, Fat Bastard, I’m damn-sexy!  *looking at belly* Yes, I want you to be healthy and perfect…

but Holy Hell… get out!  GET OUT!  G-E-T!!!!  O-U-T!!!!!!!  I want my body back!!!

Guess what?!!! I’ve been busy…

25 Nov

I’ve done this…

(My website… the other one… completely revamped with a store and all!!!  I can’t tell you how hard it is building a website from the ground up with only this…


as my guide… and honestly, the book might as well have been written in Swahili because I understood all of 3 words in it… including the title!) may be amateur and you know, not perfect, but *newsflash* “This just in, Carol Trader….”

and, yeah, I’ve busy doing things over at Pinterest.

and this….

and this…

and this…

(*sigh*  It’s true… I still haven’t gotten around to cleaning that mirror!)

and this…

and the whole family worked on this…

"Thanks"Giving Tree

one of my leaves

one of Phoebe's leaves

one of Phoebe's leaves (and she doesn't have an octopus...?)

one of Leila's leaves

one of Leila's leaves

one of Michael's leaves (...and of course, he was thankful for his son, too... Jax, just got his own leaf)

one of Michael's leaves (...and of course, he was thankful for his son, too... Jax, just got his own leaf)

one of Jaxon's leaves

(This is our “Thanks”giving Tree, on which we’ve been placing a leaf with something we’re thankful for everyday.  Phoebe’s are the best!  Some of which include… “leaves, Chic-Fil-A, raincoats, (she begs to go here daily so that she can teach herself Japanese, I swear she could order her own sushi at the local Japanese restaurant now… and get a “ball” and a “swing-set” to go with it.)

and then I did this…

(if you “LIKE” the facebook page “Three Flew Into the Cuckoo’s Nest” you will be sent a very special Etsy coupon code)

so hopefully I can sell a little on this…

Sorry that I’ve been absent, but as you can see, I’ve been a little busy!  And apparently the last post has decided to act-up in my absence!!!  What is going on with all of the missing photos?  It must have something to do with that stupid ‘ol Myspace blog that I’m trying to transfer everything from.  I can’t wait until that is done!!!!

Conjunction Junction What’s Your Function?

27 Oct

I haven’t slept, more than 30 minutes at a time, since Monday.  Some basic cold has rooted in my children.  Tissues, vapor rub, ice water and Advil are being demanded around the clock.  I keep closing my eyes in hopes that the crying and disruptions are over, but inevitably within 15 minutes I wake with a startle because a child is either creepily hovering over me or Phoebe has decided to shrill simply because her nose is a tad runny.  The creepy hovering and ear-piercing shrills… the horror of what I look like so dreadfully tired… I mean, really, I just need to paste a “Haunted House!  Admittance: 50 cents plus $100 to let you leave!” sign outside the door and make a few bucks.  Hell, I’ve got a strobe light lying around here somewhere that I can throw on for enthusiasts.  Last night, I muttered something like, “I swear to God, if I don’t get more than 30 minutes sleep without a child waking me up, hovering over me, demanding something in the middle of the night…”  Mike immediately quipped, “That’s right!  Tonight I get to wake you up, hovering over you.”

I do not condone spousal abuse, but you know, I’m starting to understand the ole “I was provoked!” excuse.

Currently, my left arm is coated in glue and pretty much stuck to the keyboard, so I guess I’ll just type until I feel like prying it off.  A Martha Stewart ad in a magazine put a bug up my butt that I just had to make these

for Leila’s Halloween class party tomorrow.  I’ve been cutting and spray gluing paper bags for 2 days now.  Today, I sprayed 22 bags with glue (which, I really shouldn’t be doing *eh-hem… hint to husband– offer to spray glue for wife for reasons which you should not need a hint*).  I sprayed them (and myself *crap!*) outside, while this guy

(please excuse photo quality, as I can still only upload photos from my phone!)

watched me.  I know!  Super creepy, right?  But he eats the ants and well, it’s Halloween, so he does provide pretty cool decor for free!  LOVE a bargain!  Last week, Jax got a kick out of playing a cruel joke on me with it.

You see that white thing in the web?  I thought it was an egg sack and completely freaked out, picturing horrifying scenes from Arachnophobia like this one

[OMG, you guys!!!!  Warning:  Googling images of “Arachnophobia” could cause  stroke and serious side effects such as nausea, diarrhea and vomiting!  (Ok, so I had a fabulous plan to enter some dramatic screenshot here, but holy hell the disgustingly terrifying things that pop up when you google images of “arachnophobia”.  I’m not going lie I still feel a tad faint.)  Never, ever, do that!]

After a good laugh, at my expense, Jax admitted to me that he just threw a marshmallow in the web.

Now Leila’s helping me shred paper bags for the outer layer of the treat bags (F*ck you, Martha Stewart and all of your extravagantly enticing ideas!  Just kidding, can I be like you?  I want to crawl into your khakis and be just like you, minus the weight gain and jail time.)  Today, Leila and I are crafting while we watch School House Rock.  I’m finding myself singing along, and surprisingly knowing all of the words to a good 2/3’s of them.  And guess what?!  Unlike a horribly offensive, disastrously offensive actually, Scooby Doo episode that I saw a couple of weeks ago guest-starring Mama Cass

  (this episode is just oozed OFFENSIVE),

School House Rock isn’t outdated or politically incorrect at all.  Actually, it’s very apparent that almost all of us jammed to School House Rock when we were younger, but didn’t learn a damn thing.


Parking Wars

24 Oct

A few of my posts *maybe more* in the past have been about incidents of road rage that I have been involved in.  Yesterday, I sat passenger to one. 

Folks, road rage is a serious disease that must be treated with as much avoidance as you would a rabid dog… or Cujo.

I know, better than most, that sometimes you can avoid brawls on the road and sometimes you can’t.  Mike fell victim to road rage yesterday and not only was it avoidable… it was predictable.

At 1:00 PM, yesterday, I asked Mike if we could go to the local pumpkin patch and get pumpkins, which was precisely at Redskins kickoff, so immediately Mike was in a fabulous mood.  He huffed and we shoved the kids in the car as he remembered that Safeway was having a sale on pumpkins “Buy one, get one!”  Yay, we’ll be in and out and you’ll be watching football in no time!  We pull curbside to Safeway where 5 lonely and rotting pumpkins sat.  Ummm… Pumpkin Patch?  What do you say?  Mike, refusing to miss one more second of football than was absolutely demanded, remembers that “they have huge boxes of pumpkins in the back of the store.  Let’s go check out what they have in there.”  He turns to the parking lot, where as luck would have it a storefront space was available, but blocked by the adjacent car’s shopping cart.  He turns the van to pull in and waits for the cart to be moved.  I predict this is a bad move, maybe because I’m a repeat offender victim and say, “Just find another space because she’s not going to move the cart.”  The stout woman unloading her cart appears to be watching our van out of the corner of her eye, but simply grabs an item from underneath her very full, very stationary, cart and slowly places it in the back of her car.  Again, she appears to see us, but grabs another item and slowly places it in her car.  It’s one thing to not notice someone or to be a little put-off because you have to stop what you’re doing and move your shopping cart a few inches, but to blatantly ignore someone just to be a b*tch is just… well, WTF?!  After a few more items were slowly placed in her car it was very apparent that she was just being a b*tch, so Mike fumes with impatience and honks his horn.  She shouts, “You can wait!”  It was at this precise point when I put my head in my hand as he put the van in park.  I knew things were going to get ugly.  Again, I’m pretty experienced in this department and I knew damn well that I’d put the van in park, too.  He gets out of the van and approaches her.  My head was still in my hands, so I didn’t see the next few events unfold.  I know that you don’t have to testify against your spouse in the court of law, so I’m not sure why I didn’t want to witness the showdown at the not-so-ok corral.  I did hear some very adult words being exchanged and glanced up in time to see Mike grab her cart and shove it to the side himself.  “… 3 goddamn inches, how hard is it?”  He turns to get back in the van and she mutters something about him needing the exercise, to which he properly responded that she was one to talk because, really?!  You’re one big girl.  Don’t go there!  Anywho, anyone who has kids knows that a storefront parking spot is not about a willingness to walk or not… it’s about having 500 less feet to yell, beg, and grab at your child, as they flee towards the store dodging cars along the way.  Mike was right.  All she had to do was move the dang cart a few inches, but she chose to be stubborn first, so she asked for it.

Or… did I ask for it because I wanted pumpkins during Redskins kickoff?

Damn, it always circles back to me.

Health Department, Hazmat, Jesus, Megan Fox

26 Jan

Q:  What do the Health Department, Hazmat, Jesus, and Megan Fox all have in common?

A:  I would love a visit from all of them!

You see, for years my house has been circulating virus after virus after virus.  It’s like some sort of doom and gloom Institute of Biowarfare Engineering up in here.  Hence, the desire for a visit from the Health Department, Hazmat, and Jesus… to come to my germ infested home, wave their magic wand and make it healthy.  What?  Oh, you don’t get the Megan Fox part? No, she’s not secretly a graduate of Hopkins Med School, nor is she a former Tibetan monk turned official Hollywood Holistic Healer of the Stars.  And no, I’m not jumping out of the closet on my blog, so “BOO!” to you.  Nor, would I like to have her here so that I can watch my husband try his best to suck in his gut and flirt with vulgar jokes and fart-noise humor (when you spend 85% of your time hanging around the type of people that he hangs around, this kind of stuff is the closest to romantic as it’s gonna get *sigh*).  No, though, that would be comical, I’d really like to have her here to see if the disease ridden air in my home could just suck the sexy right out of her.  It could be Jaxon’s next science fair experiment  “How many days does it take for my house to suck the sexy out of Megan Fox?” My hypothesis?:  Let’s see, #2 on FHM’s Sexiest Women list + continuously rotating vomit virus + boy with onslaught of 10-yr-old dementia (and that’ll only get worse with her around) + 2-year-old that will only be happy if she could just somehow physically climb back into my uterus + flus and colds that last for weeks (long enough for you to start feeling better when the kindergartner brings a different strand of it home) + see above (i.e. husband, loss in self-esteem, sex?) + the fact that the entire house could care less if they live like pigs (really, I’ve threatened not to clean up after them anymore and they just looked at me like… ‘So?  Pigs are cool!’)…

I give her 10 days, tops!

Christmas Eve, Leila had the stomach bug and everyone else had the flu.    2 weeks ago, Leila had the stomach bug, again.  Last week, Phoebe caught the stomach bug.  3 days later, I caught the stomach bug and then Jax and then Michael.  It doesn’t matter how many cans of Lysol or how many tubes of Clorox wipes, or how many jugs of bleach I use.  In one moment of stupidity, someone who is sick ventures out of their room and touches something without thinking or speaking and all hell breaks loose!   We are breeders of some sort of virus that is like the ever-lasting-gobstopper… changes colors and flavors, but lasts forever!  That’s the virus we have and I swear, Al Qaeda is behind it.  Osama has sent his little Oompa Loompas to my house and they sprinkled some sort of secret plague ingredient into our HVAC system and we are the first of his biowarfare invention The Everpuking Gobsnotter.

Leila missed school Thursday and Friday due to the stomach bug.  The following Monday school was closed for MLK, Jr. Day and was closed again on Tuesday due to an ice storm.  No lie, she cried Tuesday morning when Mike told her that school was closed, which was a total boost for my alternative-to-school ego.  And when she finally returned to school on Wednesday, Leila’s teacher asked everyone to draw a picture during “quiet time” and this is what Leila drew (again, NO LIE):

I didn’t have the nerve to ask her what the teacher said the picture was supposed to be about (“i.e. draw something about the last 6 days that you got to spend at home with mommy”).  On the bright side, the dog is smiling.

P.S.  Feel like my recent facebook post should be repeated here:  Wants to whine and list my frustrations, but when it comes down to it… no matter how imperfect or far from my dream… I’m still pretty lucky.

MOMMY! I broke my tooth!!!

10 Nov

While working with Jaxon on his homework, tonight, Leila came scurrying from her bedroom in a tizzy.

“Mommy!!!  Mommy!!!  MOOOOMMMEEEEEE!!!”

“What, Leila?!  What’s wrong?!”

She was in her room cleaning, but seemed frightened and shaken.  Did she see a spider?  If there is a gigantic spider in her room, why, then, did she run screaming for me?  She knows I don’t deal with the 8 legged kind when daddy’s home.

She catches her rapid breath and with wide terrified eyes says, “Mommy!  My tooth broke!” And then she started wailing.

“Oh my goodness, what?!” I look and see her wiping blood from her mouth.  Which she then sees on her hand and starts crying harder in some sort of scared *oh my God, I’m falling apart and there is blood and this is any EMERGENCY, people!* sort of way.  My mind starts racing.  She is very accident prone.  She probably decided to pretend she was an olympic-type ballerina/football player and bounced off a wall mid-twirl/catch, thus busting her mouth open.

“What happened?”, I ask, as Mike and I give her our full attention for a closer look.  “Did you hit your mouth on something?”

As she starts to talk, I can see it.  It’s a bloody mess where the tooth has “broken”.  “No!”, she says, “I was just sitting there cleaning” *sniff moan sniff* “like daddy told me to” *moan cry* “and then all of the sudden my tooth broke!” *Wahhhhh!*

And there amidst the moaning and the trickling blood, I got a better look.  There was no broken tooth… there was just a hole where her lower front tooth used to be.  A completely missing tooth! Mike and I burst into laughter and she stared at us like “Dude, what the hell?!  My mouth is totally falling apart and there is blood… like, real blood and you people are laughing?!  Don’t you even care?!  You are the worst parents ever!” Mike gave her a tissue to hold in her mouth and I gave her a hug.

“It’s fine, Leila!  Now, are you sure that you didn’t hit your mouth on anything?”

“No, I was just sitting there.”

“Then it’s fine!  You just lost your first tooth!  YAY!!!!

She stopped moaning and stared at me very puzzled.

“Where is your tooth?”, I ask.

She walked me back to her room and there in the middle of her almost clean floor was a perfect little tooth all by its lonesome.

“Look, Leila!  It’s a very pretty tooth!  It didn’t break out of your mouth.  It was supposed to fall out.  Now you get to put it under your pillow and see if the Tooth Fairy leaves you anything.”

At that moment, she beamed the most beautiful missing tooth grin that I’ve ever seen.  “The Tooth Fairy?!”

“Yep, just like in the movie.”

“What do you think he’ll put under my pillow?”

I giggled at the fact that she said “he” as though she was really picturing “The Rock” in a tutu tiptoeing around her bed.  Mike chimed in and said, “I think he gives a quarter a tooth.” I gave him an “Oh my God, you are such a cheap-skate!” glare.

“I think I’ll leave him a note and tell him what I want.  You know, like what I do for Santa.  Hmm… now what do I ask for?”, she says as she starts scribbling on a piece of paper.

10 minutes later, I put the girls in the bathtub and asked Mike to keep an eye on them because I had to run to the store to buy a “Scwike brazlit” (aka Squinkie bracelet).  I picked up a copy of “The Tooth Fairy” on blu-ray while I was there, also.  Have you seen Dwayne Johnson in that movie?  What?!  Yeah, yeah… Leila can watch it, too, I guess.

trick or treat

5 Nov

It’s the most wonderful time of the year…

Leila was a blushing bride, Jaxon was “Super Jaxon, the Lightening Thief”, and Phoebe was the “Hear No Evil” Monkey!

I made Leila’s gown and veil and it looked much better when she wore it around the house the night before.  It was so cold that I had to load layers of underclothes on her, including a bulky pair of high-waisted sweat pants.  Each of the 200+ flowers were hand sewn on, along with varying sizes of crystals centered in the flowers.  I also made Jaxon’s cape and painted over the appliquéd lightening bolt with glow-in-the-dark paint.  It looked super cool!  I didn’t make Phoebe’s costume, nor did I tell her to cover her ears.  She came up with that clever idea all on her own.

His lightening bolt spear was painted with the glow-in-the-dark paint, as well.

“Trick or Treat!”

Phoebe?  Where did you go?  Do you want candy?

What-choo talkin’ ’bout, Willis?  Someone’s going to give me candy???  I don’t know???  But, I’m excitedly suspicious!


She then proceeded to run from house to house, as fast as her little monkey legs could take her, following behind big brother and sister.  Sometimes, when I forced her, she’d say “Tee ‘o teet!”, but mostly she’d just grabbed as much candy as bowl holders would allow and run off to the next house.  Also, apparently she doesn’t care for the “Baby Ruth” bars because every time she got one she’d keep it in her hand until she got to the next house and as she grabbed for one of their Kit Kat bars she’d quickly slip the Baby Ruth in their bowl.  Kinda like some sort of underhanded Halloween trade.  The big hit of the night for her was the house that handed out a big box of raisins, which she immediately told me to open.  And when I said that I would do it when we were done trick or treating, she outright had a meltdown.  Halloween was immediately put on hold as the screaming monkey show commenced.  I wanted to wait for her to calm down and for her to say, “Please!”, but in classic bad-parenting form I just ripped the box of raisins open and handed them to her.  Anything you want, just CHILL!!! Holy-moley!

2 other disruptions of the Halloween celebration spectacular:

1)  I missed the annual television showing of “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!”  I hate that!!!  I actually bought the VHS tape of the movie, 8 years ago, to ensure that I’d never miss it…  EVER!!!  I didn’t count on my husband’s electronic upgrade on the entire house.  Is there a VHS to Blu-ray converter in existence?

2)  I had to post this on Facebook:

“Which house was it that tried to pass off 40% less fat Reese’s Cups as candy??? They deserve to be toilet papered! I didn’t know that it was “reduced fat” until I bit into it and spit it back out. Terrible, just terrible. Guess I got a trick instead of a treat!”

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