strange days

Valentine's Day brought some unexpected happenings for the very youngest of the Harris Girls. While playing around on the trampoline waiting for Valentine's dinner, there was what seemed to be a minor accident. Dylan brought in the Hay, wailing and snot flying. I sat her down and checked her out as mom's are wont to do. She seemed fine. We had dinner, and while she ate almost nothing (typical), she did her usual jamming of dinner into whatever she happens to be drinking (very typical).

Bedtime came early, but sleep did not last. That night was spent with Hayden crying out and/or sobbing in her sleep. By about 3 am, I am convinced there is something wrong. I barely get the big kids off to school and call the doctor as soon as they open. The appointment set, I spend the morning with a very lethargic 2 year old (atypical).

At the appointment, x rays revealed that Hayden's tibia and fibula had been cleanly broken distally. I was shocked to leave the appointment with nothing more than a referral for an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon for this afternoon. No wraps. No splints. Nothing. Just instructions, "Don't let the leg hang; it will cause more pain and injure the area further.". Perfect!

11

Eleven doesn't like vegetables.  Or any meat other than "steak".  It doesn't want anything whole grain; white and processed is considered best.  Eleven will eat mashed potatoes but don't try to scallop or au gratin.  Things that 10 loved 11 despises. 

It would love a diet of items filled with sugar and red dye #5, anything processed and pre-packaged ... oh and gum (no mint flavored). 

demands

update the blog

My mother keeps sending me emails with the above as the subject. "Update the Blog". Nothing in the body of the email except for her company's weird confidentiality warning scripty thing which is set off by about 7 continuous rows of asterisks. I find these emails irritating on a variety of levels. First and foremost, the fact that she uses the definte article THE to refer to my blog. Don't ask me why, but it raises my hackles. Coming a close second is the fact that MY blog has become an obligation...And pretty much everyone who knows me knows how I feel about obligations. Truth be told, I have made several attempts of late to do just that, but nothing was funny or peculiar or irritating enough. So there it went, un-updated. It is under severe maternal duress I compose this. Satisfied?

i don't believe in that

So some dance mom (yes, I am sneering as I type this) tried to convince me that she limits her kids' tv watching to less than a couple of hours a week because she can't abide Hannah Montana and some other Disney crap show that had caused her to shun tv forever. She made the announcement in that "I'm a more diligent and concerned parent than you" tone that mom's around here often assume. I was waiting for the soliloquy to be followed by a bunch of "my kids' are geniuses rhetoric".

Fortunately I was able to refrain from making shockingly inappropriate remarks by making a snide comment about allowing my own offspring to watch as much tv as they could take for marathon sittings while feeding them high fructose corn syrup.

why i heart kettle korn

• Prevents me from working on more important tasks I should be completing, e.g. laundry, packing for everyone in the house but me, cleaning, reading, working.
• Random, hard as a rock, break your tooth un-popped kernels allow me to practice my filtering while eating skills.
• Eating half a bag while hiding in my bedroom after a long day of sitting in silence brings a stone in my stomach comfort that wasn't there before.
• Love trying to dig corn husks out the space between my gums and teeth with any razor sharp object handy. Woo hoo!
• Salty-sweet flavor satisfies like nothing else can.

new game

Hayden's newest game is manipulation. She has successfully connected the act of spitting out her bink and someone retrieving discarded bink...endlessly. This is a game of which she does not tire, and everyone in the house has become a victim.

37 weeks

My feet have never looked so teeny tiny. My midsection...Never so ENORMOUS. Thirty seven weeks have flown by and I'm knee deep in 22 trips to the toilet per night, itchy belly skin, nightmares of my water breaking in inopportune locales and people constantly asking me, "Haven't you had that baby yet?" That last one has to be my favorite as clearly I am barely sporting a bump.

almost there

Being almost 36 weeks pregnant, I am realizing that I am almost done with this gestating thing. Weird. It doesn't seem like that much time has passed. And then I look down at my burgeoning belly, and I feel as though I'm at least 60 weeks pregnant. I don't feel bad per se, just uncomfortable. It's difficult to sleep as I must get up every 40 minutes to empty my bladder and I can only sleep on my left side otherwise my right arm falls asleep and becomes a dead piece of meat that dangles from my shoulder. I have that distinctive pregnant lady waddle, try as I might to walk like a normal person. None of my shirts will cover that bottom part of my belly...maternity or not, so I'm constantly walking around hiking up my pants. By the end of the day, my feet (when I can see them) slightly resemble marshmallow puffs stuck to the ends of my legs. I haven't seen my crotch in awhile. Putting lotion on my calves and feet has become a near impossible feat. And I often feel as though I have a little Hayden-hand hanging out of my cervix.

things known

We now know that Mitchell has more than likely had cancer for at least the last 3 years. We know that he most definitely has Stage 3 Colorectal Cancer and possibly HNPCC, a hereditary syndrome. We know that he will begin adjuvant chemotherapy in the next 2 to 3 weeks, and his treatment will last for at least 6 months. We know that the tumor perforated his bowel which caused cancerous cells to spill into his abdomen, leading to a microscopic spread of the cancer. We know that his cancer is treatable, and that the next 2 years will be crucial to his survival.

stuff that freaked me out today

• Number of women I saw out and about that had facial hair...Not just a few random wiry sprouts either. I'm talking, full-blown, shave-every-day-or-get-5-o'clock-shadow BEARDS.
• Ex-gang member dude that drew my blood for my glucose test...He had 520 tattooed on more than one finger and lots of Old English writing scrawled on his neck. I'll admit though, he did a good job.
• Getting on the scale at the OB/GYN's after my cruise...whatever, skinny people.
• My "new" boss having some else re-do my work for no good reason, but not telling me there is/was a problem.
• Sales clerk at the motherhood store where I had to go to buy some preggers pants...Why do strangers always give me uncomfortably intimate details?
• Mother of extra-loud toddler at Sonora Lab place that had shaved off her eyebrows and then sharpie-ed some back on with a seriously unsteady hand.
• Picking a few items up at the "yucky Fry's"...Why does it smell like weird, old meat and who are all those people meandering aimlessly around the entrance?

don't stand so close to me

Recently I'm eating lunch at Taco Bell aka Toxic Belch aka I-Wanna-Get-Explosive-Diarrhea-Immediately. I am attempting to pay the dim-witted girl who has just half-heartedly taken my order when 2 teenage boys saunter/slouch into the place. One of whom proceeds to approach the counter and stands SHOULDER TO SHOULDER with me. First of all, a lot of times I don't want my own family to touch me. Second, why is this AXE-saturated degenerate feeling comfortable/confident enough to saunter over to a 35 year old stay at home mom and rub elbows with her? I immediately poke my unexfoliated elbows in his direction and make unfriendly old person noises. This doesn't make a dent and I am forced to verbalize my displeasure, "Hey, Kid! Watch where you're standing!" I've never sounded so old.

pool frog

This slimy thing has been frequenting our pool hole. Trust me. He is fat and disgusting, and I'm fairly positive he leaves some sort of wretched residue in his froggy wake. Go away, gross froggy. Go away!

activi-yuck

The most recent commercial for Dannon's new poop yogurt kind of freaks me out. Have you seen this thing? It's the one were the two women are hanging out by the pool. The peppy one asks the clearly stopped up one, "Hey! You gettin' in?" The other responds basically with "No thanks, I haven't pooped in weeks; I can't swim." Okay. I talk about poop and pooping a lot. I have friends and family that love the topic equally as much. All this poop discussion has never led to a situation where someone is NOT getting in the pool because they have an over due b.m. Aunt Flo visiting? Yes. Explosive diarrhea? Check. Projectile vomiting? No brainer. But Can't Poop Syndrome? No. Never. Not once. Every time I see the ad it freaks me out a little more. Who is this product's target audience? Should I not be submerging myself in bodies of water every time I experience some intestinal transit slowness?

male sensibility

There are many inherent differences between men and women (duh). One of the most glaring being a man's unwillingness, nay...inability to take medication when the situation calls for it. Clearly it's much more sensible to drag ass around the house, irritating all who come in contact with you because you won't do something as simple as taking an couple of freakin' ibuprofen. Of course I can see how you'd rather be up most of the night groaning in pain and shifting around heavily in the bed, keeping whoever else is trying to get a good night's sleep awake with your ailments. Only a crazy person would rather take something that would relieve the pain then remain inert on the couch after having decided to stay home from work (fantastic), periodically moaning in discomfort. I can see how all of that suffering is far superior to simply popping a couple of pills and going about your business like a normal human being.

helper mom

So today was the second in a row that I volunteered in my kids' school library. I have no idea what prompted this. We were in there one day last week, and all of a sudden I'm asking the librarian lady does she need any help with end of the year stuff. What was I thinking? I have no idea. So now that's what I've done from 12:30 to 2:15 pm for the last 2 days.

It's interesting being back in a school atmosphere. It's comforting and a little disturbing to discover that no matter where you go, most schools are EXACTLY the same. People bitch about admin, the teacher next door, why they are the only one that does anything, ever... and on and on and on... Having been there done that, I completely understand the pathology. I do think it's strange, however, what teachers and staff will say in front of their community stakeholders (sorry, ed leadership verbage coming back to me).

I would think you'd want to "put your best foot forward" so to speak... I'm just thanking my lucky stars (again) that I'm not in that place A-N-Y-M-O-R-E.

i may need that later

Did anyone watch Dr. Phil today? Okay. Yes. I watch Dr. Phil along with all the other trashy television to which I'm addicted. TV whore, remember? Anyway. Dr. Phil. Did you see this? Today good ol' Mr. McGraw counseled a family of hoarders. It was A-MAZING. For real. I've never seen anything like it. I couldn't take my eyes of the screen.

So this absolutely makes me feel like I am the most hygenic, organized, clutter-free being around. This show was a definite housewife/caretaker confidence builder.

bffs we are not

For whatever reason, it seems that I am often involved in the instant friendship phenomenon. This is strange to me as I would not describe myself as a particularly warm and inviting individual. Hilarious? Yes. Kind and nurturing? Not so much.

I am the first to admit that I have intimacy issues. I don't want to talk about feelings. With anyone. Ever. I believe it is completely unnecessary for women to discuss the intimate details of their cycles while working out or bonding over lunch. I don't want to hug and kiss friends hello or goodbye or just cause. Don't sit too close to me on the couch. It makes me feel freaky. I'd rather you didn't gaze at me silently when you should be watching TV or reading or doing anything other than just looking at me. I will not suddenly stop, grab your shoulder and meaningfully confess, "I'm so glad we've become close." It just won't happen.

I'm the person who works out with her iPod blasting, not making eye contact. I didn't come to chat with strangers. I don't need to converse with you just because we're both sweating on the treadmill while gasping for breath. Please don't think I need a walking partner just because we are neighbors and you see me leave each morning. I'd rather you didn't invite yourself. I already know everything I'd like to about you; we don't need quality time.

Please don't invite yourself to dinner. Or assume that we are the type of super-friendly neighbors that happily child swap. I can barely tolerate my own children some days; I certainly don't want to hang out with yours. We are not close enough for you to simply waltz into my house, calling out, "Hey! What're you up to?" If I didn't answer your phone call, that's not a signal that you should just pop over to see what's got me so busy.

I realize this sounds bad. I can imagine the furrowed brows and tsk-tsking of all you who disagree. But every one's different. It takes all kinds. And I'm just not that kind of people.

mini-guests

Since moving to our new pad, there has been an advent of little, mini-visitors--I guess most would call them neighbor kids. Anywho. There have been a number of them. All wanting food, some throwing rocks and even a couple who have injured themselves in my semi-finished pool hole and then tracked mud and blood through the house on my new floors (did that sound unsympathetic?). It's not that I hate them. I really don't. I just don't want them in my house. At all. Ever. Is that wrong?

am i not human?

I'm the first to admit that I make mistakes. I make mistakes while cooking, working, raising my children, dealing with family, balancing my checkbook, and yes, even while driving. Am I alone in this mistake making? It would seem that I am given people's reactions who happen to witness my driving faux pas. This morning I nearly got into an altercation with the teacher on parent drop off duty after I inadvertantly got a little curbage while pulling up to let my kids out. She rushes over, motioning to let down the passenger's window.

What's going on? Oops! Doing too many things at once! Got too close! (Of course I'm guffawing quite loudly now that it's confirmed that I've a witness) Is THAT what you were doing? (Please notice snide tone in which comment is made)

She's now bent over at the waist, peering at me in a rather stern manner. At this point, I begin to bristle.

What's the problem? (I'm now sneering at her)

She's still bent over, glaring at me. I begin to get that pingy feeling that occurs when I start to become enraged. Meanwhile, the girls are in the back seat, T watching the exchange, D passed out from the ride. In order to circumvent the police being called to arrest me for verbally abusing this woman, I begin calling out, "Okay. We're here! Have a great day!" After a few minutes, the girls have exited the car and are saying their goodbyes. Duty teacher is still glaring. Really? Is her driving record so squeaky clean? Has she never pulled too close to the curb and rubbed her tire against it? Am I truly the first person to have committed this sin while dropping off her kids? Meanwhile, parents driving Hummers and Expeditions are haphazardly dropping their children in the middle of the turn about because said Duty Teacher is too busy worrying about what I'm doing to her curb in front of the school. Swallowing any comments I might wish to scream out, I check my rearview in order to pull out, noting that Duty Teacher is still glaring.

joys of apartment living

I remember feeling crusty and confused as it was a good hour and a half before my usual wake up time. As I clumsily rearranged myself, giving Mitchell a shove for good measure, I blearily wondered what had called me from my slumber at such an ungodly hour. It was as this thought stumbled around in my sleep-dulled mind that I began to recognize exactly what it was that had disturbed me. Was it a confused and nightmare frightened child, seeking sanctuary in her parents' bed? Nope. The ridiculously goofy shi tzu that frequently requires bathroom breaks at inappropriate hours? Not today. Could it have been my spouse whose snores often rival the roar of a 747 landing in the living room? It was not. As I lay peering bitterly at the lime-green neon numbers of my bedside alarm, it suddenly became clear. My upstairs neighbor, a kindly man in his 50s, was getting his freak on and quite vigorously at that. Listen with me. Bed springs squeaking away at a rate I haven't heard in...well, frankly, since my single days. Oh and wonderful, this is where the banging of the headboard against the wall is introduced. And finally a chorus of gutteral utterings now joins the fray, eventually crescendoing into a bevy of inarticulate sounds that I continue to try to eliminate from my memory. Please understand, that may sharing of this event isn't a criticism against such behavior. It is simply a wish that I had not been able to share it with them.