Food FOR the Soul

Cooking is my therapy right now. I can take some time to be alone with myself, yet not ignore the menfolk. I can concentrate on something I like doing without be assaulted by constant memories of Adrian.

So, for New Years Eve, I’ve been making all of this (ok I didn’t MAKE the wine, Santa put that in my stocking!):

New Years Eve Dinner
Shrimp Cocktail
Horseradish and Garlic Crusted prime rib
(served with pan au jus)
Warm spinach and bacon salad
Roasted rosemary potatoes
Red pepper carrots
Marco Polo bread
Denis Pommier Petit Chablis 2004
Personal chocolate cake


Mark, bless him, is forcing himself to participate in my therapy. He has a rough life.

Happy New Year’s Eve to all. I hope next year is better than this.

Karma Meets Dogma

For the first time in over ten years I have bangs. I decided yesterday that the best way to get over the hacking lung disease was to have my hair cut. Hair-eopathic medicine will be all the rage soon, just you wait. Anyway, with bangs and a new cut, the day was looking up.

Until, that is, we noticed Katya frantically licking at her left front paw. Closer examination showed her dew claw (and where the HECK did THAT name come from? Because trust me, she doesn’t open Mt. Dew cans no matter how much I bribe her) torn and bleeding. Drat.

Much hand wringing and a call to the parents (Owners of the Murphy’s law dogs: if something can go wrong with your dog, it will have gone wrong first with my parents’ dogs.) later we decided that the claw needed to be cut off. Armed with nail scissors, kitchen scissors, and lots of towels, I began claw surgery. Mark bravely volunteered to hold Katya down.

This is where karma met dogma. Trying to lean over and peer at your dog’s bleeding paw while gently removing a nail is ever so hard when your damned new bangs keep falling in your eyes.

After about 5 minutes of my gentle probing and hesitant clipping, Katya had enough and jerked her paw out of my hand so hard that the torn claw hung on the webbing between my fingers and ripped clean off. She had a look that distinctly said “For the love of CATS woman, would you stop pussyfooting around and get it over with? HUMANS! I could have chewed the thing off by now if you’d left me the hell alone.”

A bit of bleeding and a very un-cool bandage later, she was right as rain. This morning the new hairstyle isn’t quite so glamorous. Apparently long layers and bangs require… brushing! I might just use the Katya approach and chew the hair knots out….

He WALKED!

He's 5 and growing too fast

Ethan turned 5 years old on Saturday, November 3rd. If you’re wondering why it took me so long to post about this, it is because the very idea that I’m the mother of a 5 year old has made my lumbago act up. I don’t even know what lumbago is, but old women always have it in all of the old books I read, so it sounds like a good old-woman disease to have. Much better than the shingles, I’m sure.

For Ethan’s birthday we drove to Gatlinburg and stayed in a cabin in the mountains with lots of family. About that adventure I will post in a few days. For now, I give you pictures of the birthday lad, both at the cabin and when we returned home:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/redamy/sets/72157603020971454/

Ethan got many lovely gifts and he is enamored with them all. He’s taken dozens of pictures with his new camera, completed all his puzzles multiple times, played Diego until I’ve begged him to just let the imperiled animals die in peace, and he’s had his Daddy read him a new book before bed every night this week. Ian is also benefiting from all the “phat loot”.

It was a wonderful birthday spent in the warm companionship of family and friends. I don’t think he could have imagined a better birthday, and Ethan has a vast and inventive imagination.

Enjoy the pictures.

Happy Halloween

pumpkin and superhero (crop)
Originally uploaded by redamy

Click on this photo to be redirected to our Flickr photostream and more photos of our Halloween adventures. And yes, Ethan begged to sleep in his costume.

Blessed Big Blue

To Andre Woodson, Steve Johnson, Derrick Locke, Jacob Tamme, Jeremy Jarmon, Wesley Woodyard, Kennan Burton, Rafael Little, and the rest of the 2007 UK Wildcat Football team:

Bless you for having faith in yourselves when so many doubted and belittled you. You are a testament to the strength of character and drive for excellence that should be the calling card of all UK grads.

GO CATS!

#17 UK defeats #1 LSU 43-37

The word "no"

Did you know the “no” is absolutely the worst word in the English language? Genocide, “strategery”, misogynist, ain’t, they all have nothing on the horriblelessness (not that’s not a real word either, thanks) of “no”.

“No” said mundanely as “No, thank you, I do not like soy sauce in my pancakes” can cause ten minutes of uncontrollable outrage. “No” when said in the context of “No, stop climbing on the table and pulling on the chandelier” is guaranteed to cause a screech so filled with outrage that the polar ice caps melt and Al Gore’s head becomes a giant pumpkin.

A baby who is perfectly happy one second can turn into the most profane, non-verbal, denizen of Hell when confronted with “no”. Holy water itself cannot tame a 17 month old Ian in the throws of a “no” tantrum.

Conversely, grinning your chipped tooth grin at your Mamma and frantically shaking your head “no” while balanced precariously on the edge of Daddy’s keyboard is the most hilarious situation ever contrived. Just don’t tell him “no” when you pull him down from his latest perch.

Bitter Vanilla

It seems some wanker (clever British slang that means something bad but might not offend my American readers and thus further exacerbate my profane rating with the Blog Raters of America censors board) at Coca Cola marketing decided it would be CLEVER to throw in cans of Coke Zero “Vanilla” in my otherwise normally marked 12 pack of Coke Zero. The cans are even marked the same unless you happen to really be paying attention, which, let's face it, I wasn’t.

So here I am, with fracking shingles and all the pain associated therein, two whiny boys, and it's 90 fracking degrees outside, and I sit down to pop open a cold Coke zero.

`cept it ain't Coke Zero

It's like Coke Zero mixed with cake batter, WHICH IS FRACKING DISGUSTING.

And, yes, I did say I have shingles. (We’re working on an educated assumption and the second hand diagnosis of a friendly nurse here because after seven days there’s nothing a doctor could do for me at this point no matter what I have.) Cool huh? There’s nothing quite so grand as breaking out in a weird-arse rash that itches worse than poison ivy (I assume, having never had poison ivy) that doesn’t respond to any of the one billion creams marketed for allergic rashes and that after 7 days is still there, still itches, and occasionally burns like the fire of a thousand suns. Apparently this would also explain the spasm-inducing back and chest pain. Oh Good, because chicken-pox virus cells lying dormant in my spinal fluid suddenly reawakening to cause me pain is so much less terrifying than the heart attack I was worried about!

Too bad shingles themselves aren’t contagious or I’d spend a moment considering infecting Coca Cola packaging guys with them. However, we’ll just have to wait about two weeks to see if I managed to give Ian a full blown case of the chicken pox.

A Mountain Day

hiking boys
Originally uploaded by redamy

Yesterday we piled in the car and took a day trip to Skyline Drive and the Shenandoah National Park. Once we got there we stopped to eat at the Skyland Lodge restaurant before heading to the Limberlost Trail head. This trail is handicap accessible which means it is also perfect for out-of-shape city folk with strollers. We enjoyed a leisurely hike in the cool mountain air. Ethan explored rocks, streams, thistles, and wildflowers. He collected a few acorns and helped me look for deer. Ironically, the first time we saw deer wasn’t until we were in the car headed home!

Click on the picture above to be redirected to Flikr and many more pictures of our grand day.

Succumb to the Cuteness

Go on, coo over the cuteness. You know you want to.

16 down, 1200 to go

Ian is 16 months old today. I am torn about referring to his age this way. I know that in some ways it is important at this developmental stage to still use the “months” unit of time. A 16 month old is more advanced than a child who has just turned a year old, but not quite at the stage of an 18 month old, or “one and a half year old”. However, there are times when I feel like Ian should just be referred to as “a very small, non-walking, teenager.”

He still has very definite ideas of what passes for edible. Like many teenagers his diet consists mostly of processed snacks and protein. Specifically, he likes “vegetable crunchers”, which are cheese curl looking snacks with very little vegetable content at all, and chicken nuggets. He will occasionally tolerate tri-color rotini or fish sticks. On rare occasions he will swallow small bits of apples or peaches. Forget getting any sort of vegetable, cooked or raw, down his throat. Since we are still banned from all milk or peanut based products, I can’t try any of the usual toddler staples of cheese, yogurt, bread and butter, peanut butter crackers, etc.

Emotionally he is very much a teenager. He’s full of giggles and smiles one minute and the next he’s flying into violent, self-injuring, rages. His favorite tactic is to start whimpering, push his lower lip out, then fling himself face first on the floor and sob piteously. If he is particularly pissed he’ll scream and smack his forehead on the hardwood floor while kicking his feet. It would be funny if it wasn’t so damn annoying, and constant. He pitched just such a tantrum today because I refused to let him play with the electrical cords on my computer. The horror! SO unfair!

Ian still doesn’t walk. He will take a few steps if you hold his fingers, but then he gets tired or bored and tries to sit down. He can stand on his own without pulling himself up on furniture, but, contrary little bugger that he is, he only does this while standing on the middle of the table while trying to reach the chandelier. Ethan didn’t walk until he was 14 months, and Ian definitely has the leg strength and coordination to climb and walk, so I’m trying not to fret too much over his lack of upright mobility. It is getting to be a pain when I take him to the playground, though.

Verbally, Ian now very clearly says “Mamma, Da-da, dog (sounds like dawg because he is a Virginian!), and Buba. I know some people have worries over our letting Ian call Ethan “Buba”. Frankly, I don’t care. He called Mark “de-da” for 3 months. He’ll outgrow this. It is less certain, however, that I’ll outgrow calling Ian a “sniggett”. That silly made up word, conjured from sleep-deprived frustration, has permanently attached itself to my tongue. Mark points out that “sniggett” is much more palatable than his toddler nickname of “Damn-it Mark”.

Happy 16 months Sniggett. Please stop chewing on the router cables now.

The First Day of Pre-School

Today Ethan started at Prince of Peace Lutheran School. This pre-school and kindergarten program came highly recommended by all the neighborhood moms, and we can already see why. We have been warmly welcomed to the program, all of our questions and concerns have been answered promptly and completely, and, most importantly, Ethan loves it! He met his teacher during a brief open house on Tuesday. Since then he has begged, almost hourly, to go back .

Today he woke me up early, begging to have lunch right away so he could go to school. He bounced around the house like a jumping jack while I was trying to get him dressed. He stomped up and down the hall to show off the lights on his new shoes. (They'll never lose the child during a power outage, trust me)

At the door of the school Ethan waited impatiently, and somewhat worried that they weren't ever going to let him in, for the doors to open. When they let us into the classroom he immediately grabbed his teacher's hand and went to find his name tag. He barely paused to hug me goodbye.

When I picked him up he was tired, sweaty, and quiet. When I asked him what he did today he shrugged and said "Stuff". Ah, and so it begins!

After some juice and a cookie he opened up. He told me about playing with the water-table, doing "very hard puzzles" and how the little girl next to him at snack time didn't know the words to Jesus Loves Me. "She didn't eat her food either. I think she's shy. I think she's shy of me, because I'm a big boy now."

Yes, so big I have to stop and hug him every five minutes to keep him from growing up too fast.

Pictures available here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/redamy/1337517835/

Morning Snuggles

Don't they look cozy?

A Compliment from God

I decided to wear a sundress to the grocery store today. Don’t ask me why, because I don’t know the answer. I just decided to put in on.

While I was strapping Ethan into his car seat he said, very politely, “That is a pretty dress Mommy.” Then he hugged me. “You look very beautiful today.”

Well… heck.

“Thank you, honey. Did Daddy teach you to say such nice things?”

“No, God taught me how. When I went to see him.”

“You went to see God, honey?”

“Oh, yes. I needed to be dead. But I came back so I could play with my toys.”

Thank you, God, for returning him. As much as he sometimes irritates me, I surely would miss the conversations we have.

All Figured Out

In college, right before Christmas, I stepped into an elevator filled with history and philosophy professors. Most of them knew me, because I was that annoying girl in class who interjected with actual debate of their theories. Professors hate that. Anyway, one professor noticed my earrings that were fashioned from Christmas tree light bulbs. He asked. “Do those light up?”

I grinned and replied “Only in moments of spiritual epiphany”.

There was a moment of stunned silence and then five middle aged men burst into raucous laughter.

I should be wearing those earrings today, because, EUREKA; a light has shown on my bleak understanding of the world that is my boys’ psyche. Their short attention spans and complete inability to complete a task or survive more than five seconds without human interaction is inherited.

Relatives reading this may stop chortling right.. about.. NOW.

You Tube is the devil. I’ve had MSWord open most of the morning. Know what I’ve written so far? THIS BLOG ENTRY. That’s it. Now while this might be an amusing diversion or an instrument of your own procrastination, it is not incisive political commentary, amusing children’s fiction, or in the least bit profitable.

I’m going to let Ian chew through the ethernet cables. Maybe without the internet I can get something done. Wait, sounds like Backyardigans is coming on….

Auf Weidersehen

Mark is in Germany for a whole week. He left last night and arrived in Leipzig, Germany sometime this morning (though it is mid afternoon there, now). He will be working until Saturday, then he and a co-worker are traveling to Bacharach, Germany for a little sight seeing on the Rhein river.

The boys and I will try to muddle through as best we can. At the moment Ian is screaming at the top of his lungs because Ethan took his little people toys away. Ian has a temper, though I have no from whom he inherited such a foul state of being. He’s gone so far as to throw himself prone on the floor and bang his head against the hardwood. Apparently there are no pain sensors inside that thick head of his.

Ethan is very sad that his Daddy is not home. It’s going to be a long week, if only because Daddy coming home every night meant some other person Ethan could annoy with incessant questions. Also, Daddy plays “Tomb Raider” with him every night and I’ve already been informed that girls can’t play “Tomb Raider”.

The one and only benefit of Mark being gone- lasagna. I can make yummy gooey cheesy lasagna and not have to worry about Mark wrinkling his nose or making gagging noises. I might even let Ethan try some. Ian can’t have any, he’s “lergic”.

Our Morning

First we woke up, got dressed and took my car to the mechanic (which, sadly, Ethan now says very precisely). Then we drove home in Daddy’s car and waved bye-bye when he went to work. Well, Ethan and I waved, Ian mostly looked confused.

Then we had blueberry waffles and Apple Jacks while watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.

Bellies full of carbs, we retreated to our clubhouse a.k.a Ethan’s room. While Ian methodically removed, examined, and replaced all of the kitchen items from their toy-kitchen cubbyholes, Ethan and I lounged on his bed and chatted. Bored with discussions of school, birthday parties, and doctor’s visits, he decided it was time to fish.

First he caught a shark, but decided not to eat it because it was a nice shark. Then he caught a really tiny fish. I told him really tiny fish were called minnows. He said that was a nice name and invited the minnow to live with him in the bed. Then he asked if he could catch a squid. I told him I thought we could, but what would we do with it? When I told him that Daddy ate squid, called calamari, Ethan gave me that look that seems to say “Lay off the crack, Mamma.”

He ended up not catching the squid because he dropped his fishing pole (which, by the way, was a toy necklace with the clasp undone) in the squid infested waters. But not to worry, he had a submarine handy. Alas, the fishing pole never did get rescued because Ethan was distracted by Ian trying to gnaw off black Batman’s head.

And that’s how we spent our morning.

Awesome 33

Yes Mark turned 33 years young, yesterday. Yes I made another chocolate and peanut butter cake. This one was better because I used a recipe and I left out the coconut. However, I've already told him that next year he'll have to settle for something else; my stomach can't handle any more chocolate and peanut butter creations.


Ethan was very concerned that Daddy didn't have friends come to his birthday party. Personally I think Daddy was sitting next to his best friend.



The cake had too many milk and peanut products in it to risk giving Ian any. So, he had a cookie. A chocolate cookie, as you may note.

After our "party" the boys went to bed under neighbor Amy's supervision while Mark and I went to dinner at Coastal Flats and to see "Live Free or Die Hard". Earlier in the day, he got breakfast in bed and received raise from his boss.

Mark declared it an awesome birthday.

Coming to a Mailbox Near You

Friends and family reading this website will soon be receiving a fundraising letter from me. No, it is not a political fundraiser. This cause is one that is even closer to my heart than politics. That is because the disease I’m raising funds to combat threatens the heart, health, and happiness of someone I love more than myself- Mark.

Diabetes affects more than 20 million people in the United States. Half of those affected don’t even realize they have the disease. Type 1 and Type 2 diabetes are both prevalent in Mark’s family. Mark was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes in the spring of 1996. He has been taking insulin since the fall of that year. My family also has a genetic tendency to develop Type 2 diabetes. Both forms of diabetes are inheritable, making the boys that much more likely to develop one type or the other of this disease. Ethan already knows that his Daddy has to take shots everyday. I long for the day when watching Daddy inject himself with life-saving medicine or prick his finger to test his blood sugar is no longer something our little boys find routine.

So, you can see why this cause is important to me. Please visit the American Diabetes Association’s website to learn more about diabetes and the fight for a cure. If I didn’t mail you a fundraising envelope, or if you would just like to donate on-line and skip the mailing process, please visit: Donations and make a donation today.

Thank you, from both our hearts.

Not Even Any Butterbeer

I’m still out of bourbon. This is sad. Mark weaseled out of stopping by the liquor store on Friday. (In case you’re feeling nasty and thinking “Are her legs broken? Does her car not work?”: just stop and think about Ethan the tornado and Ian the shrieking monkey-boy in a store filled with expensive glass bottles. Enough said.)

BUT Mark did have time in his busy weekend schedule to go out this morning and pick up a copy of Harry Potter book 7.

Let me be clear: I do not in any way resent his longing to read the book first. I understand his primal urge to enjoy those last few unexplored pages of young Harry’s life without me losing his bookmark or giving away some plot point by laughing out-loud at 2am.

What I do resent is being so sublimely bored and not having any blasted bourbon. I don’t even need that much! Just a wee drop would probably be enough, given my low alcohol tolerance and the past 20 months of sobriety.

Alas, it’s Diet Coke and the NY Times article on Ron Paul for my night’s entertainment. See why I need the bourbon?

Entertainment

1. The last movie I saw at the theatre: Harry Potter 5. I went alone, which sucked, but I loved the movie and would love to go back and see it again.

2. Book I’m reading: During my surgery and hospitalization I finished the entire “Dresden Files” series by Jim Butcher. Definitely check them out. They are like a sarcastic, adult, Harry Potter.

3. Listening to (on the computer): Nickelback is a current obsession, though I also spend a great deal of time listening to The Backyardigans.

4. Watching on TV: Happy to have “Dr. Who” back, though I miss Rose. We finished watching “The Tudors” on Showtime and wow did that ever SUCK. Don’t get me started.

5. Playing on the computer: beta testing WAR, whooping the butts of the French in Medieval II: Total War, and getting shot, a lot, in Battlefield II.

Avert Your Eyes!

Mingle² - Online Dating

This rating was determined based on the presence of the following words:

pain (26x) slap (3x) hell (2x) bastard (1x)

Oh sure, discussing feminine reproductive disorders, childbirth, and steriod shots in the butt, is just fine but say bastard just one... er.. twice, now. Oh hell.

These "words" you speak of...

I’ve gotten a few emails since my last post (which, was, like, YESTERDAY. All these posts in a row! Neurosis is good for my focus, huh?) saying how funny I am about the chicken obsession and how cute Ian is and thrown in at the end, “What are his new words?”

Yeah like tacking it there on the end as an after thought isn’t guaranteed to send me into a fit of overly analytical anxiety. Gee, thanks.

Um, new words. Hmm. Well let’s see he just started saying….

Whatever, the kid is 14 months old. When he wants to express his displeasure at being told “no”, he kits his eyebrows together and emits a sound that is a cross between a barbaric yalp and a bull’s snort. When he wants food he screams at a pitch close in frequency to that of Amazonian bats that feed solely on insects. When his Daddy comes home he, Ian, squeals like a pig and crawls as fast as he can (slap slap slap on the hardwood floors) babbling “Da Da Da Da de-Da” all the way. And if he’s really tired and upset and has cried himself into pure emotional exhaustion, his little body will shudder and he will moan a plaintive “mama”.

Besides, have you been around Ethan lately? There’s no way Ian is going to learn to talk until Ethan goes off to college. There’s not enough silence, much less oxygen, in the house for Ian to get a word in edgewise.

So, no new words. Very few words at all. And we’re fine with it, because I have a feeling his first sentence will be something like “I want more chicken, mother”.

14 Months

We temporarily interrupt “Mommy’s Nervous Break-down” to bring you this update on the Sniggett.

Ian is 14 months old now. For once it isn’t hard for me to fully comprehend that he is already 14 months old. Why? Because, he is SUCH a toddler these days.

After getting four teeth in the three weeks surrounding Christmas, Ian hasn’t cut another tooth. Until, that is, he started working on his upper molars, both at the same time, while I am recovering from abdominal surgery. His sense of timing is as perfect as it is profane. The upper right molar has two of the four “points” through the gum. The upper left molar has one point through. The store was out of baby orajel and I’m all out of bourbon. We’ll suffer together.

Since big brother Ethan took until 14 months to walk, I haven’t been at all freaked out by Ian’s lack of interest in upright mobility. He isn’t even interested in holding your hands and toddling around in that back-breaking, arm-stretching exercise we parents somehow consider stimulating and motivational. Like we’re training wheels for legs or something….

Anyway, Ian climbs everything, and I do mean EVERYTHING, in sight. That is another reason why I’m not fretting over his lack of walking. His legs are obviously strong and functional, he just chooses not to use them for walking. Instead he uses them to scramble onto the kid’s couch, the rocking chair, the stairs, the outside curve of the stairs (because I needed another anxiety attack, thanks, son) the windowsill, the dining room table, and.. well, there’s not enough bandwidth to list the things he climbs on. Ian’s industrious too. He uses tools. He can’t open doors ( Thank you, Lord) but he can flip the laundry basket over, push it in front of the couch, climb onto the laundry basket and from there onto the couch.

When he’s not climbing, or gnawing his hand off while screaming in tooth-induced agony, Ian is eating. A lot. A lot of meat, that is. He’ll eat an entire hot dog, cut up into miniscule pieces and with all the casing removed so no choking worries. Mostly though, he’s the Chicken King. He eats chicken nuggets, fried chicken, roasted chicken, boiled chicken, chicken with noodles, chicken with potatoes, chicken fried chicken, chicken with a side of chicken, chicken with sauce a la Mamma- is- so- f-ing- tired- of- making- chicken… He won’t eat green beans or peas. He’ll deign to eat a few bits of apple or pear if you mix them in with the chicken carcasses, but that’s only because they are roughly the same color as the chicken. If chicken is unavailable then a nice, soft, starchy, totally unhealthy piece of bread or biscuit will suffice until more chicken can be procured.

I know it’s a phase and he’ll grow out of it. I just hope he does before I have to start raising my own chickens.

During the past month Ian has weaned and spent several nights without me- all necessitated by my hospitalization. I wouldn’t recommend the forced separation mode of weaning, but he seems to be just fine with the lack of nursing. Typical. He’s also going to bed very easily and 9 out of 10 nights he sleeps through the night. It’s like his Nanna and Granny flipped his “I will now sleep like a normal human being switch”. He does exhibit some definite stranger anxiety, but once he warms up to you he’s all cuddles and smiles and loving slaps upside the head. He likes to try to rub noses, but his control of his great big melon head is still a hit or miss thing so, he usually ends up just head butting the person he was trying to show affection to.

Love, true love, is a concussion given with a giggle and a drooly kiss. Thanks for giving me a reason to smile, Sniggett. Mamma loves you.

Yeah, it's like that.

Caveat: There's a bunch of "girl stuff" mentioned here. If you happen to be a male relative or close friend I have to look in the eye anytime soon, please stop reading. This is my therapy. I don't care if anyone reads it. If you don't want to read, that's cool. I don't think I'd have much patience for me, if I felt like Me instead of this ghost of me.

Pain isn't quantifiable; I don't care what anyone tells you. Your mind remembers the fear, and the results, and how you felt, but it can't accurately compare one pain to another. At least, my mind can't. Maybe it's a coping mechanism.

But, yeah, endometriosis pain feels something like this.

Pain like what they describe I've had on and off throughout my life. My endo pain has always been worse with ovulation. My periods never seemed severe or particularly "hard" compared to friends or roommates. The pain I had a week and a half ago.. that was the worst, because it didn't stop after 24 hours, or even after 48. It fed on my stress and fear like some hungry monster literally chewing its way out of my stomach. It made me scream during the ambulance ride. It made me gasp for breath and cry out in the middle of the night. It made the full-body itching and crippling nausea of narcotics, (which I'm most definitely, no doubts at all, allergic to) seem like bliss.

Last night the aching cramping pain was back like I had only been 24 hours out of surgery instead of over a week. It wasn't the red-hot, knifing, searing, pain of the week pre-surgery, but I needed two percocet and 3 hours of tossing and turning to fall asleep. Hope it's just menstrual cramps with a side of post-op pain and not a new development of the "this is your life, deal with it" routine.

Today I "yelled" at a friend on the internet and cried over something worthless. Then I made myself get dressed and I made myself do laundry.

Not hungry. Ate a twizzler for breakfast. Ethan pronounces it like "tweeze-ler".

Fossilized Fear

Petrified- that's what I am right now. Immobile with fear that the pain will return, that the hormone therapy won't help, that the suggestion of having a complete hysterectomy by age 35 is the only option. So scared that I cry when no one's looking and take out my anger on my family.

Emotional scars seem to take a lot longer to heal than the physical ones.

And yeah this is my "waa look at me I have feelings" post. Deal.

The Pain, the Idiocy, the Resolution

On Saturday the 23rd I started having severe, knifing, pain in my right side. It was to the right and slightly above my belly button. It didn't feel like any ovarian pain or any other pain I'd ever had. And the pain didn't go away no matter what I tried.

That night Mark took me to the ER. The ER doctor tested my gallbladder and did a CAT scan to rule out appendicitis and kidney stones. He also gave me lots of drugs to help with the pain. He couldn't figure out what was going wrong so they transferred me, by ambulance, to the big hospital in town.

By then it was Sunday morning. I was in the hospital until about 2pm that day. The doctors at the big hospital basically forgot about me. Finally a condescending bastard came in, said "Women sometimes have pain in the middle of their cycles. Or, you could have a UTI". He ignored my rather furious protests that I knew this was not a UTI and sent me home with darvocet and antibiotics for a UTI.

Monday the pain was horrible. The darvocet helped by putting me to sleep. I should mention that Mark's Mom and sister were in town on Saturday and Sunday but had to leave Monday. Taking care of the boys on Monday, while in pain, was hell on Earth.

Tuesday I had an appointment with my OB/Gyn. I didn't think it was a gynecological problem, but I knew my OB would at least listen to me. She checked me over, declared herself stumped and sent me to a family practice doctor. She did tell me that all the tests from the hospital and her own lab tests indicated I did not have a UTI.

This was 5pm Tuesday. The family practice doctor takes one look at the CAT scan from Saturday night and snorts. "This doesn't even SHOW your lower intestines or your appendix. I can't tell anything from this." She sent me back to the ER ( a different one, this one at the hospital were I delivered Ian. yeah, 3 hospitals in a week- WEE) for another CAT scan and a full pelvic ultrasound.

Within 5 minutes of the CAT scan being done the ER doc strolls in says "You have a very enlarged appendix. You don't have classic appendicitis but I'd say your appendix needs to come out, and soon. I'm admitting you and the surgeon will schedule surgery tomorrow morning."

I was the happiest woman ever to be told she had appendicitis, because at least I had answers. Also, appendicitis, while scary sounding, at least had a very immediate and effective "fix". I wasn't looking forward to surgery, but an end to days of killer pain made surgery worth it.

Except the surgeon, on Wednesday morning, showed up and said "You don't have appendicitis. Your appendix looks fine. I don't know whats wrong." He left me lying there crying, being pumped full of pain meds ( which made me itch like mad) and said he would consult with my OB.

She showed up that night and said "Look, no one knows what's going on. You ultrasound showed no cysts and no ovarian or uterine abnormalities. But the only way to tell at this point is to go in there and look around."

Oh- and by this point I hadn't had ANYTHING to eat since Monday and nothing to drink since Tuesday morning. IV fluids just aren't the same as a steak, ya know?

So Thursday at mid-day I had exploratory laproscopic surgery. During which the surgeon found that I had just "a small nub" of my appendix left, a ruptured ovarian cyst that was still bleeding into my abdominal cavity, and severe endometriosis. He cleaned up what he could, took pictures for the OB and removed what was left of my appendix.

They hopped me up on tons of pain meds Thursday night and Friday morning, but I left the hospital Friday mid-day. I'm home with three small incisions: one under my belly button, one about halfway down my stomach and one right at my pubic bone. I don't know how women who have a c-section survive this kind of trauma to their stomachs AND care for a new baby.

The percocet makes me itch horribly and makes me slightly nauseated. So, no appetite.
But, the knifing pain is gone. The pain I have now is manageable and is similar to post childbirth aches and pains. I'm crampy, sore, feel like I've been beaten up, but healing. I have lots of questions for my doctors when next we meet, not the least of which is "how did you not notice on the CAT scan that I barely had an appendix left?"

And that's the abridged ( yeah, scary thought) version of my past week.

Back to Our Regularly Scheduled Life

I'm home from the hospital now, complete with new scars and, finally, some answers. Turns out my appendix was mostly removed in 2001. It would have been nice if the doctors who did the surgery back then had told me that, rather important, fact.

The searing, knifing, pain that had me in the ER twice in the past week was from endometriosis adhering my organs together. Apparently, that's bad. There was also, probably, a ruptured ovarian cyst somewhere in the mess that was my abdomen.

The main point of this post is: I'm home. I feel better. I feel better even before I take the percocet. I have answers and a plan of how to avoid this situation in the future. And I DEFINITELY don't have an appendix now.

Thank you to everyone for the get well wishes, prayers, and help with the kids. Mark and I greatly appreciate all of the support we've received from near and far.

Don't Even Blog About Curses

In continuation of the Law of Shut the Hell Up: I slipped on a wet spot on the floor in the kitchen. I tried to catch myself before I fell all the way to the floor, but I only had one hand free as I was holding Ian on the opposite hip.

SMASH

One less window pane on our back door. Sigh.

Thankfully my hand didn't go all the way through and get cut but, still... argh.

The Law of STHU

There is a Law of the Universe that most of you abide throughout your lives without even realizing you are doing so. Take it from me, a convicted LAW BREAKER in the Universal Court of Bad Karma, laws are for your own good. Some people call this law the "Law of Leave Well Enough Alone". That's a bit wordy. I prefer to think of it as the Law of SHUT THE HELL UP.

You know that urge you get when things are going badly, that urge to say "Well what else could possibly go wrong"? Think about how many times you've saidthat quietly to yourself and then knocked on wood, crossed yourself, sacrificed a live chicken, or bought a nice set of candlesticks. That's the Law of Shut The Hell Up, in practice. You don't dare tempt fate by actually SAYING "Oh how much worse could it get?" out loud. That would be just.. stupid.

Here's my stupid sign.

Last Thursday I took the boys to the pool. When I returned my computer displayed the fearsome "blue screen of death". Some of you may not know of what I speak. Be happy in your little bubbles of technologically blissful ignorance. For the rest of you: yeah it was that bad. The computer wouldn't do anything. No safe mode, no "Last Known Good Configuration", no nothing. Several fruitless troubleshooting techniques and wasted hours later, I broke down in tears. The computer, it was dead, Jim. And, also, I hadn't backed up my data in about 5 millennium.

Then on Friday the gentleman came to install our new storm doors - the very expensive but very pretty storm doors that had to be installed before the contractors came to paint the house. The door that he installed looks horrible, barely closes and doesn't fit in the door frame. I say door, singular, because I kind of flipped out on the guy and refused to let him finish the job. Then I flipped out on Home Depot, my husband, and a squirrel who wandered into my field of view.

This is where people with common sense enforce the Law of Shut The Hell Up.

On Saturday, in a fit of restlessness ( no computer, no one working on the house for me to scream at) I decided to cut the phone wire that runs across our bedroom from the Cretaceous Era security system to the phone jack. We don't use the security system, never have, and why do we need that ugly wire running along our beautiful new walls?

I'll skip the cussing, tears, laughter and recriminations and get to the end result: cutting that one damn wire cut the phone service to the whole damn house.

SHUT THE HELL UP being enforced by God through the elimination of the Internet ( no computer) and the phones in one 3 day period.

One new hard-drive, a big fat apology and discount on our doors from Home Depot, and a 15 minute visit from the phone technician, later, I'm typing this message while watching Ian climb into the windowsill.

Because, you know, how could he possible get hurt doing.... oh hell.

How to Survive “Crying it Out”

Step One: Declare that it is pure spite that makes the Sniggett scream, fight, kick, yell and generally work himself into a lather, for an hour before bed.

Step Two: Overcome latent guilt issues by assuring your self that you’ll only let him cry as long as the husband says its ok.

Step Three: Kiss Sniggett good night, turn on his music, snuggle him under the blanket, walk out

Step Four: Turn on MP3’s to highest volume possible while wearing headphones. This is to avoid caving into maternal guilt explosion and to block out the screams of rage/terror/”I’m going to bash my head in if you don’t come pick me up”. Nickelback’s “Savin’ Me” seems appropriate.

Step Five: Listen to “The Last Word” and realize the baby has effectively screamed for 45 minutes.

Step Six: Give in. Spineless whelp.

This child will be nursing and being rocked to sleep when he’s in kindergarten.

The Dining Room

This was the dining room when we moved in. Lovely color scheme, yes? So lovely it apparently made Mark experience photographic vertigo...

This is the dining room right before the contractor starts knocking out the mold encrusted walls hidden behind that horrid, evil, wallpaper. (Yes that's packing tape and birthday streamers holding the wallpaper up. If you saw what was underneath it you'd tack it back up with stick pins if necessary.)




And this is the finished product. The chandelier and carpet will be gone by the end of summer and then we might actually feel up to inviting folks over for dinner.

The Most Patriotic Dining Room in America

Just in time for Memorial Day: our “remodeled” living room:

Yeah that’s not quite the color combination I had in mind. We’ll see if another coat of red paint at the bottom helps matters. (The trim has to be re-painted as well.)

Oh, and for those blissfully unaware, that carpet under all the plastic sheeting?

BLUE.

Because… yeah. Obviously the person who decorated before me was just as insane. Evidence: the chandelier from hell.

To end on a positive note, though, NO MOLD here, thanks much. That’s a BRAND NEW wall I painted while channeling Betsy Ross.

Type A stands for Type Amy

This one time, back when I consumed alcohol on a regular basis, I thought it would be SO cool to have a house with no mold on the inside OR the outside.

And then I fracking woke up from that dream and realized that the contractor is coming this Saturday. As in: one and one half days from now, Saturday.

We'll be living without a master bedroom, master bath, dining room, or back door. Mark and I will be sleeping in Ian's room, WITH IAN- the non-sleeping baby. There will be dust, and chaos, and most definitely no naps.

The nice man will be tearing out (count them) 4 entire walls of 3 separate rooms and a ceiling in a fourth room.

If we’re lucky he might put new stuff back up on the walls.

If a benevolent God truly exists (and, I’m sorry Mom, Dad, former Sunday school teachers and the godparents of my children, but right now I’m fairly sure God is laughing manically and waggling his fingers to make more things leak in this house. Because he’s THAT BORED.) our hard-won contractor won’t find anything else rotting/molding/leaking/dying once he starts working.

In the meantime, I’m going to be coping by going completely bat-sh!t insane. Please go away during this brief interlude. Do not take my phone calls or pretend that you know me when you see me on the playground, at the store, or sleeping on the curb outside your house.

If, however, you love my husband and my children, you might want to take Mark's phone calls. Because, God (you fickle being) love him, he has to live with me through this.

Ian's 1 year appointment

Ian weighs 21lbs (25%) is 30.5inches long (75%) and has a 48cm head (90%). So yes, he’s all hollow legs and head…

He’s been diagnosed as lactose intolerant so we have to avoid all dairy products for at least 6 months. In 6 months we can try giving him some milk and see if he has a bad reaction, again. Because of this allergy and my food allergies we also have to avoid giving him peanuts until he’s 3 years old.

I was under the impression that milk, cheese, yogurt, and peanut butter were the four major food groups for toddlers. I’m at a loss on food suggestions!

He had three vaccinations and, except for the still-clogged tear duct, got a “perfect” bill of health.

Looking Back on Ian's First Year

Ian Kenneth was born four weeks early on May 11, 2007. He weighed 7 pounds 8 ounces and was 19 inches long. He didn’t handle birth very well and, so, spent six hours in the neo-natal intensive care unit. Thankfully the Lord was watching over him and Ian was discharged from the hospital with nothing more serious than a mild case of jaundice.

This is the only picture we have of him in the NICU.

At six weeks of age Ian was diagnosed with reflux, which his big brother also had as an infant. He has been on Zantac ever since. He has, however, never had a problem gaining weight. When the Lord made Ian he accidentally added two “hungry” centers of the brain and left out the “sleep” center.

Ian had some physical developmental delays. I say “had” because in March he suddenly decided he was done with just rolling around. He now cruises around from couch to table to toys to windowsills and back again. He climbs the stairs as often as I turn my back and has even climbed up on the couch. I fully expect him to one day get bored with crawling, stand up in the middle of the floor and run after Ethan.

His only words right now are “da-da” and “og” (for the dog), but he expresses his moods very well in screams, screeches, grunts and yells. I sometimes wonder if I brought a baby home from the hospital or Ethan rescued a howler monkey during one of his imaginary jaunts with Diego and baby jag-water.

Ian already worships Ethan and finds his big brother to be the funniest creature on Earth. For his part Ethan is very protective of Ian and loves to play with him. He loves to go with me to get Ian after naptime and say “Well hello there. Did you have a good nap? Want to play ball now?”

We’ve all been blessed to have Ian in our lives. Despite the sleep deprivation, the multiple changes of clothes from the puking, the digestive worries, the concerns over his development and the usual baby trials, I wouldn’t trade my precious little boy for all the money in the world.

I might consider loaning him out to his grandparents for a month or so, though. You know, now that he’s one year old and such a big boy.

Just teasing, sniggett. Mamma loves you.

Reasons Why I Haven’t Posted

• Brain= FRIED. Seriously, there are days when the most profound statement coming out of my mouth is “Dude”.
• The rock that flew through the window on Monday.
• The mold growing on the outside of the house.
• The mold growing on the inside of the house.
• Too busy looking at the ceilings wondering if that spot up there indicates yet more water damage, or, some random spider that I smooshed three years ago but didn’t clean up.
• Ethan
• Ian
• Puke
• The driving necessity to eat, occasionally
• The big arse wasp, that is still giving me the willies, I had to kill in the house last night. What if there are more? What if they live inside the office- where the computer is?
• Ian keeps unplugging the wires for the router- before he chews on them. Damn mynock
• Sunshine. Outside is GOOD
• Went to return plate to Amy’s house and she invited me in for a glass of wine. Hour and a half later the husband calls wanting to know if I somehow got mugged in the three feet between our front door and Amy’s front door. I giggled hysterically. After one glass of wine. Sad
• Destroying Medieval European civilizations in Medievall II: Total War is more fun than trying to be witty/informative/mildly amusing on the blog
• Trying desperately to avoid the idea that a certain someone will be having a birthday in eight more days. EIGHT DAYS. CANNOT COMPUTE. Brain shutting down……………………………

You Smell... Good!

Being the mother of boys means:

When you smell your baby’s head and it smells sweetly of oranges and lavender, you don’t think “Mmm, you smell good.”

No, you immediately yell at his older brother and ask him how much hand lotion he rubbed into his brother’s hair!

Darwin Refuted

Yesterday was Katya’s tenth birthday. For those of you who have known Katya since she was a puppy, you know what a momentous occasion this is. The sock-eating, pillow- humping, cell phone-chewing, dog has lived to be ten years old. She hasn’t committed suicide by knife (long story about Mark, a grill, a steak knife and Katya), electrical shock, or car.

Katya’s antecedents aren’t just questionable- they are completely unknown. Because of that we have no idea how long she’s “supposed” to live or what possible health concerns could arise. But for all her personality quirks and odd genetic make-up, she’s the healthiest dog I’ve ever owned. She’s never had a serious medical problem. She didn’t contract Lyme disease when Quigley did. She doesn’t have hip or shoulder issues (though she is a bit stiff on very cold mornings), ear infections, mouth infections, glaucoma or any other serious problem. She’s just… crazy.

She has slowed down, a bit. Her level of crazy is approaching normal rambunctious puppy, now, instead of rabid ferret crossed with velociraptor.

Katya continues to be a veritable Eeyore with the boys. Ian tries to pull himself to a standing position using her ears. She just stands there, her big brown eyes gazing at me mournfully. I can almost hear her asking: “WHY did you have another one of these?” When Ethan tortures her beyond her limits (typically by chasing her with his toy lawn mower) she runs to me and whimpers. “Please let me inside before I have to show you why wild animals eat their young” is what I think she’s saying then.

To celebrate her tenth birthday I gave Katya a hair cut. When, IF, it ever decides to be Spring around here she’ll get a good close shave, but the trim needed to happen now. It’s funny how scrawny her legs look when not encased in 6 feet of tangles and curls.


In a moment of karma, Katya, as a puppy, chewed on the scissors that I used to trim her. The mangled plastic of the handle tore up my thumb and left an open, painful sore. That will teach me, eh?

While I was taking a picture of the hair pile, Katya helped herself to Ian’s Cheerios.

11 months

ian first easter (2)
Originally uploaded by redamy.

First, an apology to my darling son for completely skipping the 10 month update. Sorry, Ian, Mommy got distracted- by you!

Ian is 11 months old now. 11 months is a scary number. It reminds you that your little boy is about to turn one year old and that there are only a few blissful days of babyhood left.

At 11 months Ian can sit up unsupported, crawl on hands and knees, use the pincer grasp to pick up rice krispies (and everything else he finds to eat, including ladybugs - EEW), pull to a standing position, babble Da-Da and “og-og”, and drive his brother crazy.

Ian still doesn’t sleep through the night (or for more than 5 hours at a stretch, usually more like 3 or 4), wave bye-bye, say Ma-ma (traitor), or understand why he can’t gnaw on electrical cords.

This past month we’ve been to the zoo (he was supremely unimpressed), gone for a few long walks back when it was warm, played in the yard, and sustained any number of bonks to the head. It’s a good thing the gi-normous melon is so solid, because wow does the boy ever have a knack for getting walloped in the skull.

This past month was also Ian’s first Easter. He liked playing with the plastic eggs and the basket, but seemed uninterested in the stuffed animals.

He’s still on Zantac for his reflux. The reflux seemed to be all but gone last month but has come back with a vengeance, now. His tear duct in his left eye is still blocked. I keep putting off calling the eye surgeon, hoping that if I ignore the problem it will clear up on its own. I call it the “Scarlett O’Hara school of medicine”

That’s all for now, I have to keep him from pulling the DVD player down on his head. Did I mention that he’s abnormally prone to bonks on the head?

PS: click on the photo to see more Easter pictures.

Hell, I Never Even Heard of Something Like That

Turkey Creek Jack Johnson tagged me. Obviously I’ve angered her in some way more than the usual.

So, six “weird” things about myself. (Yes, it was hard to narrow the list to six. Now stop chortling, ingrates.)

1.The first time I met Todd, who was to be the best man at our wedding, he dragged me into a bathroom, locked the door and said “So you’re Amy. Tell me about yourself and why I should let you seduce my best friend.”

2.My high school graduating class consisted of 565 people but I’m only in touch with one. I haven’t seen her since my junior year in college, but we chat over email (and tag each other on our blogs).

3.I once dyed my hair fuchsia. Not intentionally, mind you, I was trying for auburn. That was the same night I went on my first official “date” with Mark. It was his birthday and we went to Columbia’s steakhouse.

4.I’ve broken every single toe on both feet, most of them multiple times.

5.By the time I was married, I’d had more concussions than boyfriends.

6.My freshman year in college I took a class called “Early Medieval History”. I was one of 5 girls in the class and the only non-athlete. That’s how I got to know the entire UK basketball starting line up and most of the football team. I also got a perfect 100% course grade.

(The title of this post is a quote from the movie Tombstone, from which Turkey Creek and I derive our nicknames.)

Oops: tagging other people. Who's a Huckleberry? Let's ask Holly, Shannon, Amber, Cheryl, and Alison.

Serial Contrarian

At Ian’s 9 month check-up I was overjoyed to report to the pediatrician that he had finally learned how to sit while supported with pillows at his back. It was a huge milestone for us. Since he wasn’t crawling or sitting unsupported, much less waving bye-bye or standing, she said he was about 6-8 weeks delayed on gross motor skills. That was February 20th.

On Tuesday March 20th Ian pulled himself to a standing position while trying to steal his brother’s sippy cup. The next day he decided that crawling on hands and knees was an ideal form of transportation. Two weeks previously he had decided that sitting up was easy and yes he could get himself that way and play much easier, thanks.

Yeah. He went from 6-8 weeks delayed to right on schedule in the space of 3 weeks.

Just when I think I have a “handle” on Ian and his wonky version of baby development, he throws another “but” clause into the works. Born early but full-term sized. Rough birth but learned to nurse immediately. Has reflux but gains weight and length at astonishing pace. Won’t sleep through the night but can soothe self to sleep. Couldn’t sit unsupported but mastered pincer grasp. Couldn’t crawl on hands and knees but pulled self to standing position.

Don’t blink, tomorrow he’ll have figured out how to peddle the bicycle that Ethan is still trying to master.

Peas in a Pooh PJ Pod

Ethan in November of 2003 at age 12.5 months

Ian in March of 2007 at age 10.5 months

Thoughts on Tubby

Tubby Smith is a classy guy. I met him in person only once, but he was exceedingly polite and seemed genuinely interested in our conversation. He coached UK through ten years with little hint of scandal and excellent academic records. Those are important in NCAA basketball.

Unfortunately, there are a few things that are just as important for University of Kentucky basketball. Recruiting may well have been Tubby’s downfall. UK went from a roster studded with McDonalds All-Americans to guys who ate at McDonalds. Wrose, they ate at McDonalds in Georgia or New York or somewhere, anywhere, except Kentucky. Kentucky has a rich history of basketball from top to bottom. So why did Tubby consistently pass up Kentucky stars?

But it wasn’t just the lack of recruiting talent that doomed Tubby. Travis Ford, Jimel Martinez, John Pelphrey, Deron Feldhaus, most of the teams that Pitino led in his early years, were not stars before they came to Kentucky. Most weren’t stars after they left Kentucky. While at UK, though, they learned to play up their strengths and work as a unit bent on one thing: winning. Pitino’s condition program was grueling. It had to be to keep up with the full-court style of play that Pitino coached and it had to be because in the early years Kentucky’s bench wasn’t deep.

Tubby’s players are winded after 15 minutes in the first half. He doesn’t have a deep bench either because of recruiting or because players haven’t learned their rolls. If your guys can’t run the floor with the likes of UNC, Flordia, and, God-help-us, Tennessee, then those teams are going to wipe the floor with you.

Good luck in Minnesota, Tubby and thanks for being a classy guy. I was a sports writer at UK during the Roderick Rhodes years and I saw what the crucible of expectations can do to a player. It could only have been worse for a coach.

As an ending, a note for Mitch Barnhardt: Find someone who inspires recruits to come to Lexington and learn about the University I love. Find someone who will teach a team how to run like thoroughbreds. Find someone with a heart of gold and a skin like a rhino. Find us a winner or find a new job.

Eatin’ O’ the Green

Busy times here in the Davis household on St. Patrick’s Day. To start off, I have to say how sorry I was that I had to miss The Gathering of Eagles in downtown DC. It was an event I was committed to attending, but family had to come first this weekend. I hope those patriots know how much of America was with them in spirit.

We woke up to no power and WOW was it ever cold in this house when the power finally came back on at 10:30am. Ian didn’t take a morning nap (he’s been acting extra fussy/sick for several days) so it wasn’t a pleasant morning. After lunch he finally gave up and passed out. I took some “me” time and went out to the grocery.

When I got home Ethan and I made some celebratory cupcakes. Ethan is wearing his chef’s ensemble made by Gramma. He really likes it, but is worried that I’m sad because I don’t have a “cooking hat”. I told him I’d try to soldier on in the face of disappointment.

The cupcakes were green, of course.

Then I made steak pies for dinner. Dinner for Mark and I, that is. Ethan had white rice and chicken - proving yet again that he’s more Filipino than Anglo-Celt. I modified the recipe by removing the mushrooms (eew fungus) and instead of making one large, single-crust pie I made 12 smaller “pasties” using Pillsbury ready-made pie crusts and muffin tins. Served it with roasted potatoes. Very yummy. We watched “The Departed” while we ate. I thought it was a very well done movie. Mark didn’t like the ending.



Click here for more pictures of Ethan the chef and the finished meals.

Time Change in Hell

Whoever came up with the concept of Daylight Savings Time and time changes either never had children, or had children who never had a routine and wanted to inflict that pain on the rest of humanity.

Ian was just starting to get into a regular nap and bedtime routine. Ethan is at that difficult age where he really needs a nap in order for mere humans to be in his company by 5pm, but if he has a nap he’s up until 10pm. Neither boy has adapted well to the time change.

By “not adapted well” I mean that naps and bedtimes, well, actually, every single hour of the past two days, have been unmitigated emotional drama-fests not seen since Shannon Doherty was on the cast of 90210.

Adult Assembly Required

Further evidence that God, in his infinite wisdom, collapsed in hysterics the day I considered getting an aeronautical engineering degree:

Aunt Dianne was kind enough to purchase this bath toy for us.



Ethan loves it and Ian likes to observe it while relaxing in his bath. (He doesn’t deign to play with toys while bathing. Bathing is for relaxing. Plebian childhood pursuits like splashing and such being SO far beneath his Highness Only-Sits-When-He-Chooses.)

The problem is, the dang thing keeps falling off the wall, and it is heavy. I’ve tried rubbing a bit of soap on the suction cups, cleaning the shower wall, wetting the suction cups, drying the suction cups, even considered sacrificing a small clown fish as an offering- to no avail.

Then, this morning, I happened upon a picture of Noah in his bath on Amalah.com and LO! There was LIGHT! IN MY HEAD! And the light said:

“Idiot. The directions said hang the thing on the TUB. T U B.”

States exhibit 1 that I might have cheated on those reading comprehension tests.

Still Here

No we did not drop off the face of the Earth. Yes we all still have all of our appendages- the one’s God gave us, even.

Speaking of appendages and God, though, Ian has shown a recent fascination with stairs. If you know me- which of course you do, because why else would you be reading this mindless drivel – then you are thinking one of two things:

“So, it begins”

or

“HA! Toddlers body-surfing down the stairs so totally rock, DUDE!”

Actually: no. If you are thinking that last bit you don’t know me. You are, in fact, DEAD TO ME. Nine and half month old boys who can’t even crawl should not be kneeling at the bottom of the steps and gazing upwards as if they are looking at the ascent to the promised land. It’s unnatural and terrifying. There is an order to the universe. First you are born. Then you learn to eat. Then you learn to roll, then crawl, then sit up on your own, then pull to a standing position, then walk. THEN you learn to trip over your gnarly gnome toes and fall head first down the steps.

The kid can’t even say Mamma yet; so how’s he going to cry out in terror when he plummets to his doom?

Aside from the stair-induced neurosis, yes we’re fine. Just waiting for it to warm up a bit so I can thrown Ethan out the back door and let him destroy the yard for 5-6 hours a day. We have a small yard and I think a few afternoons of frantic four year old energy in such a confined space will solve the world’s energy problems. Take that, Al Gore.

No accumulation

light snow1
Originally uploaded by redamy.

“Light snow will fall this morning, changing quickly to rain and freezing rain. Little to no accumulation is expected. Driving may be hazardous.”

It’s been snowing steadily since I got up at 9am (mmm blessed sleep- THANKS MARK!) in big, fat, wet, snowflakes. We have a little over an inch on the ground already.

UPDATE at 12:15pm: We now have a little over 3 inches on the ground and it's still snowing hard. The weather service has, helpfully, changed the forecast to "Mixed wintry precipitation. 1-3 inches of snow expected"

Ian 9 months

Ian 9 months
Originally uploaded by redamy.

Ian Kenneth had his 9 month appointment today. He weighs 20lbs (50%) is supposedly 28inches long (50%) and has a 90th percentile head. I say supposedly on the length because that means that he’s only grown ¼ of an inch in 2.5 months while simultaneously growing out of two different clothing sizes. I’ve measured him at 29.5inches which makes a bit more sense. Either way, he’s growing just fine.

His scrapes and bruises from the crib incident are all gone. He has a bit of dry skin, like everyone else in the house and a slight rash from one of his sleepers irritating his skin.

The only disturbing report is that we’ve been referred to an eye surgeon to have his blocked tear duct evaluated. The words “surgery” and “my baby” should not exist in the same sentence.

Developmentally Ian is still about 6-8 weeks behind on gross motor skills. He cannot crawl, sit unsupported, or pull to a standing position. He has, however, mastered the very important “pincer grasp” with his thumb and forefinger. This is an essential life skill because it means you can pick up Cheerios and feed yourself. The way he pokes down food now, though, he had better learn to walk so he can start running off those calories!

Socially his development is right on track for a 9 month old. He babbles da-da and ma-ma and de-da with an occasional ba-ba thrown in for flavor. He’s not really shy around strangers, but he also doesn’t see a lot of strangers for me to judge his reactions effectively.

He doesn’t sleep through the night. Yeah that sucks. Yeah I’ve pretty much accepted it and moved on with my nocturnal life.

Ian’s favorite foods are: all of them except peaches and carrots. He’ll tolerate peaches but he lets you know he’s unhappy about this disgusting fruit choice. He spits carrots as hard as he can the minute they touch his tongue. Truthfully, I’ve given up on the carrots. I was tired of wearing them. He eats about four stage 2 jars of food a day, which is A LOT. I’ve had to become a bit more frugal and start mashing up my own fruits and veggies because the price of a jar of bananas was ridiculous when compared with a bunch of bananas. I did ace economics!

The screaming from the other room tells me that it’s feeding time. Enjoy the picture of nine month Sniggett.

Beset by Y Chromosomes

Ethan Harrison stop throwing that ball in the house!

Ian Kenneth stop chewing on the TV wires!

Ethan Harrison stop KICKING that ball in the house!

Ian why are you fussing NOW?!

Ethan Harrison stop rolling that ball down the steps onto your brother’s head!

Ian Kenneth stop biting me!


To heck with "Calgon take me away", I'll settle for "Maker's Mark take me away"...

Hearts and the ER

yummy valentine
Originally uploaded by redamy.

No holiday is complete without a little excitement and last minute schedule changes.

Valentine’s Day started out ok. Ian was fussy and refusing to nap, but he’s been doing that for the past several days. Ethan was behaving, for once, and didn’t even beg to go out and play in the sleet and snow.

While Ian napped (all of 20 minutes) in the afternoon, Ethan and I made heart cakes. We poured red velvet cake mix into 23 Reynolds Fun Shapes pre-made heart shapes and cooked them. After they were cooled the plan was to top them with white icing and red sprinkles. That was the plan…

As I was pulling the cakes out of the oven, I heard Ian wake up and start fussing. Then I heard a loud crash. I yelled at Ethan, who was upstairs in his room, to cut it out. Then I heard high-pitched screaming from Ian.

When I got upstairs I found Ian wedged underneath and behind his crib. The top part of the front rail had come off but the rail stayed attached because of the bumper pads. This made it sort of like a funnel and apparently he rolled off the crib and into the drawer beneath the crib. After that he somehow got wedged behind the drawer up against the wall. I’m not exaggerating when I say I freaked out.

Ethan ran to get the phone while I pulled the rest of the crib apart to get Ian out. He was screaming, of course, and already had a welt between his eyes. He wasn’t moving his left arm very well and cried when I touched it.

Our neighbor Steve was home and agreed to watch Ethan, until Mark could get home, while I raced Ian to the emergency room. He threw up once at home and again in the car.
By the time a doctor saw us in the ER it had been two hours and Ian had completely calmed down. He was laughing and flirting with the nurses and generally making me look like an insane, over-reacting, mother. The doctor checked him out and proclaimed Ian probably had one heck of a headache, if not a mild concussion, and a few bruises. Otherwise, he’s a-ok.

Once at home Ian soaked up the attention from Mark and a very concerned big brother. “You can’t put Ian in his bed again Mommy. I think he needs to sleep with me. I will keep him safe.”

When the boys were in bed, Mark made me a delicious dinner of sirloin tips in tequila lime cream sauce over fettuccine. We watched “Fly Boys” while eating dinner and then snacked on home-made chocolate covered strawberries.

And the heart cakes? Still sitting un-iced on the baking tray in the pantry. I might get to those sometime today.

My Valentine

A video I made for Mark. Unfortunately, YouTube makes it jumpier and much less polished than the final version I showed Mark. (Yes he's already seen it, because I just couldn't wait. No impulse control, that's me!)

Here's a direct link, because the feed here doesn't seem to work at all. I'm only leaving it up for a short time.

Valentine Video

Son of Gamers

The built-in bookshelves in our office have a bottom shelf directly below the window. It’s a perfect place to keep books for the boys. That shelf is filled with brightly colored children’s books, but the sunny colored titles about Winnie the Pooh or Bob the Builder don’t interest Ian.

No, when Ian rolls his way into the office, he goes for the Prima gaming-guides every time.

That-a-boy, son.

Typical

First Ethan was sick- like FOREVER, dude.

Then Ian decided he’d experiment with this whole “cold thing”. He didn’t like it so much and gave it up for his usual routine of odd behaviors.

Then Mark came down with “the bug” and was sick for a week, which was way too long.

So now it’s 12:55am on a Saturday morning. Ian’s been asleep for five hours STRAIGHT. (Little cuss never did this when Battlestar Galactica was on Friday nights). Ethan’s in bed. Mark’s in bed. Katya is in bed. Hell, even the mold is in bed.

And I’m awake. Shivering. Head hurts. Hungry, but feel like puking so don’t dare eat. Throat’s on fire. Nose is running.

Oh… good.

Let Them Eat Snow

first snowfall
Originally uploaded by redamy.

Ethan’s perpetually runny nose and croupy cough have morphed into a serious case of the “sickies”. He’s running a fever of 101, which we are dosing with Tylenol. He refused to eat anything yesterday, which for Ethan is a sign of the end-times. Almost as disturbing, he came to me at 10:30am yesterday clutching his blanket and said “Mommy I need to go take a nap. Come sing me a song.”

He had two long fever-naps yesterday. During the second nap the snow started falling. When he woke up and trudged downstairs he realized it was snowing. Suddenly the little invalid boy was a bundle of barely contained momentum.

“I want to go sledding! I want to throw snowballs!”

I had to explain to him that sledding wasn’t going to be possible on what was then ½ inch of snow. Then I pointed out that he was going to get awfully cold playing in the snow with no pants on. That slowed him down a bit.

We compromised, finally. He could go outside and throw a few snowballs to Katya, but not until he had eaten lunch, drunk an entire glass of lemonade, and Daddy got up from his nap. (Daddy’s been working STUPID long hours and then had to fight his way home through the snowstorm of idiot drivers.)

I asked Ethan what he wanted for lunch. Hotdog? no. Bologna and cheese? no. Pizza? also no.

Then his little face lit up. “I know! I know!” He jumped up and down and clapped his hands together once like a samurai chef. “We can eat…” he paused for dramatic effect. “SNOW!”


(In the end Ethan ate an apple but Daddy didn’t wake up until after dark. Ethan’s fever returned soon after that and he was snuggled in bed ( without eating dinner) by 7:30pm. Ian was fascinated watching his first snowfall, which in the end amounted to about 2 inches plus a bit of ice.)

Happy Birthday product placement

two chefs
Originally uploaded by redamy.

“Mamma, Mamma, wake up.”
“Happy Birthday. Make me pancakes.”

And that’s how my birthday started. He didn’t get pancakes after-all, but we did have lots of good food and birthday cake.

Mark and Ethan made my cake (Duncan Hines!) while Ian napped. Then Mark, Ethan, and Ian all took a nap at the same time, so I played Medieval II: Total War uninterrupted for an entire HOUR.

We had chocolate cake and chocolate ice cream and then we played games. Ethan doesn’t quite have the coordination for Wii bowling but he has fun with Wii boxing. We also played several rounds of Hulabaloo and did lots of “funky monkey dancing”.

After the boys were in bed Mark went out and got Carraba’s take-out for dinner and we watched the season premiere of Rome.

Fun and games with my boys: check
Uninterrupted “me” time: check
Chocolate: check
Excellent Italian food: check

Summation: awesome birthday.

As always, click on the picture for more pictures of our day.

Good Friends

fountain1
Originally uploaded by redamy.

There are three “groups” of friends in my life: my friends, Mark’s friends, and friends of friends. In a happy scenario those three groups merge into a great big bundle of friendship. Kind of like a giant tangled ball of half woven friendship bracelets.

Yeah, sadly, I wrote that while stone cold sober.

The other folks at Shannon and Ernie’s house, however, had good wine along with their yummy food and great companionship. We all passed the puppy around, passed the baby around, chased the four older kids, and tried not to block the view of the football game.

Sadly, I don’t have any pictures of Kennedy in her princess clothes or her brother Ethan (the “other Ethan”- poor child will have a complex after spending all night wondering why that strange woman kept yelling his name and telling him to stay out of things!) in his shiny shows and Superman outfit. I don’t seem to have any pictures of Ernie, either, but I assure you he was there. (Probably off squirting the chicken or walking Sally.)

Click on the picture of the (failed, sadly) chocolate fountain for shots of Ian, Ethan, Mark, Sylvia, Richie, and, of course, Sally.

Ian 8 months

hello daddy
Originally uploaded by redamy.

Today Ian is 8 months old. He celebrated by biting me- again.

The 4 teeth are his biggest news this month, which is impressive considering this past month included his first Christmas, an introduction to the wonders of mashed potatoes, his first cold, his first mysterious baby fever and the chaos that has been our household the past 30 days or so.

He loves his Christmas toys, but mostly his exersaucer. Some of the other toys are in the closet for now until he can figure out how to sit up in order to play with them. Ian still doesn’t sit up, supported or otherwise for more than a few seconds. He is, however, an impressive roller. He’s rolled all over the lower level of the house. In the past few days he’s start really pushing up with his arms and lifting his head up at a 90 degree angle.

Solid foods are still a challenge. He loves bananas and will tolerate prunes, mashed potatoes, and applesauce. Anything else he gags on and spits back at me. I guess it was too much to ask for to have another child who would eat anything I put in front of him.

The teething has been hard on him so he’s back to waking up every 4 hours. Not surprisingly, I’m back to wearing my pajamas most of the day. Thankfully his reflux only comes in spurts now, so I don’t have to change my clothes more than once or twice a day.

Despite his aversion to bottles and any food that isn’t a banana, Ian is still growing. He’s wearing 12 month sleepers ( with a little room for length and tons for the rest of him) and size 3 diapers.

Click on the picture above for a few Christmas photos. I’ll upload more as I have a chance.