Obesity Epidemic

Mr. Long-Suffering and I took the kids to an indoor waterpark last weekend. It was a lot of fun. There was a swim up bar for the parents and fun stuff for the kids too, I guess.

Before we went, I did a mini-fashion show and asked Mr. Long-Suffering to help me pick out one of my bathing suits. I wanted to wear one that made me look like I was the mother of only one child. I think I succeeded. (That reminds me of an Apu quote from the Simpsons "Oh Squishy Lady, you have not had eight babies.") Most of the moms were wearing suits with a little skirt or shorts and the tankini was quite popular. I wore a tankini with shorts. There was one mom who wore her coverup right into the water and took it off only when she was most of the way in, then when she was done swimming, covered up immediately. It was a shame too because if I had had her body, I'd be showing it off all the time. I'd be washing the car in teh driveway in cut-offs, and gardening in a tank top. She looked good. Dang good. She was wearing a legit bikini and had no unsightly bumps, a flat tummy, and nicely rounded, perky you-know-whats. Show it off, Lady! Be proud!

I'm always amazed by how many people have tatoos. And how many women have large tatoos across their lower backs. Wow. It had to be at least half of the adults in there. Maybe it's a generational thing. I only know two people my age who have tatoos so maybe it's just a not-my-friends kind of thing. Not complaining, just surprised. (Full disclosure, I don't like pain, so a tatoo is probably not in my future...ditto additional piercings beyong the one hole per ear I currently have.)

The kids ran and swam so much that they didn't even notice the time change and slept something like 14 hours on Sunday night. It's my new theory on surviving the Spring Ahead: total exhaustion.

There was also an indoor amusement park (complete with carnies). So, Chip got a chance to go on the Tilt-A-Whirl. He wasn't such a fan of that. I had a good time. Bobo rode the carousel.

Speaking of carousels, The Hollies were inducted into the Rock-N-Roll Hall of Fame. (They had a song called "On a Carousel" in addition to the song "Carrie Anne" after which I was named by my hippie teenage parents. I've always had a soft spot for The Hollies.)

Speaking of Bobo, I have scheduled his next two encounters with the medical professionals. He gets a hearing test in about two weeks and then two weeks after that, he gets the M-CHAT with his pediatrician. I did the M-CHAT online and had Mr. Long-Suffering do it too (complete with follow up interview questions). You either have to fail three regular questions or any one critical question. When I did it, Bobo failed on four regular questions. When Mr. Long-Suffering did it, he failed Bobo on three regular questions.

That doesn't mean he has autism, but it probably means he'll be referred for either additional testing or additional services or testing. At this point, I just want him to get some speech therapy, start talking, and move past this. In talking with SarcastiCarrie's resident Pharmacist Banjo, she mentioned that I did not talk until about 2 years. My own mother (whose birthday is today...shout out!) confirmed this. He's quite interactive and makes excellent eye contact, so really, it's just the Silent Bob aspect that has all of us concerned. We're making an effort to ask him to point at what he wants and to point at things and tell him what they are. I guess we should have been doing this all along, but he's a second child and well, I guess I was just a little lazy. So, the laziness is over and the proper parenting has begun.

Did I Kick Him in the Gut?

I have a new saying: "Another Day, Another Co-Pay"

But on to something else....

The other morning, as I was driving the kids to school the topic of who goes to what school came up and who goes to Big School and preschool and whatnot. Anyway, Mr. Long-Suffering went to pre-school in the church where he and I married. He told this story to Chuckles who thought that was pretty neat.

And not to be outdone, I mentioned that I, too, went to pre-school in a church (probably the last time I ever regularly was in a church). And further to that, I mentioned that it was the church in which my parents were married. You know, Mimi and Grandpa. But, uh oh. Mimi and Grandpa aren't married to eachother (anymore for like 25 years). Mimi is married to Papa and Grandpa is married to Grannie.

Well, then Chuckles asked a series of rapid fire questions about how those people could be my parents (which he has known for a long time) and were married but aren't married and I think he was going to cry right there in the car. So, I quickly got my act together and said that mommy and daddy love eachother very much and we're staying married and we love you (and your brother), and Mimi and Grandpa both love me and love you very much and will always love you (and buy you presents and play with you). And you also get extra people to love you like Grannie and Papa.

And then I said what divorce was and just matter-of-factly started naming people we know who are divorced or whose parents are divorced (and every time I followed it up with how much everyone loves each other).

Whew. I'm exhausted.

Set the Scene

Imagine this: dinner at my house this evening. There is something that looks an awful lot like honey coming out of Bobo's ear. We'd heard there could be some drainage, but when it looks like your child's brain is melting and dripping out of his ear, well, let's just say a little discharge does not seem perfectly normal.

So, I ask Mr. Long-Suffering whether it is OK for me to call the pediatrician because it's Monday and I know our pediatrician is on-call. (I have now officially memorized the call schedule and duty roster...it's really quite sad. Some people learn baseball statistics, some people could name everyone who walked the red carpet last night at the Oscars, and I can cite which foreign-born pediatrician is working for a living on a Monday night (and every 4th weekend)). Mr. Long-Suffering said it wasn't necessary as we were warned about the possibility of some discharge, but agreed that a phone call could not hurt.

The call went something like this:

Karen: Pediatrics, this is Karen.
SarcastiCarrie: Hi Karen. My son is a patient of Dr. So-and-so. He had ear tubes put in on Wednesday by Dr. Ancient Southerner. He's still on omnicef from his last infection and he has discharge coming from one of his ears.
Karen: How many days since he started on the antibiotics?
SarcastiCarrie: 8.
Karen: When's his follow up with the ENT?
SarcastiCarrie: Thursday.
Karen: Did the ENT give him drops?
SarcastiCarrie: No.
Karen: I know you didn't say, but this is Bobo's mom, right?
SarcastiCarrie (flattered): Yes.
Karen: OK, we're phoning in a script for those ear drops right now. Regular pharmacy?
SarcastiCarrie: Yep. Thanks.

For the record, this is the first time they have ever prescribed anything over the phone, but sometimes in the office, I have them call the script in to the pharmacy instead of giving me a paper so that it will be ready by the time I drive over there (with a sick, feverish child in tow).

Never a dull moment.

What's For Dinner?

It's been a long time since I've told the blogosphere what I'm cooking and eating.

Tonight I made lasagna for the adults and whole wheat penne with meat sauce (and parmesan cheese sprinkled liberally by the children) for the children. The adults had Menage a Trois red wine from Costco and salad from a bag with artichoke hearts and a two vinegars dressing. The kids got milk (skim for the older, 2% for the medium, and soy for the littles). The kids got Very Cherry Mixed Fruit instead of salad. I know the cherries have color added, I know. But everyone in the entire world loves maraschine cherries. Everyone. It is the law. No one got garlic bread because it wasn't getting done so I clicked the broiler on "just for a second". Well, about 90 seconds later (really, just a minute and a half), the smoke detector went off. I set it on the railing of the back porch for the duration.

Lastly, I served up one two-layer heart-shaped funfetti cake with funfetti frosting and a giant 9 with 9 candles and one two-layer round yellow cake with new 'homemade' chocolate frosting recipe frosting and a 58th on it with one candle. There was much singing (for my nine-year old sister and my 58-year old father) and one Zhu-Zhu pet in a gift bag.

Then, my other sister sat down at the table to do her homework. I dazzled her with my knowledge of SOH CAH TOA and arcsines and arctangents and cosecants. My brain hurt when I was done, but I remembered enough that I am pretty sure I will be able to help my own kids with their homework when the time comes. I also smacked my brother in the head when he made the crack about how he'd help our sister with her homework since he had taken geometry in the last forty (or fourteen) years. Little pipsqueak.

All in all, it was a perfect family evening.

Fifty-Eight and Ice

I'd been on edge for a couple of days. Anxious. Fidgety. Jittery. Nervous. Stressed. Tight. Taught. I felt like I was chewing ice. Clenching my jaw. Clenching my fists.

It was a new feeling for me. I didn't feel despair. It was more like ALERT. Red Alert. All hands on deck. Prepare phaser banks. Standby. Engage.

Bobo had his whilrwind of a surgery on Wednesday, and I had an important work presentation to give on Thursday. I was given one week to prepare the presentation and hand-outs. During that week, we had the ENT consult, got new windows, had the myringotomy, and registered Chip for kindergarten. I had no free minutes. I ended up presenting for over 2.5 hours. It was grueling.

Then this morning, it was all over. I woke up calm. Cool. Collected. Patient. Relaxed. I hadn't realized just how unnerved I'd been until it was gone. The physical relief was palpable.





*******

Chuckles turned 58-months old today. He's obsessed with numbers, in a good way. He is constantly asking things like, "When I am 34 like you, how old will Bobo be? How old will you be? How old will Daddy be? How old is Bobo now? How old am I? How many months old is Grandma?" Whoah...that's a tricky question, boy. Seven-hundred something something. Don't let grandma hear that kind of stuff.

**********

Bobo was quite the trooper through the surgery. He got to bring his blankies in with him (both of them because when the first nurse tried to put his blankie in the patient's belongings bag, he gave her a big lip and sad eyes, and she caved). The word from the nurses is that he was all smiles and friendly until they stole his binky to put the mask over his mouth for the gas. When he woke up, he was not too happy about the whole thing (and he wanted all of us to know it), but by today, you'd never even know anything happened to him.

A Great Day

We're all home. We're all fine. The ear tubes are in. The bilateral myringotomoy with tympanostomy tube insertion was successful. Bobo did fare a little poorly with the coming out of the anesthesia. Kids get belligerent and combative and confused. He's fine now. He slept his hangover off for 2 hours in my arms while I channel flipped among The View, The Price is Right, Today, and Oprah. And Mr. Long-Suffering fed me French Toast while I held Bobo. It was kind of sweet.

Chip is at school. He gets double treats today because two grandparents (Mimi and Papa) dropped him off together. They were at our house at 6:08 am.

Today truly is a great day (and later, I register Chip for kindergarten).

Why am I so glad the Olympics are Over? So BOB COSTAS will finally just STOP TALKING. Stop Talking, I mean it. Just stop.

Hear No Evil: Chuckles

Speak No Evil: Bobo

See No Evil: Mama

Do No Evil: Google

I’ve been working on this post for almost two weeks now. I just don’t know how to write it and not sound superficial and bitchy.

As you know, Chuckles was diagnosed with a slight hearing loss due to his chronic and recurrent ear infections. Bobo, on the other hand, has not yet been diagnosed with the hearing loss. He needs to get ear tubes first. Basically, they are pretty sure he can’t hear (much). He doesn’t really turn his head to look at you when you talk, and he doesn’t talk himself. This means he can’t hear and hasn’t learned how to talk because he can’t hear you and can’t imitate what he can’t hear. But, a lack of language acquisitioin can also indicate possible autism spectrum disorder. We have a plan.
Consult with ENT next Friday
Ear tubes, if deemed necessary
Hearing test, regardless of ear tubes
possible re-evaluation on ear tubes if there is hearing loss
speech-language pathology exam
autism screening M-CHAT
Bobo has some risk factors for autism spectrum disorder. He is a boy with digestive and sensory issues who was breech at birth, with a highly educated mother, and whose parents are both in occupations of a highly analytical nature who are socially awkward and dislike people, in general. There is also a pretty strong family propensity for the disorder in the current generation.

Some of these risk factors seem a little dubious to me, though. Really? I mean firstborns are 1.8 times more likely to have autism. Isn’t it possible that parents who had an autistic child first chose not to have a second child thus depriving the pool of possible second (or even third) children with autism? For example, in our family, there is one third child with autism (last child) and one first child with autism (also the last child). And there are two first children with no autism and two second children about whom the jury is still out. So, we have one in four first children with it, and one for one third children. But if we look at “last” children, we have 2 out of 4.

Children with autism are more than twice as likely to have been breech. Well, OK. That could be true. I’ll assume it is. Bobo was breech. He was breech because of placental issues, so I suppose it is possible that poor blood flow during pregnancy can relate to autism later on. I’ll buy that, but it seems like the better thing to look at would be placental issues instead of breech presentation. And yes, I get that breech presentation may be the proxy for placental issues and that the relationship is correlative not causative, but it doesn’t even seem like a worthwhile thing to publish at this point.

Age at first childbirth and level of education attained are strongly correlated, so I would believe that my education level has less to do with autism than the fact that I delayed having children until I was done with school, and hence, older.

Let’s assume that certain personality traits are heritable. Given that, it would make sense that two people who are highly analytical classifiers would have children with similar tendencies. Mr. Long-Suffering and I are terribly resistant to change, engineers, ruthlessly analytical, logical, and repetitive. We are Bo-ring. It would make sense that we have children who are like this but moreso (since our kids have two parents like this instead of one or none).

Anyway, the closer I pay attention to Bobo, the more I think he’s unable to hear and not affected by Asperger’s though. Poor kid. Meet with ENT on Friday.

Also, during the Day of Not Terribly Reassuring Encounters with Medical Professionals, I had an ultrasound to ensure my Mirena is in position. The answer is “probably”. It wasn’t really visible because apparently my uterus wasn’t where it is supposed to be (also, plenty of cysts on my ovaries and endometriosis visible on ultrasound…plus the missing uterus). I’m still waiting on the radiologist’s official report on this, but it ought to be a good read.

Instant Update: Because it’s taking me so very long to write this: The Mirena is going. It’s getting pulled, and I am going back on The Pill. I’m going to wait out another cycle and see whether the acne comes back, but the hair that is growing along my jawline is not my friend, so I need some estrogen. STAT.

Instant Update Two: We had the appointment with the 70-year old ENT. Bobo is getting ear tubes. On Wednesday. They had a cancellation. The Wednesday surgery patient is getting a kidney transplant and so she’s cancelling whatever ENT-related surgery she had. So, congrats to her and her new kidney, and congrats to Bobo who gets tubes.

Instant Update Three: Bobo was at Urgent Care yesterday as is his custom (at 9:58 am, per my theory) for an ear infection and pink eye. Wednesday is still surgery though, and all the infections should end then. Man, I hope they do. They will still operate with the infection, and the doctor specifically mentioned what to do in this case. So, we’re doing that. Why the ENT didn’t just prescribe antibiotics while we were there for Bobo to take until the surgery, I don’t know. That would have been the prudent thing to do since he had a subacute infection on Friday which turned acute on Sunday. But maybe kids who need tubes are always subacute. I don’t know. But I do know who gave Small the pinkeye….Thanks to Katie’s mom for sending her to school with crusty stuff on her eyes which she assures us is not pinkeye. Yeah, right.

Instant Update Four: So, when the hospital called to give us the run-down for Wednesday (he goes in at 6:30 and bring a bottle so he can have clear liquids (which they will supply) afterward since they don’t supply bottles or sippy cups), I asked if he needed to wear anything special. The answer is NO because he will be wearing an itty bitty teeny tiny hospital gown. And that’s the thing that made me cry at my desk.

Instant Update Five: Happy Casimir Pulaski day. He died so you could have light traffic.

Instant Update Six: So, with the tube surgery on Wednesday, I haven’t spent nearly enough time freaking out about how I also am registering Chip for big school kindergarten on Wednesday. OMG, my first baby!
My first baby is going to kindergarten, and I have to prove residency. That ought to be fun. I’m sure I’ll end up having to produce my marriage license at some point because, MY HEAVENS, your names are different and where does the boy live and with which parent?

Tales of My Awesome May Have Been Overstated

Do you remember when I said how awesome underwires were in supporting me in my curvy goodness?

Well, that might have been true 2 days after weaning, but here 7 weeks post-wean, things have settled down a little. Ok, a lot. And gotten smaller. Lots smaller. And lower. And possibly, things have disappeared completely when I lie on my back.


I have never been a huge supporter of the Mirena (well, I was before I got one of my own). Six weeks post-wean, I erupted in pimples. Zits, really. It was so bad Chuckles/Chip asked me if I had chicken pox. I'm using a six-part Proactiv-like regimen to keep them at bay that is keeping the pimples down but also inadvertently drying the skin immediately adjacent to the offending zits. It's lovely. And ashy.

I am thirty-fricken-four years old, and I've broken out like I'm 15 again. So, does the Clearasil go under or over the anti-wrinkle cream?

I had an ultrasound to try and figure out why I have bled every day since having the Mirena inserted. There is no reason, apparently. I think I'm going to have it removed and go back on the Pill. I was on Lybrel, I think, and I could go 4-6 months with no periods (and no spotting) and no (not many, at least) pimples. This is for the birds. My doctor and nurse practitioner both agree that a non-smoking woman (like me) can safely be on the Pill after 35.

Three out of Four or Thirty-Four

Having been to Urgent Care with Bobo three out of four Sundays recently, I have a whole theory about timing. This is a hard-won theory, and I spent a lot of time in line and waiting (plus co-pays) to learn and develop this theory for you. So, you don't have to. And here it is: Get there two minutes before they open or 2 hours after (most certainly, do not arrive 15 minutes after opening).

Tomorrow I turn 34, but I feel 28-at-heart. I've felt 28 for about fifteen years now. I don't look 34, whatever it is 34 looks like. I look 28. Tomorrow also marks my 12th anniversary in Heavy Industrial Manufacturing. I started my first job out of college on my 22nd birthday. I felt 28, at the time.

At my college orientation welcome speech, I heard a term that I still remember (and still think is fake): ethnography. Hee hee. I giggle just thinking about someone getting a degree in that and then not being able to get a job.

I hung out in an igloo on Saturday. In my front yard. Hilarious.

We did gym class on Saturday morning at 8:15 am, and there was a t-ball game and kids running to 3rd base or the pitchers mound instead of 1st and one kid who just wandered to the other side of the gym in the middle of the game. And kids who hit the tee and the ball fell off and all the parents are yelling “Run to first” (and since the kids are wee, we’re all standing next to the bases and in the game to try and keep things moving in the more-or-less right direction). Like herding cats, that.

I set my alarm last night for the first time since April 1st, and I was totally surprised when it went off. Disoriented. I usually sleep until I wake up (or someone wakes me). But today is Presidents’ Day so Mr. Long-Suffering is home with the kids since it is Professional Development Day at the day care.

It is becoming ever so slightly obvious to me that I might perhaps be a morning person. It’s really quite disgusting. I know for sure that I am not a night owl, but I always pictured myself as someone who does their best work between 10 am and 2 pm.

Chuckles had to write out Valentines for all the kids in his kindergarten class. We got a class list with his homework packet, so I assumed it was a handwriting assignment. He ended up changing his name to Chip (because it's shorter). But he did all 20 of them (plus three extras To: Chip, From: Chip so he could have some Backugan Valentines for himself). Apparently, I was mistaken since only 3 or 4 of the Valentines Chip received in return were written by the other kids (and only 2 of those had a name in the "To" line). It took two weeks to get it done, but he did it and I am proud of Chip. Whoever this Chip kid is.

I feel bad when I don't post, but then I feel worse when I post this kind of dreck. However, you get that for which you pay, which is a long and grammatically correct way of saying: The End.

Tolerate the Jingling Bells

Reason for not posting recently: Christmas may be over, but Chuckles just learned that "Jingle Bells" rhymes with "Batman smells" and then we had to search all over because the Joker got away, and we couldn't find him. It was tragic what with all the other things we've been doing lately like getting our flaming jeans off of the power lines* and walking our pram down the street through the snow and ice**.

Bobo is (probably) milk intolerant like Chuckles, and we are idiots. And now he slept through the night, two nights in a row (just shot myself in the foot by posting this...three nights is a trend, two is an abberration). I'll let you know if it continues. But let's just say that any woman who discovers that she might have been sleeping for the previous 6 months if only she had known and doesn't nearly flagellate herself is a robot. If you are a robot, all I have to say to you is: 011100110110001101110010011001010111011100100000011110010110111101110101

I have no idea where I am going with this, so I will just end it here or write a bunch of random crap and see what sticks.

Only 203 days until the Bon Jovi concert.

I lost 10 pounds over the holidays because I weaned Bobo (and I lose the last bit of baby weight while weaning and I kept nursing through Christmas...for the cookies).

My coworker (who I call The Piddler) continues to pee all over the seat (and floor). No New Year's Resolution for him, apparently.

The heat is broken in my work trailer, and it is 59 degress here now. Brisk.

I discovered a website called 'I hate your kids name' (yes, I know it's wrong and petty to mock people, I do know), and I want to come up with fake submittals that would look only too real. You need a lot of extra Ys and Hs and words. How about Pryncyss Yoon'heek (for Princess Unique, which would be a bad enough name even spelled correctly) and Ochocinqo. I do have my Six Simple Rules for Naming Your Child After British Aristocracy, so keep that in mind.

I watched the two-hour season premiere of Chuck last night (another episode tonight). I'm not sure what I think. Not enough spy stuff, maybe. Not enough longing in the relationship arena. Not enough laughs, and they could have done something FUNNY to get Big Mike back at the Buy More instead of what they did with the Emmitt story line, which was not funny.

I watched a little bit of the Bachelor the other night (for the first-time ever) and I feel dirty. And ashamed. And embarrassed on behalf of all women throughout time and history. It was icky. I guess since it's a game and you need to be noticed, you have to...I don't know...whore yourself out, but ick.

Since I weaned, I seem to have stopped spotting from the Mirena (also, by writing this, I have ensured I will start spotting again soon). So, it might end up being a good choice after all. Keep my spotting in mind in case you find yourself looking for post-partum birth control that is safe while nursing. I should've used the mini-pill again (but I was so nervous about a potential supply drop). Eh. What's done is done.

* - Liar Liar, pants on fire, hanging on the telephone wire.
** - Mommy and Daddy, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g, first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in the baby carriage.

Merry and Bright

Well, Bobo started walking on New Year's Eve. I had high hopes for that night. I figured if it was learning to walk that was screwing with his sleep, then now we should be ....not just good but golden. And I thought it was be karmic or cosmic or something if he slept through since last year on New Year's Eve, he slept through for the first time ever (and what also feels like the last time). But it was not to be.

12:02 am 2010: Welcome to Kabul (bang, pow, explode, bang, pow, boom, ooohhhh, ahhhh, pretty fireworks, BOOM)
12:02:30 Bobo: Wahhhhhh!
1:17 Chuckles: Mama, I hafta go potty and you need to tuck me back in afterward so I will have good dreams.
2:24 Lisa the Chatty Cat: Hork, hork, ((jump)) puke (fortunately, she jumped off the bed and puked on the hardwood floor)
2:25 SarcastiCarrie: scrub scrub scrub the floor
5:30 Bobo: Wahhhhhh!
5:31 SarcastiCarrie: I'll make the bottle if you give it...
5:32 SarcastiCarrie: ZZZZZzzzzzzz
5:35-6:37 Mr. Long-Suffering: Shhhhh, go sleepies. Go sleepies.

And then, I made pancakes and went to the grocery store with only one child and bought some discount champagne. Going places with only one child feels so easy nowadays.

I did nurse on New Year's Day (to get the nice early nap since Bobo got up so early and we had somewhere to be in the early afternoon), so I did my breastfeeding 2008-2010 thing.

Then, we went to a party and watched by alma mateur lose their Bowl Game three times in overtime. It was....exciting and ultimately disappointing. But good. And during the game, I sent a text message (only my second ever) to people who were at the game.

And if I ever find that sumbitch who blew off fireworks for 30 minutes in the middle of the night, so help me, I will put a bottle rocket in each of his pockets and wish him a happy new year.

Wishing you a happy new year (either twenty-ten or two-thousand ten, depending on which side of the debate you happen to support....I am like Switzerland on this important issue....as long as you don't say two-thousand and ten, I am fine.).

All Hail the Triumphant Return of the Underwire

Nursing is (virtually) over. I still nurse about once every other day and will do so until at least tomorrow (so I can say I nursed 2008-2010). But, my old supportive bras are back. And they make a huge difference. I'm all thin and curvy and supported in ways that my no-underwire nursing bras never could do. And I have more choices than just white, black, and ecru. Today: red (with lace and a delicate ribbon). Very festive, no?

I missed my bras. It's been almost two years since we've been together (ditto also my button-down shirts). It's like having a whole new, sexy, curvy, colorful wardrobe.

Bobo hates cow milk. He prefers formula. Have you ever tasted formula? I don't think Bobo has taste buds. Will need to ask the ped about that at next visit.

I weaned to a bottle instead of a cup and am not even trying to get rid of the bottle. I don't care. La la la. I'm sure day care will get him off of the bottle when they need to. Bobo is just not so good with the cup (he doesn't even hold his own bottles), so there's no way he'd get enough nutrition from the cup. So, bottle it is. I imagine by 18 months he'll be off of it completely.

My children wore matching and coordinating outfits for much of the last two weeks, and every time I see them dressed all matchy-matchy, my heart fills with maternal love and pride. It's a sickness. But, I have TWO kids, and I can dress them alike because I have TWO. For quite a while there I didn't think I would get any, and then, I figured just one, but here I have TWO. My cup runneth over. Well, actually, my cup was spillethed over by one of those kids and now I am cleaning cold tea up off of the carpet, but you know. I have a cup (C-cups actually, and they are well-supported).

Terrorism: bad.

Number of New Year's Eves spent with Mr. Long-Suffering: Tonight marks 12.

TV Shows I am anticipating in the New Year: Chuck, Lost, The Big Bang Theory

TV Shows I watch while folding laundry (so much laundry): Something with Jenna Elfman as a knocked up single woman, Modern Family, Cougar Town (which is kind of depressing), Grey's Anatomy (and I don't find Ellen Pompeo attractive or talented), Desperate Housewives, Antiques Roadshow, Ask This Old House, and This Old House.

Speaking of (Ask) This Old House, Kevin O'Connor is the host. He's cute (in a boyish, handyman sort of way). I just read his bio, and I am shocked to learn that he is older than I am. He bought his first house after I did and his wife had their first child after I already had Chuckles, so I assumed he was young, but he's probably 7-9 years older than I am. Here's Kevin...

Bobo got this Fisher-Price Little People House Play Set for his birthday:

Bobo has a habit of putting the toy person on the left in his mouth. Chuckles wants to know why Bobo is trying to eat Kevin. That's right, Chuckles decided that the person on the left must be a toy version of Kevin O'Connor from (Ask) This Old House. I can see it.

Ladies' Man

In which I will make fun of something serious because that is how I roll.....

So, I was cleaning out Chuckles's back pack the other day. Two half-done worksheets on the letter Ss and a small booklet on Bill Bug's Big something-or-other. There was a little slip of yellow paper...an index card really. It said P236123. I thought, "Wow, that's pretty random, but look how nice those numbers are." I set it on the counter to go in with the recycling.

Last night I showed Mr. Long-Suffering the piece of paper. "Do you know what that is?" he asked.

"No."

"A girl gave Chuckles her phone number."

"What?"

"That 'P' is really a '9'."

"I don't believe you. I'm going to google to reverse look up that number."

And you know what? It was a phone number. A girl wrote her phone number down on a piece of paper and slipped it in to my son's back pack. Hussy. I'm sure now that Chuckles is destined to be a ladies' man. When the ladyfolk drone on and on (and on and on) about the things women talk about (about which men do not care), he can just smile and nod his head unable to hear what she is saying due to his hearing loss. Ladies Man!

Today is the kindergarten holiday party. It's really a Christmas party, but everyone is invited regardless of Christian-faith, so we'll call it a holiday party. With pizza. Chuckles was inordinately excited about this. Just jazzed. As I was laying out his clothes last night, he told me he wanted to look "cute" for the party.
"Sweetie, you're always cute."
"I want to look cute. And be pretty."
"OK."
"I want to dress up and wear my fancy Christmas clothes."
"OK."
"I want to wear my [sweater] vest."
"Alrighty then."
"And my (flailing arms wildly) shirt." I'm pretty sure the flailing was chirades for 'button-down'.
"Sure, OK, no problem."
"And my yellow, slippery Sponge Bob socks. Are they clean yet?"
"Yep, right here in the basket."
So he put his slippery socks on and proceeded to 'ice skate' on the hardwood floors until bed time.

Do you hear what I hear?

I took a little vacation day yesterday. I needed some time to get some things done and spend some time with the kiddos.

Monday night: mixed up sugar cookie dough and put it in the 'fridge to chill. Called one of Chuckles's friend's mother's to see whether she and her child would like to come over Wednesday morning to decorate cookies. They would! Score.

Tuesday night: Minimal straightening of house because I was just too tired. Rolled out the dough and baked the cookies. Chilled two Archer Farms Peppermint Nog bottles of coffee.

Wednesday morning: Entertained. The kids were not in to the decorating. They played nicely (albeit everything they touched from a piece of chalk to a finger was a gun...no pointing at people, nice, play nice! I said, "NICE!").

Wednesday noon: Simultaneously fed kids peanut butter sandwiches and applesauce to combat the sugar buzz they were on. Also, put Bobo down for a nap.

Wednesday afternoon: Took Charles to the audiologist. Do you hear what I hear? Not if you're Chuckles. He has a mild hearing loss in his right ear from recurrent ear infections. It's mild. I had pushed the pediatrician for the appointment since he didn't fit the standard (no ear tubes and no second line of antibiotic infections). But a mother knows. And I knew he had a hearing loss (although I had thought it would be more profound). The good news is his ear functions. The cilia hair cells are healthy, the tympanic membrane vibrates, his brain can interpret the signals it gets. We retest in 3-6 months (waiting on the call to find out) and monitor. In the meantime, we need to conserve and protect the hearing he does have. No loud toys, no headphones, no loud music, ear plugs when power boating and snowblowing, etc.

Also, the audiologist wants to see Bobo since bacterial meningitis can cause hearing loss (and he's not hitting his babbling milestones very well). So, I told her to write that in her report on Chuckles so that I could be referred back with the other kid. Yipee. Or not.

After I got home, I was fixing dinner and Bobo got in to the bag that was to go out in the recycling. He sliced his finger on a can of green beans (no salt added, but not organic). And he bled. Yikes. That was a lot of blood. So I applied pressure and he squirmed and BLOOD! And I put a band aid on it. He removed it. I put a better one on and all was right with the world until I noticed he was eating the band-aid. Ick. So, the bleeding stopped, I confessed all to his father, and then, he took 3 steps. And took 3 steps twice more. My baby's first steps! Woo Woo.

A Bannner Day.

Crappy Croup

So, Chuckles has not slept on the bathroom floor any more.

I did follow up with the morning nurse to make sure Chuckles was OK and didn't need to be seen (I'm still a little gun shy after the whole Bobo blood infection near-death thing). The daytime nurse knows our family and was very soothing. She gave me a list of 12 or so things to look out for with the croup. If any of these things came up, Chuckles would need to be seen by the ped.

1. stridor
2. blue lips
3. speaking in tongues
4. gasping for air
5. irritability beyond being a 4-year old
6. head spinning around
7. retractions
8. inability to catch breath
9. not noticing that mom is eating ice cream and asking for some
10. paranoia
11. difficulty swallowing
12. taking up with communists

So, all-in-all, Chuckles recovered nicely and here we are joyously awaiting the arrival of Santa Clause and all the oddly specific bounty he will bring unto us. And also, we are awaiting the Big Brown Truck (UPS) and the Amazon box that it will bring.

It's like the 12 days of Christmas around here. Every night at bedtime, I stick my hand up into the box on the closet shelf and pull out another Christmas/Winter book. Tonight featured a book I like to call "Broken Glass". It's a Snappy Sounds Holiday Pop-Up book whose idea of "twinkling" sounds like putting silverware in the garbage disposal or alternately, the sound a Christmas tree makes when it falls over during Festivus Feats of Strength.

Speaking of alternate holidays like Festivus, I take Christmas Cards very seriously. Very seriously. Once upon a time before I had kids, my cards were written, adressed, stamped, and waiting for the day after Thanksgiving to be mailed. Nowadays, I have to wait for the photos to come back before the cards go out, but I take them seriously nonetheless. There is a Newsletter which is called The SarcaSuffering Times (a combo of my last name and Mr. Long-Suffering's last name). It is not a special glow sheet, but more a take on our year, a listing of babies born, and a running tally of how my college's football team whomped on Mr. Long-Suffering's college football team and now we're going to a Bowl Game and you're not. Oh, right, where was I?

Anyway, I take my cards seriously. I send about 50 and I send for 3 years after I haven't heard from someone. Then, they are stricken from the list (unless they are super close family or friends, but old classmates and neighbors are stricken from the list. Stricken, I say.). This year, I got the BEST card I have ever gotten ever for any occasion. You may have heard me talk about my friend Carly before. Anyway, she's not usually much of a card sender, but this year, I got a little card with a sun on the front. Inside, it said: "Brighter Days Are Ahead. Celebrate Winter Solstice." I love this card. I love it more than the bunny with the hair dryer demanding the carrot nose from Frosty. I love it more than the female Frosties talking about the buxom Snowoman having falsies. I love it more than the card featuring Gristletoe that Mr. Long-Suffering gave me 12 years ago (which I still have somewhere but cannot find on the internet even though it was an e-card that I printed out...back when e-cards were novel). So, I love this card. It's from cafe press if you want some. I'm also a fan of Tiffany Ard's cards at omgseriously at etsy. Seriously. I would send them, but at a buck a card and the word motherfucking in them, I just don't think it's going to happen. But I do covet them. I guess I could have a subversive list where only certain people got them.

Moving on, someone asked about the weaning a couple of posts down. So, I have decided that I can either nurse 100% or not nurse at all, but I am no good at part-time nursing. I had wanted to stop pumping and then nurse while at home, and my supply dropped so much that I pretty much can't nurse at home unless I pump to keep it up, so we're almost done. I think I will keep the after work nursing and the middle of the night nursing, but the rest is bottle (either breastmilk from the freezer or formula). We're still pulling milk out of the freezer. You could say I was a little obsessed with having a good freezer stash. I think that doing that did two things for me. (1) It artificially inflated my milk supply so that when I went back to work, I was already used to making more than necessary so even though there was a supply drop, it was fine because it was still enough, and (B) Gave me the mental space not to freak out if I didn't pump enough one single day because heck, there are 8 gallons of milk in the deep freeze. Oh and (iii) It was just really cool having all the milk there. While I was pumping, I think I only used maybe 4 or 5 bags of milk. I can't believe it either, but I pumped 2x daily and took fenugreek sometimes and pumped on the occasional weekend and tried to conserve milk as much as possible. When I switched to 1x daily pumping, I still didn't use too much of the freezer stash because I switched Bobo from three 5-ounce bottles to two 6-ounce bottles, so a net decrease of 3 ounces daily.

Now, I'm trying to do some nursing, but I assume he gets little to nothing. But he's not a fan of food or the bottle so things here are rough with little sleep and a lot of crying (mostly not mine). Bottles of formula are given at bed time in the hope that he'll sleep. It's hard to tell what's what though because every day I look in his mouth and there's a new tooth (plus, I am pretty sure Bobo will be walking by Christmas...he's thisclose). Speaking of formula and sleeping at night, Have you seen the Enfamil RestFull formula that supposedly, I don't know, congeals in the baby's stomach for slower digestion? Does that work? It seems like a baby idea for a tiny baby, but I'd be willing to try it on an older kid like Bobo, who theoretically could be drinking cows' milk. So, anyway, congealing formula sounds gross and I don't think I'd try it on a baby, but you know, whatever, right?

So, in summation: Croup, Santanism, Santaism, Festivus, Solstice, Formula.

And Happy Hanukkah. My local TV station's pledge drive tells me it's the 3rd day (so is tonight the 4th night? I don't know), and our pledge prizes might make it in time for the 8th night, but if not, give them for Kwanzaa.

A Little Bit of Crimson

I've never liked it when people do sickblogging. I get it. You have kids. They are snotty. They stick inappropriate things in their mouths. They eat the germs. You've all been ((TMI)) for 10 days and no one has the strength to ((more graphic TMI)) anymore. Understood. Mind you, I've done some sickblogging in my day, so I understand the need to chronicle the suck.

Sure, your kid just threw up (again) and you're out of crib sheets and are wrapping the mattress in a tablecloth until the dryer dings. I understand. But I don't necessarily want to hear about it. Unless you can make it funny.

There have been some random illnesses around these parts lately. Bobo had a one-off puke on Friday night. Mr. Long-Suffering and I were planning on going to Industrial Factory Prom on Saturday night (a work party, black tie, downtown, ballroom). The kids were to spend the night with my ILs over night, first time evah.

So, all day Saturday, after breakfast with Santa wherein they served sausage shaped like little hot dogs (sidenote: our neighbor two doors down was Santa at the Church, so when Chuckles got up on his lap, Santa knew his name (swoon). Also, Chuckles dressed himself that day so he looks like a ragamuffin in all the photos of he and Santa....and Bobo was beside himself with Woe. Woe is me. And he wouldn't part with the binky. He went home and took a meganap.), I get ready for the party. I made my first-ever updo. Exhibit UP.

So, Mr. Long-Suffering and I went to Industrial Factory Prom (wherein they do not crown a Prom King and Queen with hard hats). I ate a fancy dinner with wine and I only cut up my own food and the food was hot while I ate it. There was something called “Santa’s Sweet Table” and it was worth the hype. I drank too much, we got home late, I couldn't sleep. My breasts got full, I couldn't sleep, I then convinced myself that Bobo was very sick (after the puking and the long nap), was crying, and needed me. Then, I spiraled into a full blown panic attack. At the very first acceptable morning hour, we called the in-laws. Bobo was fine. He had a 6-ounce formula bottle before bed at 7 pm and they didn't hear a peep out of him until after 7 the following morning.

I was near tears. Glad he was fine and pissed that he NEVER sleeps through the night for us. And I felt bad that I blew my shot at a night of sleep by panicking and being hungover (the amount of wine I drank should not have left me with a hangover but two years of pregnancy and nursing will do that to you). So, I went back to bed, but my boobs still ached. I made Mr. Long-Suffering take me to McDonald's for my first-ever inaugural hangover McMuffin and then we went to the kids. They were fine.

Mr. Long-Suffering then embarked on a plan to figure out what happened at grandma and grandpa's (Pack-n-play, formula, universally warm bedroom temperature) and how can we repeat it here. I publicly called his efforts futile, but alas, the next night, another 6 ounce formula bottle and a warmer bedroom and Bobo slept through again. Huzzah. However, Chuckles woke up barking like a seal. Or a sea lion. I can never keep those straight. Six of one, half-dozen the other. Bark bark bark. He was so scared, couldn't breathe, started crying, hysterical would be a good word to use. I googled "croup". The internet told me to contact the doctor even if it was the middle of the night. So, I called. Manage symptoms, etc. So, Chuckles slept on the bathroom floor with the shower running steamy off-and-on all night. I got virtually no sleep taking care of that. So, another night with no sleep. And my panic. THe next night, Chuckles wanted to sleep in the bathroom again. Apparently, it was like a camping adventure. For him. Notsomuch for me.

They're all mostly better now. I guess. Until the other shoe drops. Perhaps the other show will be a peek-toe pump.

Oddly Specific

Thanksgiving was good. Again and again. I have now had that meal 5 times and it's still good. Note to self: Next year, invite more people. The answer is not: Make less food.

We've started talking about Christmas lately. The grandmas want to know what Chuckles and Bobo want for Christmas. Bobo is a baby. He has no idea what he wants. Chuckles, however, wants whatever is currently in Bobo's hands even if he just played with it 2 seconds ago and set it down or never really liked it anyway or it's a fricken baby rattle or teething toy. He wants it now. So, I told my mom that, and she laughed. She laughed. Thanks, ma.

Mr. Long-Suffering keeps lecturing Chuckles about how crashing his toy cars is chipping the paint and ruining them (at this point, I must note that Mr. Long-Suffering still has his Hot Wheels and they are near-mint, unpackaged). So, Chuckles told my MIL that he wants Lightning McQueen, King, Chick Hicks, etc. The only thing is he has all of those already. So, he told grandma he wants new versions so the paint won't be chipped?!?! Wrong lesson, Dad. I think Dad was trying to teach being gentle with your toys, and all Chuckles heard was that his toys were now flawed and he should get new (or he's planning on continuing to play with his old toys and show dad the news ones?).

After observing Bobo for a few days, I have decided he wants a pillow. I actually put a pillow in his crib when he turned one in the futile attempt to make him, for-the-love-of-everything-most-especially-me, sleep. So, we tried some pillows and the one he seems to like the best is mine. It is flat - very flat and thin (like my hair!) - with a cotton case. And it's not because that one smelled like me because all the pillows smell like me. So, the boy needs a pillow so I can get mine back. Or I need a pillow. He also needs a blankie. Mimi got him a blankie for his birthday and he seems to like it enough (although somehow he got himself tangled up in it last night and started screaming because he sat up, was completely covered over the head, had no idea where he was or how to get out), but it's winter weight. I can see the blankie becoming impossible next summer.

And lastly, I have a Croft+Barrow, sea foam green, 98% nylon, 2% spandex, V-neck sweater that was a Christmas gift from my SIL in 2003. It's really soft, very comfy, and machine washable. I wear it frequently. Chuckles covets the sweater. It's so soft he always wants me to wear the sweater so he can sit in my lap and be hugged by its softness. He has decided he wants that sweater, in red. So, now I'm off searching the interwebs for a fricken sweater. I would even buy the sweater in a ladies S and shrink it. How does one search for such a thing? I have googled the sweater, the manufacturer, I looked at Kohl's, I typed in "soft sweater red", but searching for clothes on the internet is like finding a needle in a haystack (and I tried ebay too).

'Tis the season of oddly specific Christmas requests.

Threw the Lunch

Yesterday morning as I was putting Chuckles into time-out for sass-mouth, the phone rang (at 6:57 am!). It was Mr. Long-Suffering. He left his lunch sitting on the wall in front of our house. Could I put it in the fridge for him or bring it to him?

Uhhh, OK. Since it was his 35th birthday on Monday and I hadn't gotten him anything tangible, I decided to bring it to him. But I wasn't going to go all the way to his office because his office trailer is down an alley that is not paved, covered in scrap and debris, it was raining, and I have a new car. So, I offered to drop it on the corner near his work...just pitch it out the window for him to collect when he had a chance. Instead, we met at the fire station and I rolled the window down, tossed his lunch bag at him, and promptly started crying. Apparently, my interactions with a smart-mouthed kindergartener had taken more out of me than I thought.

Chuckles says the following things that make my blood boil and make me want to go old-school and take up the spanking.

• Upon being asked nicely to do something routine: No.
• Upon being told something unremarkable but true (like you have chocolate birthday cake frosting on your mouth because I am awesome, made a cake, and shared it with you): I don't care.
• Upon being told something, anything, that he didn't know: I know that.
• Upon getting hugs and kisses from me after getting a special flip in the air during family wrestling time: I hate you.

Fortunately, I just finished a big dig and tapped a new well of patience and when I got to my wit's end, I turned it around and started working toward the other end, but man, this is exhausting.

But last night, I made four pies. One of which I brought to work today. The first thing I ate this morning was pumpkin upside-down praline crunch thing. It's like health food. Full of Vitamin A.

The Opposite of Turkey

So, Thanksgiving is Thursday. I am traditionally the person to host the day as we have a turkey fryer (and long tongs, fireproof gloves, and a fire extinguisher).

So, in honor of the fact that we'll be eating turkey for a week after (since we cook two turkeys, one fried, one roasted), this weekend I wanted to fix food that was the opposite of turkey. Saturday, I used up the last of a bottle of red wine and made tortellini with fruits de mer red sauce. Scallops, shrimp, chunks of lobster, calamari. On Sunday, I thought again, "What is the opposite of turkey?" And I came up with....drum roll....ham soup. I know it doesn't sound appetizing but it was so good. Mr. Long-Suffering and I each had three bowls. Chuckles was unimpressed but Bobo ate all my vegetables. So, what is ham soup?

One quart of frozen cherry tomatoes from my garden
5 carrots, peeled and cut into bite-sized chunks
Two stalks celery (with leaves)
half a vidalia onion
1 T cumin
1 can vegetable broth and half a can of water
some lemon juice
4 bay leaves
some fresh ground pepper
(I did not use garlic, but you should...i just forgot)
about a pound of smoked, sprial sliced ham leftover from last Christmas cut into pieces
a can of beans (like garbanzo or navy or kidney or fava or cannelini)
5-8 ounces frozen leaf spinach

Add everything (except ham and spinach) into a large pot and cook for a few hours on super-low. Then an hour before you're ready to serve, add the ham (stil frozen is fine). Once it thaws, you can remove it, chunk it up, and then return to the pot. 15 minutes before dinner time, crank heat up to meadium and add the frozen spinach. Stir. Keep heating for the 15 minutes. Then turn heat off and serve with crusty bread (and butter).

And the menu for Thanksgiving (for 19, several of whom are small people) is:
A veggie tray with dip
One 15-pound fresh turkey, injected with creole butter and slathered with Cajun spice, fried in peanut oil
One frozen 11.6-pound pre-brined, injected turkey, open pan roasted with celery, carrot, onion, and garlic in the cavity, drippings retained for...
Gravy
Cresent rolls from the can
salad (from a bag)
mashed potatoes (with garlic, butter, and whole milk)
stuffing, two kinds. My MIL is making one from the organs, and I am making one with breakfast sausage. Neither of which will actually stuff the bird.
corn (because some kids said they wanted corn)
sweet potatoes, candied
sweet potatoes, plain boiled for the youngin'
green bean casserole with the French's onions, which were on Aisle 6 bottom shelf, by the green beans
Broccoli-Cream corn souffle with bacon on top...a total aside, but I saw they are making something called tur-bac-hen now and it's a chicken wrapped in bacon stuffed in a turkey. mmm, bacon.
Spinach-noodle ring with parmesan (but I am seving it in a casserole dish not a ring mold because I never get that to work and it tastes the same, regardless)
A cabbage and bread casserole that is an old family favorite. You make a roux and use cabbage water, and well, it doesn't sound good but it is. Oh yes, it is.
cranberry chutney
cranberry and fruit jello
Ocean Spray cranberry from the can turned out in a pretty dish with can marks still clearly visible
Two pumpkin pies with whipped cream (you have to make them two-at-a-time...it's the law)
A sweet potato pie (if I am so inclined and find a recipe)
A pecan pie (first time!) with rum

Did I forget anything...like to invite 90 more people over to eat the food?

366 and burying the lede

Today, I took Bobo for his one-year well-baby visit. We could, if so inclined, turn the car seat around (we are not so-inclined but it's nice to have options). We can start on whole milk. He needs a lead test. He got 4 shots at the ped's office (Hep A, Hep B, Prevnar, and MMR...he did not get the varicella vaccine since he already had chicken pox). Then, we headed off (with Chuckles) to the county health department to get H1N1 vaccines.

The visit with the ped was nice. We've seen him a lot lately. We have good rapport. The ped was pleasantly surprised to see that Bobo was only 3 ounces down from his all-time high weight. That's back up 8 ounces from his recent illness-related low. Bobo weighs 23 pounds, is 30" long, and has a 46-cm head circumference (that's 18.1 inches). He is quite average in the 50th to 75th percentile for most things. The important thing is he has been fairly consistent in his growth throughout his life.

Toward the end of the visit, we touched on Bobo's recent illness. The ped said he just presented the case to his colleagues at some meeting because it was so rare and unusual. No one in attendance at whatever meeting it was had seen anything like it in years. And he reiterated how happy he was that we had brought Bobo in that Monday night. Back, before Prevnar, there were about 3,000 deaths per year from pneumococcal illnesses in children. Nowadays, there are about 20/year. So, incidences of bacteremia and sepsis are way down. And Bobo got it.

So, the other day (after Bobo had antibiotic-related explosive poop all over me right after his 1-year photo shoot while I was sitting at the computer picking poses), I went and bought a lottery ticket. I already had a streak of really good luck that week, so I figured I'd see if it carried over into games of chance. Good luck, you ask? Well, yes. We caught it early and Bobo recovered without issue. Good luck. Good medicine.