343

{This is long. That's your warning. Part 1 is below the photos from Thanksgiving.}

Imagine: It’s 1994 and I’ve just dumped my boyfriend of 3.5 years because I’m infatuated with someone else and want to “see other people” and “expand my horizons”.

My parents have always been supportive in their own way, but they aren’t even remotely cheerleader-y. I didn’t know then that I am smoking hot (I know now). I didn’t know how smart I was. I didn’t know how to try hard at something, succeed, and feel proud (things had always either been easy or I didn’t do them). I wasn’t the smart daughter, I wasn’t the pretty daughter, and I sure as shooting wasn’t the friendly daughter (my sister was those things). I had yet to learn the social graces (I know them now). Back in 1994, I didn’t have much in the way of self-esteem. I’m immune to most criticism and peer-pressure these days. I march to the beat of a totally different tympani player. Heck, sometimes, I don’t even march. I skip. It’s all these years I’ve spent in the manufacturing plant. They’ve hardened me….but in a good way. I have excellent self-esteem now.

Things were different on the south side than they were in Livonia or the North Shore or San Jose. HS Football games routinely had police to prevent large outbreaks of gang-related violence. You didn’t go to the other side of the viaduct if you were white, and you didn’t go to the other side of the same viaduct if you were black. Fights broke out on the playground, in the cafeteria, on the bus. Girls in junior high had babies.

I had a somewhat rocky home life so going off to college was a perfect time to reinvent myself. However, I was a girl from the south side who went to public high school and paid to take her AP exams with financial aid help. I was smart, driven, motivated, and poor. Of course, I chose to go to an elite university that was rife with kids whose parents were paying full-tuition for them (and buying their books, paying for their laundry and picking up the cost of pizza and beer). How did I not realize that I could not possibly fit in with my K-Mart clothes, my work-study job, and my used textbooks? Again, naiveté.

I don’t know the exact first moment I met 343, but I remember the first weeks. It was a blurry time, filled with NEW and exciting and free. I already could tell that I was not going to fit in with the crowd at the Private College. 343 wasn’t your typical private school guy. Sure, he’d gone to a private college prep HS, but it was a Catholic school in the City and his family was working class Catholic from the South Side too. He was also helping put himself through school.

Those first few days of new student week were a whirlwind of defining yourself, meeting people, getting acquainted, and I’m sure I was supposed to be touring the library, finding my classes, and taking placement tests or something too. I spent the week staying up late, walking around, having deep and meaningful conversations about what it means to be, and having the first booze I had had since middle school. It was so enlivening.

343 was in my new student orientation group. Neither of us was really interested in listening to the speaker – the university president who retired shortly thereafter. The president was droning on and on (and on and on) about something and the future and ethnographic studies. I still can’t hear the word ethnography without thinking about how 343 and I snickered and mocked through the entire speech. I’m still the snickering and mocking type. At one point, I had to go to the bathroom. I found two twenty-dollar bills in the toilet. 40 bucks! Big money! I fished it out, and 343 and I ordered Giordano’s for dinner. Woo hoo. Good, Chicago-style pizza. Free!

343 and I became an item after a week or two. He had a hometown girlfriend, and I had Minnow. We agreed that when we were at school, we would be with each other but when we were at home, we would be with our hometown honeys. (How'd that work out for ya?) 343 was a really great guy*.

By Christmas break, it was over. It was a wrenching break up for me. I was dumped. I had never been dumped before. My self-esteem was so low that I think I was tying my own self-worth to how others perceived me and whether or not I was good enough to love. The break-up proved to me in the way only an 18-year old can believe that I wasn’t good enough to be loved. And it showed me that I had made a terrible decision dumping Minnow. Somehow I was still tying all my self-identity up in how I was or was not coupled. And my grades that quarter were pretty bad too.

A few weeks after we returned from Christmas break, 343 and I were on again. We were off again by the time school was out for summer (but my grades were much, much better). Whenever I was in the presence of 343, I was a totally different person. I wasn’t better…not like I am when Mr. Long-Suffering is around. I was clingy, annoying, insecure, fake. A few weeks into the summer (the same summer I tried to be friends with Minnow and last saw his parents), we were on again.

We stayed together through Christmas 1995 and got engaged to be married. (The ring, by the way, was gorgeous. It’s almost the exact same style, size, shape of the ring I wear today. My tastes in men may have changed, but a diamond is forever.)

Somewhere in Spring of 1996, we were off-again, only to be on-again a month or two later. The next year was more of the same. When we were on, we were on. When we were off, there was yelling in the street at 2am, tears, slammed doors, name-calling. When we’d reconcile, he would promise it would be better. Things would be different. We’d work on it harder. When things went south (again, inevitably), I would cry saying that I didn’t think I could do this for the rest of my life. I was right. I would not have been able to do that the rest of my life. Or possibly, my life would have been smaller.

I’ve mentioned Mimi on the blog before. She is my mother and my children’s grandmother. The doting Mimi of today is a far cry from the mother of my youth. My own mother tied most of her self-worth up with who she was dating or not. My mother had never lived alone. She moved from her parents’ home straight with my father. When they divorced, she had me, and when I went to college, some man she was dating moved in with her. I was following in her footsteps in all the wrong ways. During those years between my parents’ divorce and me leaving for college, I took good care of Mimi. I was a nurturer, a worrier, and her caretaker.

Not only was I repeating her mistakes in tying my own self-worth up with who I was dating, I was trying to take care of 343 the same way I had taken care of my mom. Dating FAIL.

So, we continued on and off. Off and on. I have no idea what our friends thought. This situation had alienated most of my few friends. No one ever really said anything to me about the destructive spiral I was in (and if they had, I wouldn’t have listened). No one ever really mentioned that I was a complete and total doormat. (No one except 343 when we were off-again. If I had listened to him half as much as I loved him, I probably would’ve ended it once and for all because he was right about it all. I was a doormat.) Things were dramatic. Turbulent. Erratic. Passionate. Possibly even exciting, if we’re being honest.

Things had never gotten violent (yet). But it’s the yet I feared most.

The summer between junior and senior years, I went off to have an internship and so did 343. He was in DC, and I was in Michigan. We talked when we could, but his schedule was hectic. I enjoyed this kind of freedom too. It was nice to know that I had someone who loved me no matter what and the security of being coupled but the freedom to come and go as I pleased and to work late when needed. It’s almost as if I liked the idea of having a fiancé without all the difficulty of actually having a second person in the relationship. Since 343’s career would cause him to move around a lot and mine would keep me tied to the industrial Midwest, the summer of 1997 was actually a lot like how my marriage would have been.

When school started back up in the Fall, we were living together. It was weird. After the whole summer apart doing our own things, I had trouble adjusting back to coupledom. 343 had developed some paranoia along the way. He didn't trust me, didn't trust what few friends I had, was suspicious. Somewhere in here I had done something stupid and irresponsible with my thesis and lost my advisor, so I had to start my two-quarter project thesis over. No one can self-sabotage the way I can. (See how my self-esteem has improved...I think I'm the BEST...at self-sabotage.)

I don’t remember the fight that ended it all. I had made a big pot of chicken soup for 343. He always liked my chicken soup. He was in the living room on the fold out couch where we had been sleeping until we could get a bed. 1-800-MATTRES, leave off the last S for savings.

I remember the light in the room. The living room faced east, but it was a courtyard building so there was a wall directly to the south of the window. It was a really bright white light, but it was filtered and a time of day that made it dark in there, though it was still light outside. He left, and he never came back. Not really, at least. He came back and got his couch. I returned the ring.

A few days later, I sent an RSVP to my BFF declining an invitation to her wedding. I just couldn’t go and be happy for her. I was crushed. I cried for a few days non-stop. I would wake up in the night, go into the bathroom and cry. I would have to get a drink of water just to have enough left for tears.

He had left his kitchen table in the kitchen, but I felt weird about using it, so I put a folding table up in the kitchen next to it and used the folding table instead. I couldn’t afford the apartment on my own, so I started looking to find someone to sublet. I had no idea where I was going to go, but I knew I couldn’t stay – mentally or financially. I started a mad search for a job. I bought waterproof mascara, so I could cry and interview. Surprisingly, I got a lot of job offers.

The pot of chicken soup sat in the refrigerator for weeks unopened. It felt like a betrayal to eat it. It felt worse to throw it out. When it was time to move, I was going to throw the whole thing out - pot and all, but a friend convinced me the stock pot was too nice to waste. So, I kept the pot and flushed the soup down the toilet when I moved out. Poetic, no? (I still have that stock pot. In fact, I handed it to Chuckles last week when he had a mysterious vomiting illness.)

I had enough credits to leave school at the end of the quarter, so long as I could finish my thesis up. I worked my tail-end off finishing everything up by the middle of January, and I high-tailed it out of town. The quarter had ended in December and I got an incomplete on my thesis, but they put it in retroactively so I was able to move to Ohio and start in at the factory just in time for my 22nd birthday. I had given up the apartment in December, so I spent a month staying with different people while I finished my thesis. Essentially, I was homeless but for the kindness of friends and family.

The asterisk up above? 343 was a really great guy*. The asterisk is a place holder for “when he was sober”. 343 was a really great guy when he was sober. When he was drunk, he was a colossal jerk. An asshole even. He might agree with that statement; he might not. He might feel bad about the way things happened. He might not. He might remember them differently. He might think I was a clingy stalker who wouldn’t leave him alone for 3 years. He might regret jerking me around. I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to him since graduation.

I came back from Ohio to walk at my graduation ceremony that following June. Senior week was a lot like Freshman orientation had been. There was no work to be done, no deadlines, no papers, just a lot of time to stay up late talking about what it means to be. He and I went for coffee. 343 was chain smoking and drinking a lot of coffee. I don’t remember what we said, but it was over. It had to be. 343 was sober now, but I knew that since I was a part of his drinking past, there would always be a codependent part to any relationship we would have (thanks be to al-anon). The how and why he quit drinking are his story to tell, not mine, so I won’t, but I’m glad he did.

I sent him an e-card to congratulate him when he hit one year of sobriety. I haven’t communicated with him since.

I’ve been thinking a lot about friends and acquaintances and people who come into your life and then disappear. Maybe it’s because we just celebrated Thanksgiving or because I am going to turn dirty-jive next year. Perhaps I’m suffering from some sort of maudlin ennui. I’ve been thinking about how people who were once very important to you can disappear without a trace.

343 has a common name. Have you ever tried to google 343? You get a lot of hits. Many companies have model numbers with 343 in them. It turns out 343 firefighters died on September 11th. So, I have never really kept up with him or known what he’s been up to. But once I found out about Minnow’s wife and parents, I was curious what had happened with 343. Did he stay sober? Did he finish up school and graduate? Those aren’t really the kinds of things you can find from a google search anyway.

A quick look on facebook tells me he got married last year. His wife is currently expecting their first baby. She looks absolutely lovely in all the belly shots posted on twitter. He taunts her by eating her favorite sushi in front of her. He founded his own company. I saw his blog. He’s still sober. He’s still chain smoking. He’s still haunted by some of the same old demons. I wish him nothing but the best.

Scenes

Making stuffing. Nothing says love like a pound of mozzarella cheese.
With No. 1 Son.
With No. 2 Son.
The table set for ten. There was also a kid's table behind me (you know, a card table covered in a nice table cloth set up in the middle of the living room. I just graduated from it myself quite recently.)

Canned cranberries on a pretty plate in front of some Waterford crystal with the can marks still clearly visible. It wouldn't be Thanksgiving at my house without it.

Minnow

Before Mr. Long-Suffering, there were 3 boyfriends. Two of them were serious, multi-year affairs and one was a short fling (short, by my standards, is about 6 or 8 months). We will now give them nicknames to differentiate. In chronological order: High school boyfriend will be known as Minnow, college boyfriend will go by a number…how about 343, and fling will go by the name Fling.

So, Minnow and I were on the math team together. We founded the Bridge Club (playing cards not building coalitions) at our high school together. If it weren’t for the fact that he was male and I am not, we probably would’ve just been really good friends. But alas, the romantic aspect was present, so we dated for about 3.5 years. We went to prom twice. I wore the same dress both times.

Minnow went off to college after my sophomore year, so we did the long-distance thing for two years. Now kids, this is back in the day before rampant email (it was still nascent email at the time) and this is just at the beginning of discount long distance (on landlines). I was paying about $0.15 per minute for the long-distance phone calls.

Usually, I would say that the long-distance thing doesn’t work out and when you go to college you should go and be open to new people and experiences. However, if your boyfriend is going to an all-male college and you are busy at home with a job, several extra-curriculars, and school, it could work out since no one is going to meet someone else. So, it went well.

I liked Minnow a lot. We had quite a bit in common. His family was very nice. They were very stable. I liked that. They ate dinner together every night. Minnow’s parents knew what classes he and his brother took in school, showed up for some functions, supported them in their endeavors. They were good parents. In fact, I am trying to be like them as I raise my own kids.

Eventually, I graduated from high school and went off to college myself with every intention of sticking with Minnow while he finished his degree at the all-male college and getting married a few years after he graduated. I even thought about moving into married student housing for my last two years at university, etc and on and on as the dreams of a teenaged girl oft are.

He lasted a week, ten days maybe. I was horrible to him. I know it now. At the time, I was so infatuated with someone else (the someone else was 343), I didn’t see how truly awful I was. I called him and told him I wanted to “see other people”. This was after 3.5 years. He deserved better. Just awful. He came to visit once (since we were still seeing each other and I was also seeing other people). He brought a blender with him to make me my favorite banana shake. I wasn’t my very best. Minnow had been my best friend for years and years, and I wanted him to be happy for me and the new life I was living and the new people I had met and the new “school” boyfriend I had. But, obviously, he couldn’t be happy for me for that. Somehow I was a self-absorbed 18-year old (redundancy alert).

{As an aside, my “school” boyfriend and I both still had hometown honeys. So, we made the agreement that when we were at school we were exclusive to each other, but when we were at home on breaks and whatnot, we could still see our old people. How we thought that would work, I don’t know. Call it naiveté.}

Let’s say things went sour with the “school” boyfriend and by the beginning of summer after freshman year, I was single again. Minnow wanted me back, but after my taste of freedom, I didn’t want him back as a boyfriend. I wanted him as my friend. We tried the just friends thing for a week or two. It didn’t work out, but I still loved hanging out at his house with his pesky little brother and his awesome parents for that week or two. And his mom’s cooking. She was such a good cook.

I might have exchanged emails with Minnow a time or two after that. We ran in some similar circles online for a while. I think I last heard from him in 1998 when he was in grad school. At the time I was pleasantly single, and he was dating a girl somewhat seriously.

I’ve been thinking a lot about friends and acquaintances and people who come into your life and then disappear. Maybe it’s because we just celebrated Thanksgiving or because I am going to turn dirty-jive next year. Perhaps I’m suffering from some sort of maudlin ennui. I’ve been thinking about how people who were once very important to you can disappear without a trace.

I had googled him a few times over the years. Not much came up. Well, I recently looked Minnow up on facebook. He’s not there. I googled one more time and my mad keyword skills must be getting better because a whole trove of stuff came up this time. Including an obituary.

Now, I bet you know where this is going, but it’s not. It wasn’t his obituary. It was his wife’s. The somewhat serious girlfriend from 1998? They got married in 1998 right around when he probably graduated from grad school. She passed away on Nov. 23, 2006. I don’t know how she died. They did not have any children. I almost want to send a sympathy card, but it has obviously been far-too-long since her death to do so and to do so now would be completely inappropriate since I don’t want to rekindle anything. I would just like him to know that I am sorry for his loss. Sorry I treated him so crappily, and hope he finds some happiness.

Now, that little bit of googling caused me to look his brother up on facebook. Just to see whatever happened to the pesky little brother. It appears that the little brother is all grown up now. He’s an officer in the Navy. He is married and has a couple of kids. I scrolled through his list of friends, and I noticed he had friended his mom. How sweet! I always looked up to her. She was a strong woman, a mother, she worked outside the home but seemed to balance it all so well. So I clicked over to her facebook page. Her profile photo is a picture of her grandkids. Wow, a great mom and a great and doting grandmother! Her relationship status was “in a relationship with” someone who wasn’t Minnow’s dad. Then I noticed she was using her maiden name on facebook. Of course, this made me fear that Minnow’s dad had also passed away and that I hadn’t sent another sympathy card (although it was probably too late to send one again since his mom was already dating again).

So, I did a little local obituary search for his Dad. Nothing came up, but a public record came up instead. Minnow’s father filed for divorce from Minnow’s mother. The divorce was final in 2001. I saw them in 1998. They had just finished celebrating their 30th wedding anniversary with a weekend trip to Cybaris. It’s like the kids grew up, graduated college, and they got divorced? How does that happen?

Next Chapter: The story of 343.

Snippet

Overheard at my house on Thursday: I have a pound of butter on the counter, and I'm not afraid to use it.

And use it I did.

As usual, I had one thing missing from my Thanksgiving dinner: six extra people.

We had:
an artichoke dip from Target's Archer Fams which was notgood with Hawaiian bread
a veggie tray with ranch dressing and French Onion Dip

crescent rolls from a can
corn bread muffins
cranberry relish
cranberries from a can served in a pretty dish with can marks still clearly visible
deep fried cajun injected turkey
stuffing (homemade with mozzarella cheese and country sausage...a recipe that is quite good)
gravy made from turkey neck simmered in canned, low-sodium turkey broth since the fried turkey makes no pan drippings
Hungarian sausage homemade at the church at the end of the street boiled and then grilled
garlic mashed potatoes with butter and half-and-half
green beans with pearl onions and balsamic reduction
green bean casserole with the French's onions on top
candied sweet potatoes
sweet potatoes with ginger snap crumble

pecan pie
two pumpkin pies
apple pastry
whipped cream and ice cream

Korbel champagne
coffee with choclate syrup, whipped cream, and an assortment of boozes for the Irishing

What we didn't have: salad.

What we are thankful for: family, friends, security, and me yelling from the kitchen during the toast "Health".

Image Center - Olan Mills Portrait Studios

Image Center - Olan Mills Portrait Studios

731

Bobo turned two years old yesterday. Chuckles promptly vomited his entire festive Thanksgiving Feast from school (where I had volunteered as a Milk Mom to help serve the fesat). The good news is they were both able to consume cupcakes before bed and no one missed his field trip today.

Soup

Recipe for Butternut Squash Soup

4 tsp olive oil
1-4 leeks rinsed well, tough green parts removed, sliced thinly
8 cloves garlic, peeled and pressed or chopped roughly
2 cups water
2 cups broth (or one can broth and enough water to make 4 cups total)
½ tsp freshly ground black pepper
1 medium butternut squash, peeled, seeds removed, and cut into 1” pieces (about 4 cups)

Heat olive oil in a small stock pot, sautee leeks and garlic about 10 minutes.
Add the rest of the ingredients and simmer (uncovered) for 20-30 minutes until squash is fork tender.
Blend until smooth with an immersion blender or put in a regular blender with center of the lid removed and a towel over the hole to allow steam to escape.

Down

Un-Worry

Once upon a time (which we will call Spring), I was worried about Bobo. That might be my understatement of the day. I worried about his growth, his ear infections, his development, his autism, his health, his hatred of books, his dismissal of people, his refusal to eat, his love of binkies, his not-sleeping-through-the-night-ness, his sickness, his health, his life, his liberty, and his pursuit of happiness.

Officially, as of today, I am no longer worried.

Tonight, Bobo didn't want to go to bed. "No bed. No nigh-night. Rock Caca Room." Which basically means he doesn't want to go to bed but wants to rock in the rocking chair in Chuckles's room. However, Chuckles was already in bed with lights out (8:05...but don't be jealous...I'll see Chuckles again before too long...usually 2 am, 5:30 and from 6 on).

So, Chuckles was in bed, and Bobo did NOT want to go to bed. So, we danced the sleepytime dance, read Where's Spot, and then started in with "You can have your binky if you're in bed for sleeping. Night night. All your friends and blankies are in bed." He said, "No. Book." And picked up a book and started to "read". On the very first page of the book, there was a picture of a sleepy little baby overtired and crying. Bobo looked at the picture and said, "No baby. No Cry. Go night night. Bed. Binky." Then, he went to where we keep the binkies, got one, and tried to shove it into paper baby's mouth to make her stop crying.

He, however, still did not want to go to bed.

Redemption

She lost. Whew. The headline of the paper today was:

Adams first Republican to win countywide office in 60 years

Link to the atricle

Electoral

I voted my conscience. Rebecca Sink-Burris (L) got my vote. You might recall that I couldn't decide between her and Dan Coats. According to the WaPo, Dan Coats (R) won, so I don't feel as though I threw away my vote.

I have to say that Sink-Burris did really well in a statewide election. She got 5% of the vote. That's really good for a Libertarian candidate.

Candidate Votes %
Coats 888,280 55%
Ellsworth 649,791 40%
Sink-Burris 86,759 5%

How sad is it that when I googled Election Results 2010 Indiana, the first site that came up was WaPo and not something a wee bit more local?

So, you may recall that I mentioned that one of the candidates for local office was currently charged with a whole host of falsifying documents crimes and other unseemly things....so, of course, I voted against her (I didn't so much vote for the other person as vote against her). Of course, innocent until proven guilty, but she wouldn't even say whether her father was deceased (something about claiming a homestead exemption and senior citizen exemption in someone else's name blah blah blah and she wants to be the TAX ASSESSOR???). Her own party basically said that they can't endorse her, but they encourage you to vote a straight party ticket while holding your nose and not actually voting in that race.

Well, the race is too close to call at this point. It's too close to call!! Which sickens me. The last prelim results posted to the County election website were at 3pm. If someone were to get those results and then decide to "get out the vote" this election might swing. Lake County politics is not known for its clean elections. My county touches Chicago and our machine is every bit as well-funded and tactically deceitful as anyone else's machine (complete with actual election ballots found in an actual bag at the bottom of the harbor).

Time for bed. Night night.

PS - Bobo has been saying, "Ding Dong. Bowl." all day. I am pretty sure he either saw the Wizard of Oz without me knowing about it or he wants to go Trick Or Treating again and get shiny packages out of people's bowls. (I do not think he is aware that the shiny packages are filled with candy. Please don't tell him.)

Moo

Sunday, on the spur of the moment, we took the kids to Fair Oaks Farms to see where our milk comes from. I had a coupon for buy one-get one admission (Thank you Entertainment book fundraiser from the school).

Fair Oaks is not organic milk, but the cows get to walk around and live in relative comfort (for dairy cows). The cows don't get antibiotics (unless they're sick) and they don't get added hormones, but their feed is conventionally grown, so the milk isn't organic. It's just....less tainted.

Anyway, they runs tours and whatnot.

I really enjoyed the farm. We didn't take the tour to the milking turntable because it involved a 45-minute bus ride and Bobo is not so much for the sitting down these days. But they had plenty of other things to do like drive tiny tractors, eat ice cream, climb a rock wall, sample cheese, jump on a giant inflatable pillow (which was a real hoot), drink milk, a 4-D mooooovie, and much, MUCH more. If you act now, they will throw in the string cheese maze for free!

I went to the birthing barn and watched a cow give birth to twin bull calves. 60 pounds apiece. It's the first time I have ever seen something born in real-life. Yikes. It was a little gross as I imagine traditional childbirth is (and beautiful too...yessiree I am sure childbirth is beautiful...and slimy). Anyway, we didn't know a second calf was coming and then the cow midwife (she wasn't a vet, just a woman who helps the laboring cows) stuck her arm (up to the shoulder) into the cow. I figure she was trying to get the placenta. When her arm came back out, she had hold of a hoof. She grabbed both, and pulled. I mean, really, pulled. And out slid another calf.

The mother cow was quite interested in her first calf and was licking and stimulating it. She wasn't all that interested in that second thing that came out of her. I was really hoping she was going to maternal up and that we wouldn't see neonatal cow death. So, the midwife dragged #2 around to the front end of the cow and eventually, she gave her calf a cursory lick and went back to #1. After about a half hour, #1 started to get up and walk away, so #2 got a lot of attention then. Everything worked out OK in the end. I never saw the calves nurse though. They get to stay with their mothers on the farm for about 80 days.

Aquaria

We took the kids to the Shedd Aquarium today. My company is a corporate partner, so the tickets were free. We got all access passes. All Access. Woo Hoo.

The kids? Well, they were most impressed by an area where you could put on a penguin costume and go down a slide on your belly. So, right, glad I didn't pay $26 each for those tickets.

Progress

I ran another 5k over the weekend. I improved my time almost 3 minutes. From 40:11 to 37:14.

Many people ran in costume. I chased a giant M&M for 3 miles. I vowed that if I caught her, I could take a bite. Will run for chocolate. Four or five guys dressed up as KISS (in full jumpsuits, wigs, make-up, and carrying guitars). They also ran it under 20 minutes, so impressive all around. The guy who ran in the 70-and-over age bracket beat my time, but I'm closing in on him. The best costume though was a Golden Retriever dressed up as a frilly pink poodle.

Today? My legs are like Twizzlers. And every time one of my joints in my knee or hip is bent, it’s like Crunch. Even my Skittles have been jostled into Mounds. I've been trying to think of myself as Good-N-Plenty, but some days, I just feel Chunky. But Mr. Long-Suffering thinks I'm cute and the kids give me a Bit-O-Honey, which makes me feel Almond Joy and sends my feelings into the Milky Way. They really are my 3 Musketeers. Now all I need is a Pay Day for a 100 Grand, and I will be all set like Baby Ruth.

Happiness

Chuckles had a bowl of cereal this morning (Honey Sunshine) topped with M&Ms. I am a winner mother with a good sense of humor.


The kids pulled in 144 pieces of candy last night. That number makes me so geekfully happy seeing as it is (a) a gross and (b) 12-squared.

Bobo dumped his bag onto the living room floor last night and shuffled his feet through the pile as he had been doing to piles of raked leaves all weekend. He did not say, "Trick or Treat" at a single door, but he did say, "bell" and "Ding Dong" about a million times. At one house, he pointed to a chair on the front porch, said, "Chair", and climbed into it and sat down for a rest. This irked Chuckles because, I mean, there is still free candy that people will give me if we keep moving. Gotta make good time.

Both kids stayed out almost the full two hours. They needed mittens. For the 5th consecutive year, Chuckles wore my mittens around because I forgot to bring his and had mine in my pocket.

Hope

Election Day is coming, and I'm excited. Hope and Change. If you find my somewhat right-of-liberal views annoying, you should stop now. I don't want to upset anyone, but I am a Libertarian and I blog about that in addition to the stuff about kids, gardening, cooking, etc.
Libertarian views in a nut shell: Fiscal Conservatism with Social Liberalism. Also, Just Leave Me Alone to Live My Life.

Yes to the following Liberties: Gun Ownership (I'm OK with restrictions for felons and criminals), Free Speech, Property Rights, Gay Marriage (though some of the most Libertarian will tell you that the state has no business in civil marriage of any kind and I can see the argument, though marriage is so entrenched in society it would be hard to un-do), Abortion-on-Demand with minimal restrictions, low interference from the state on just about everything, local control of more, central control of less (but I can see how the Fed is required for some things like enforcing the 14th Amendment in the South during Jim Crow).

No to the following intrusions on personal liberty: Speech and dress codes (ala Burqa ban in France and speech codes in Canada), high tax rates, government mandates of all kinds, unnecessary licensing requirements, liquor laws (why doesn't Indiana allow wine.com to ship to me?...because the wholesalers and distributors have convinced the politicians to allow them to keep their monopoly in the guise of public interest), zoning laws, property covenants, unions, incentives that reward undesireable behavior, politicians who buy the votes of the electorate with my money.

So, I am hopeful that some things in Indiana (and the Nation) will change after November 2nd. I think we might get our first Republican county-wide official elected this year since the 1950s. The democratic candidate for assessor is currently charged with a felony and probably doesn't actually reside in the county. Her own party machine isn't endorsing or backing her, but the higher-ups are urging people just to vote a straight party ticket. If she wins, it will be a sad day for an imformed electorate.

I'm not sure for whom I will vote in the US Senate race. The democrat and republican have both sent many many mailers to my home and their positions on the issues are very similar (almost indistinguishable by my way of reading...rhetoric about working families, low taxes, pro-jobs, anti-abortion). I think, in this case, the devil is in the details. One says he's pro-jobs by spending tax dollars to pay people to do things. The other says he's pro-jobs by lowering S-corporation tax rates to encourage job creation in the private sector.

Evan Bayh decided not to run for re-election after it was too late to hold primary elections, so the democrats put up Brad Ellsworth (he's for bank bail-outs, pro-Obamacare, and anti-gay marriage). Dan Coats (a former US Senator) is running as the Republican (he's backed by the Tea Party, who I swear to you is not a bunch of angry racists no matter what Newsweek's coverage tells you). Libertarian Rebecca Sink-Burris is also running. Her views most closely represent my views (although she's Pro-Life too, sort of...she doesn't seem anti-abortion...it's like she says I'm Pro-Life (who isn't?) and then sounds sort of reasonable on the issue...very strange position), but she has a snowball's chance of being elected. So, do I vote my conscience, or vote as closely to my conscience as I can with a candidate who actually has a chance in a tight race? Therein lies the rub.

Pain

Speaking of the blind following of rules, handwriting practice. Chip starts his letters r and n and the bottom line, pushes up, then pulls down, then pushes back up and curves them over. Every time he does this on his handwriting worksheet, I erase it and tell him to start at the middle dashed line and pull down. He whines, he pouts, he cried because I am so mean, he draws out the worksheet for an hour when it could reasonably be done in 3 minutes. There is just a way you do things. And you need to learn and develop muscle memory so that one day you can just sit there and write without thinking and have it be legible. I do not believe that longhand is going anywhere just because of electronica.

My point is that things are going well. Quite well. Swimmingly. I am happy (mostly). I am contented. I have pangs of wanting a third baby, but I don't think I actually want a third baby. Although, who wouldn't want to be able to say My Three Sons?

Joy

Last Week, Moxie posted the question: What's going on with you?

SarcastiCarrie answered: My life is absolutely wonderfully fabulous right this very minute and I want to stop time right here and stay here forever and ever and ever. But, alas, that is not how life goes, so tomorrow, something will hit the fan and someone is going to the pediatrician and so on.

Well, the fates did not strike me down after that comment and the only reason Chip wound up at the pediatrician is beacause he got his first varicella vaccine at 51 weeks of age and the State says it doesn't count if it is given prior to 51 weeks 4 days (I shit you not). Never mind that his brother had chicken pox, and he didn't get it, which proves his immunity and also should count as a booster shot. He got the shot, got a sucker, got his FluMist, and we all carried on with our lives. I did not even storm the statehouse and demand they make an exception, nor did I ask for the exemption papers to decline vaccinating. I believe in herd immunity. I don't believe in the blind following of rules, but sometimes, it's just easier.

UPDATED: I forgot to mention that what brought the issue to a head was a phone call from the principal wherein she threatened to "exclude him from school until we resovle this matter". Threats. Great. I did sign a paper saying that they do NOT have my permission to give Chip's vaccination records to the state through electronic records sharing. So, whatever. It's over an done. Maybe when I am out of the throes of childrearing I will fight for commonsense vaccination programs.

Fear

I have mentioned before that I work in heavy industrial manufacturing. Mr. Long-Suffering does too. Twice a year, he works a big blitz at work. Two years ago, when I was enormously pregnant with Bobo, he had an accident. He was injured at work when something broke loose and went flying across the building. He was very lucky. He was hit in the arm.

This morning at my desk, I got the same email forwarded to me by 15 different people. It was a safety notice of a fatal accident that happened during the big blitz that Mr. Long-Suffering is working this week. The guy who was killed is named also named Mr. Most people know Mr. and I have different last names and most of the people prefaced their emails with “That wasn’t your husband, was it?” It was not my husband, but I really think those people should have called instead of emailed. There’s an etiquette and a protocol to these things. If you're notifying a woman that her husband might have just been killed, you should call. Or stop by her office.

It was some other mechanical engineer named Mr. working on that exact same piece of equipment, and if it had happened on day turn instead of midnights or if Mr. Long-Suffering had been working midnights (like usual) instead of days this week it would have been him. Tearing up a little at my desk. OK, actually, tearing up a lot.

Guilt

So, why did we, after 5 years, baptize the kids?

Guilt.

Mr. Long-Suffering had been getting occasional digs from his parents for 5 years. He had finally had enough.

Neither of us is what you might call religious. We've never regularly attended church together, though he went as a child and I went some as an adult (just to learn about the Bible so I would be better at Jeopardy! Oddly, the church doesn't actually teach you about what is in the text of the bible.).

Mr. Long-Suffering is an introvert and rather sensitive to criticism, and the fact that he was disappointing his parents was crushing him. The comments only came up 2-4 times per year, but he internalized their disapproval, and it wore on him. Plus, in his family, a baptism is a custom, a tradition, and he felt like it was something we should do because it is what people do.

This is not a custom or tradition in my family. My sister and I were not baptized nor christened. My niece was not either. We did not regularly attend church as children, though occasionally, my grandmother would drop us off for Sunday school, or we'd go with the neighbors. I am a polite non-believer (of all religions, though I do think Judaism is pretty neat). Agnostic really. I'm culturally Protestant. Some of my family is devoutly religious. My own father is an ordained member of the Presbyterian church (though how that happened was sort of an accident....million-to-one shot doc, million-to-one).

Mr. Long-Suffering and I were married in the Lutheran Church (LC-MS) 9 years ago, and I did agree to raise my kids in that Church (though truthfully, I somehow never thought it would happen).

So, when Mr. Long-Suffering floated the idea of getting Bobo and Chip baptized, I said, "Sure, OK, you plan it, and I'll show up." That was about 2 years ago. The idea surface every few months since then. I always said, "OK, I won't stop you." Though, truthfully, he's not the planner in this relationship so I never thought it would happen.

Now that we have Mrs. Marie, though, we have a lot more mind-space time. I have 3 hours per week to myself now, and I assume Mr. L-S does too. So, he arranged a baptism. I planned a party. I even made sure our family went to church the weekend before the baptism so we'd see the place, get the lay of the land, meet the pastor, etc.

So, it's done. And I feel just awful about it. I really didn't want to baptize them. It sort of goes against everything I believe in. If they decide that they are believers when they're grown, they could get baptized then. On the other hand, I remind myself that as a non-believer, it doesn't really mean anything and nothing has changed, so no big deal, symbolism, blal blah blah, pleasing the elder generation. If they decide they are non-believers when they grow up, it's not like they can un-do it (though really, as a non-believer, it doesn't mean anything any way, so no harm - no foul).

The funny part about it is that Chip has been dumping buckets of water over Bobo's head three times in the bath and saying it's a baptism. Which is really adorable.

Champange Punch Recipe (Bellini Recipe, Peach Champagne Deliciousness Recipe)

This is the recipe I ended up serving, and it was wonderful. I googled and I googled and I ended up just winging it. You can increase/decrease to the number of people you have.

This served 20 adults for 3 or 4 hours.

The night before, make an ice ring:

Put a pound of frozen peaches (or your own peeled, pitted, and wedged peaches) into the bottom of a Bundt pan (or any other decorative pan or tupperware). Cover peaches with Sierra Mist Natural (I recommend this only because it is made with sugar not HFCS. You could use 7-Up.). Place in freezer overnight or until frozen solid. To remove, put pan in sink of tepid water to loosen and then put it in the punch bowl trying not to splash (or put it in before the liquids).

4 bottles of chilled, cheap Champagne or Sparkling Wine (I used 2 cheap, 2 moderate bottles because that is what I had on-hand: 2 J Roget, 1 Korbel, and one Frexinet), any brand, any Brut, semi-dry, spumante, etc.

1 bottle of peach schnapps (the cheaper the better...mine was $9.99, but I am pretty sure a cheap-o bottle can be had for $7 or $8).

4 twelve-ounce cans of Peach Nectar (at my grocery store, it was found on the Latino Foods aisle). All the brands said 100% nectar on the front and had sugar/high fructose corn syrup listed as an ingredient. I don't know whether it was sugar or HFCS, but how is that 100% nectar?

1-2 cups of Sierra Mist Natural, to taste

One ice ring with frozen peaches

serve with ladle from (borrowed) punch bowl (or heck, a stock pot would work) into Solo Cups (or you know, champagne flutes if you're feeling fancy)

This recipe would be very easy to scale down to one bottle of champagne (and in fact, I made a three-bottle batch and then a one-bottle batch after it was clear that the punch was moving).

Oh No! Not Again!

We have a child in our house who has learned the word "no". Send help. And wine. And maybe chocolate.


PS - No champagne punch recipes? Really? Are my 6 readers all a bunch of teetotallers, because I don't know if we can have that.

Well now

So, two posts down, that guy leaning against the truck, he totally was checking out my @$$. True. True that. And why wouldn't he be?

Next! I love mapmyrun. I go out and I run and I come back and see how far I've gone, or I plan out a route before I go. Tonight, I said I wanted to go out and run about 3 miles. I ended up needed to go to the bathroom about 35 minutes into it (it's usually about 40 minutes), so I went right home. I mapped my run. I ran 2.99 miles. (So a good ti:me and a good time.)

Next! Physical therapy is going well. I'm not excellent about doing my exercises outside of PT though (who has time? and good form?), but I'm making excellent progress. Today I was lifting weights with the arm that was, for all intents and purposes, dead to me just a month ago.

I think weaning was a factor in the bum shoulder. I maintained such good body mechanics and posture when nursing (with a nursing stool and multiple pillows on my lap and behind my back) and I always did a c-support with the hand on the side I was nursing (I only know how to nurse in cross-cradle). The support hand would throw my shoulder back into good posture. Must find a baby to nurse now. Anyone have a spare? Oh wait, I'm not lactating any more. Oh well. Exercise then.

I had a wonky mole removed. It's benign. I'm allergic to Neosporin, so they prescribed something that had no generic for me to put on it. It was $200. Yikes. There is another form of it that has a generic and would have cost $6. Why would they prescribe a white cream instead of a greasy ointment with a generic when the active ingredients are the same? The biggest bummer of the whole thing? I had an allergic reaction to the $200 Bactroban cream. Dang. I have 45 mg of it that will go to waste and now I'm going to scar (at least it's my arm and not my face).

The kids are good. They are being baptized on Sunday. I could write an entire post on this, but I am sure I would offend both the religious types and the secular humanists with my gross generalizations, so let's just say the kids are wearing matching outfits (white shirts, courduroy trousers), I am wearing a sheath dress that would go great with a pillbox hat, Mr. Long-Suffering will be wearing whatever I tell him to, and we're serving fried chicken, cake, and champagne punch at the reception afterward. I need a good recipe for champange punch, so please leave one in the comments. I googled for it. If no one comes up with one, I'm going with strawberries, sprite, champagne, peach nectar, and an ice ring.

The Life and Times...

Well, where have I been?

We took a little getaway vacation this weekend. We stopped at the Volo Car Museum and saw famous cars (like Doc Hudson, the Batmobile, Mach 5, the Flinstones car, Herbie the Love Bug, The Blues Brothers car, the General Lee, the station wagon from Ghostbusters, the Delorean with flux capacitor from Back to the Future, and much more). They also sell classic cars there. We did not buy anything, but my very first car when I was 16 was a 1968 Chevy Camaro RS 327 with the small block Chevy engine. They had one at the car museum. I got my picture taken with it.

Then we stopped in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin for dinner at Popeyes. We got balloon animals. We walked around a bit and look at the spillway, beach, boats, and a horse that was on the street to give carriage rides. You can feed him carrots.

Finally, we checked in to our hotel, Lake Lawn Resort in Delavan, WI. We parked our car on Friday and didn't see it again until Sunday afternoon when it was time to leave. The staff there was friendly and attentive to children. There were plenty of activities for the kids including nightly bonfires (and they sold little s'mores kits in the gift shop), crafts, mini-golf, scavenger hunts, and an arcade. It was just wonderful (as any place with an indoor pool would be). We got a lot of time in as a family. We even got some sleep. The kids each got souvenir Pillow Pets, so everyone was happy.

We're back living regular life now. It's good. Bobo had speech therapy today. I had physical therapy (every time I have PT, I wind up with crushing head pain for several hours afterward...whatever they're doing to my neck and shoulders is working...and moving the pain elsewhere).

I'm supposed to be running right now but it's a severe thunderstorm warning. I'm not that dedicated. I do have another run planned for the end of October though. It seems I am quite goal-oriented and won't actually run if I don't have some kind of training plan for something. Who knew?

Word List

My BFF from the old neighborhood sent me a list of words her 16-month old knows. So, it got me to thinking about Bobo's language skills. The kid is clearly "all there" in the brain department, he's just a man of few words (redundant).

Speech Therapy is going well, but I don't think it's the reason he's talking more now (because really, I couldn't have thought to TALK TO HIM or to REPEAT THE SAME WORDS OVER AND OVER and what not). So, here is Bobo's expanded vocabulary list.

Mama (which can mean anything from referring to Mom, or "Mom, look at me", "That is a car like the one my Mom drives" or "I am not wearing a hat!")

Dada

Keys (give them to me so I can beep the horn)

Beep Beep

Car

Yogurt

Cheese (which is really quite a shame since he and dairy don't so much get along)

Papa (for grandpa)

Mimi (which is my mom and also Mrs. Marie)

Buh Bye (said like a teenage girl)

Mine (which does not specifically mean “mine” but rather, “I have been wronged, avenge me”)

Up

Down

In

Out

Boat (For the record, he also calls life jackets "boat", but really I can see his point.)

Yeah (and he has not learned the word that is the opposite of this yet, so let's not tell him about the word that starts with N and ends with O.)

Got Poop (which is often correct, and when he’s wrong, I think it means he tooted. If he was developmentally on-track with everything else, I would start him potty training now, but I'd rather focus on language acquisition and worry about the potty after we're able to have more in the way of conversations.)

Cookie

Cracker

Nana (which is a banana, but it doesn’t mean we should give one to him, just that they exist on the counter. Do not get this wrong and try to feed him a banana. You will be sorry. And you will be cleaning the ceiling fan.)

Woo-Woo (this is, oddly, a telephone. I'm guessing it's either because of the ring it makes or because we say "hello" when answering it)

Wall (wallet…give me your purse so I can get your wallet, woo-woo, and keys...and then I will beep the horn...again. and lock your car in the garage from the living room couch.)

Bay-Bee (that’s anyone smaller than Chuckles, but quite possibly as big as Bobo)

Buy (that’s bike)

Wa-wa (water, give some to me)

Opie/Open

Muh (more)

Cat (which means Cat…and Dog)

Duck/Quack (I have no idea what he’s actually saying but that’s what he means)

Brella (umbrella)

Ball, Ballloon, and Buh-Bull (bubbles)

Life's Lessons

Sometimes, you win.

Sometimes, you lose.

Sometimes, you're really, really happy just to finish the race (without doing any walking and under 45:00) before they take down the finish line.

Sometimes, you have to explain to Chuckles why you would want to run when you know you won't even win.

Chuckles had been riding his Big Wheel with me while I trained for the 5k. So on Sunday, he entered the Big Wheel 500...a half mile track race for plastic-tired children. He did his half mile in 3:50. He took 3rd in his age bracket. He's bringing his trophy for show-n-share tomorrow.

If he was training with me, how did he wind up so much faster?

Viral (and I'm not talking illness)

I guess since I got invited to the screening, I feel like I should help pimp my friend's movie, so consider this the closest thing to advertising you will ever see me do.

The movie is an independent film called "Losing Control," a romantic comedy about a female scientist looking for proof that her boyfriend is "the one."

It stars Miranda Kent (Campus Ladies), Reid Scott (My Boys, The Big C), Kathleen Robertson (Beverly Hills 90210), Theo Alexander (True Blood), Bitsie Tulloch (lonelygirl15, Quarterlife) and Ben Weber (Sex and the City). The movie just finished, and they are having a private cast & crew screening to celebrate its completion. In addition to cast, crew, family and friends, they also will be inviting people in the industry who could be influential in getting the film distributed.

The screening will be on September 30 at the Zanuck Theatre at Fox Studios in Los Angeles. I was given the option of having an official invitation sent to me. If any of you blog readers know anyone in Hollywood who you think would be a good match for this event, please let me know and I will set you up. So, if you're a mover and a shaker or your husband or wife is, or your sister-in-law or the cousin of your co-worker works for Lion's Gate, let me know.
http://www.losingcontrolmovie.com/

Shoulder Work Ahead

Well, back in January, I slept funny one night shortly after weaning Bobo and woke up with excruciating pain in my left shoulder. I'm sure the next day I had to take Bobo to Urgent Care since that was our hobby back then. I took ibuprofen and Aleve every day for a week or two and the pain receded to a dull stabby sensation. I babied the shoulder. I didn't use it. I didn't hold Chuckles's hand with my left and I only carried Bobo on the right.

Now that my life is drama-free, I figured I should go to the doctor and have it checked out, since it's been, what?, 8 months...9? Who can keep track? I can't even close the liftgate at the back of my not-minivan. I can't close the refrigerator door with my left hand. You get the idea. It's very inconvenient.

So, I went to my primary care physician (who did not want me to take my pants off!) and who I had not seen in 18 months. When she walked in the room, before even saying hello, she asked me if I had been going to the dermatologist and had that looked at. It was on my mental list of things to do. Anyway, she checked out my shoulder, gave me a script for Mobic, an NSAID, sent me for an x-ray, referred me to physical therapy, scheduled a consult with an orthopedic surgeon, and is having me go to the derm to have that thing removed from my arm. I don't see how I will possibly be able to attend work at all for the next month.

Plus, a friend from high school just finished executive producing a movie and invited me to the premiere/screening in LA. I so want to figure out how to go, but I can't figure out any way that doesn't involve me taking a day or two off of work and flying out to LA. That would just be too weird. What would I even wear?

Oh, so right. I filled the Mobic script and for the first time in my life, I understand why people become drug addicts. Apparently, I had been living with chronic pain. After about 5 days on the mobic, I don't have chronic pain. I don't feel all stabby about the left side of my body. I can use my arm and not wince in pain. I can hold CHuckles's hand. They will not be able to pry these pills from my hands. No, they will not. I went to physical therapy today and he measured my range of motion, etc. I totally should have gone there before starting the drugs because I'm all like, "look at me lift my arms above my head without screaming!"

The x-ray shows that I am developing arthritis. Isn't that something that old people get? For the record, I am not old. I'm not even 34-2/3 yet. So, physical therapy. The PT determined that my should hurts from poor body mechanics. I'm a sloucher and it's giving me a hump back and shoulder pain. I have to learn how to stand up straight and keep my head over my spine. It's going to be a long road. But I'm a full 3" taller when I stand up straight (and look 15 pounds lighter).

On another note, I ran 3 miles the other night. Twas awesome. I was like a bullet train I was going so fast. The cooler weather has set in, so it's not as unpleasant now when I go out. I'm still not a fan, but I'm doing it. And it's OK. There is a 5k coming up that is literally going to run down my residential street in front of my house. I'm going to run that.

That is all.

Burning Question, Need Answers

So, in teaching Chuckles to tie his shoes, Mr. Long-Suffering and I seem to have come to a disagreement. He says I tie shoes backward. I say there's more than one way to tie a knot. (And also, he is wrong.)

Tying shoes involves making a loop and pinching it with one hand and then twirling the lace in the opposite hand around the loop and then pushing through the gap you just made.

Which hand makes and holds the first loop? Left? or Right?

You must tell me so I can be the winner, or I mean, of course, we don't keep score in our marriage, just let's clear this little situation up so we can move on to more important things.

=====

nej asked whether I gave any consideration to skipping Chuckles ahead to first grade. And, yes, of course, I did give that consideration and dismissed it almost immediately. (My consultation of Mr. Long-Suffering in these kinds of decisions is more a formality than anything. It's more like informing him of the decisions we made.)

Indiana has some crazy rules about birthday cut-offs. For many years recently, the birthday cut-off was as early as June 1st. As in, you had to be 5 by June 1st to start school in August, so there were kids with June, July, and early August birthdays who were fully 6 before starting kindergarten. The birthday cut-off day was slowly moved to August 1st, but that June date has left a legacy of people holding (boys mostly) back a year.

In fact, Chuckles's kindergarten teacher had a son with an April birthday who she thought about holding back but didn't (and it worked out well) and twin boys with July birthdays who she gave the gift of time (and that worked out well too). With a May birthday, if we moved Chuckles into first grade, he could wind up in class with kids who were born in 2002. That is a huge social and physical difference at this age. The classmates could be 1 to almost 3 years older than he is.

So reasons not to move Chuckles ahead:

1. He's just a little kid who still needs to learn impulse control.
2. I'm not ready for him to be in all-day school. (I know, it's not about me.)
3. I don't want my kids to be 5 school years apart in age (totally arbitrary reason).
4. I don't want to short-change any of Chuckles's childhood. He needs more time to kick around poking worms in the dirt.
5. I don't want to push him too hard. (And no one at the school has mentioned moving him ahead, so I really don't want to be that pushy mom.)
6. I would rather he be a stand-out in kindergarten than be middle-of-the-pack in 1st grade (because I think success here would set him up for success down the line).
7. I think our (suburban, well-funded) school district might handle this welll, and I want to see how it goes.
8. He might only be doing so well because he went to kindergarten with Mrs. Marie at his day care last year. I mean, it's not like he picked this knowledge up through osmosis of his superior somethings. He might be totally average as far as intellect goes and just have these specific skills because it's stuff he's learned already. Maybe he's not innately smart, just well-schooled.

More Kindergarten

So, Chuckles finished up a full week of kindergarten today.

They had a fire drill, and when he came home that day, he didn't even mention it.

They take six specials: music, art, gym, computers, library, and science lab. One each day except two on Mondays. Each are a half-hour long and they walk to them in single file with mouths shut and eyes forward.

Our PTO is crazy active and they have promised never to try to sell me over-priced wrapping paper. The only thing they ask that we sell is The Entertainment Book. They do have Market Day and there are some 50-50 raffles (more like 75-25, I think), but I'm cool with that.

Our PTO is crazy active and they begged for volunteers. I've asked Mrs. Marie to be Chuckles's room's Art and Music "Mom". It's some national program to bring fine art and music to schoolkids. I can't remember its real name, but she's excited to get back in a classroom in front of kids. They'll see real/hear art, hear about the artist/composer, and then do an art or music project. It's about a half hour once a month. Mrs. Marie is making lesson plans for Bobo. He's coming along nicely (slowly, but nicely...I think about him going to kindergarten in 4 years, and boy, am I glad he has a November/early birthday).

We did/do have an issue at school. I'm hesitant to talk about it, but here goes. The teacher is currently trying to assess the kids to assign reading groups, etc. I guess there is at least one kid in the class who cannot identify his or her letters. Chuckles is currently reading somwhere around a 2nd grade level (if the guided reading books from the library are accurate).

They are requried to do sight words (and they want me to drill him with flash cards). The first three sight words came home. I AM RED. No, really. The words were I, am, and red. The next day, the teacher asked the kids to raise their hands if they went over their sight words the previous night. Chuckles did not raise his hand and felt bad. Poor kid. So, the next night, I asked him to spell them instead of flash cards, but I, am, and red are a little bit too remedial for him.

We had a meet-the-teacher and curriculum night. I learned that they are doing handwriting from the Sunform method. It's not stick-and-ball. It's letters with tails. I'm not a fan because I feel like the kids never actually learn how to print. They do pre-cursive, but it will be fine.

So, after all the other parents left the meet-the-teacher night, I explained to her why he hadn't done the flashcards, but she had figured it out already. She got him the reading books from the end of the year. Which he read with ease. So, she is having the HA teacher come up with a lesson plan for him.

Reading is not his strength, though. Math is. Two engineer parents, no wonder. She was trying to do a pre-test to show how far the kids went by the end of the year. She asked him to count as high as he could. He asked whether he should count by ones, twos, fives, or tens. Then he counted to 147 and stopped. It only took us to 147 to get to day care, so we rarely practiced counting higher.

He can tell time and do greater than and less than. He can add two-digit numbers without carrying. He can do subtraction without borrowing.

He cannot tie his shoes. He's definitely not ready for first grade.

We mentioned that he's a bit, uhhh, willful (my word) and stubborn (Mr. Long-Suffering's word). So, they are going to come up with open-ended curriculum (no deadlines and due dates). He'll either love it and do it non-stop until it's all complete, or show no interest. He comes and goes. Right now, he is obsessed (just a little bit) with origami, paper airplanes, and building things out of crap in our recycling bin. I find myself saving toilet paper rolls from all over town so he can make more hamster tracks (I don't know if this is some knock-off Zhu-Zhu pet thing he has going on or what).

But, he's following the rules, which is good, because he's willfull. His behavior has been exemplary. He got to be line leader one day and hold the flag for the Pledge another. Every kid gets a chance at helping and jobs. Someone is snack leader, folder helper, etc.

This weekend, we're going to work on shoe tying. He gets a keychain of a tied shoe to hang off of his backpack once he joins the Tie Team. He's oddly motivated by this. I guess the school does a lot of backpack fobs for skills and rewards. It's cool.

We got a blank copy of the first semester report card (that that gave us since they are changing format/forms to align with state standards) so we would know what skills needed to be mastered. He has most of them now. He's not so good with the skipping, so we'll do some of that as we walk to school. He knows his full address but not his ZIP code and his phone number but no area code. And the shoe tying. Other than that, we're good (recognize letters and their sounds, write letters, count to 20, identify 12 colors, and a couple of other things that I would hope most pre-schoolers know).

At the Boo Hoo Breakfast today, the school nurse came in just to tell us how they do things, and I asked how they handle lice (just in case). Gross. I feel all itchy just typing it.

The social worker came in to tell us what she does (conflict resolution, mediation, Banana Splits (for kids of divorce), anti-bullying curriculum, and making good choices for kids with behavior issues).

The lunch lady came in to tell us how they've overhauled the menus. I'm not that impressed with the menus, but since we're half-day, I won't have to worry about it until next year (or I'll just pack lunches).

They do a modified stop light for behavior and starting in a week or two, his color will come home every day so we'll know whether he's green, yellow, or red. I hear that some parents give a prize if you're on green for the whole week. I'd say maybe a special activity (like a Thomas video or a trip to the far-away good park) with mom or dad for a month of green.

Chuckles is trying so hard to be good during the day at school that he's been a bit of a terror in the afternoons. But it seems to be dying down. The first half of this week was rough.

And kindergarten and the transitions, new vocab I need, and the new faces, routines, etc are kicking my arse. I haven't had any contact with grade school since I was in one, so I don't know all the new things. Indian Style is now Criss-Cross AppleSauce Hands in Your Lap. Show-and-Tell is now Show-and-Share. And the Power Parent Portal Password/PIN thing is all new, but there are broadcast emails to parents and twice weekly automated phone calls to update you on events at the school. I don't know how much of this they had when I was a kid (newsletters and whatnot), but I don't remember my parents ever having a clue what went on in school when I was a kid (possibly a combination of lesser communication and my parents' self-selected lower level of involvement).

So, in summation, Chuckles is doing great and I;m overwhelmed.

I'll keep you posted about whether they actually teach Chuckles anything. If we don't get anywhere with this, I might have to figure out whether he needs an IEP, and I really (really) ((Really)) don't want to go there. First grade does have a pull out gifted program, so maybe then. Who knows. Maybe his classmates will have caught up by then and he won't seem so out-of-synch.

Good Luck.

By Special Request

Jacquie asked for some details on kindergarten. Her oldest is about to start kindergarten too.

Here, by special request, is the first two days of kindergarten in detail.

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So, kindergarten. Well, where shall we begin? I think I should set the stage and the background.

At this time last year, Chuckles was enrolled in a 5 day/week day care center that offered a Pre-K curriculum. I did not care for the people in that room. I actually had thought about changing entire day care centers because I was just not comfortable with the situation. I then talked to someone who also had a 4 year old in that center, and she had her daughter moved into the accredited kindergarten classroom becaseu of some social issues. I absolutely LOVED one of the teachers in the kindergarten room.

I called the center director one day to talk about whether it was possible for Chuckles. She kind of tried to talk me out of it. She said that it was a rigorous program, there would be homework, and there would be no naps. I kind of laughed because Chuckles hadn’t reliably napped in years. Chuckles had been begging me to teach him to read. I don’t know how to teach a kid to read and I didn’t really have time to devote to it since Bobo was still small, still sick, and I was still nursing. In fact, I am pretty sure I made the call to the center director while Bobo had the chicken pox. I felt terrible that I didn’t have the time to give to Chuckles to help him learn to read (when he really wanted to, clearly would be able to, and was so motivated). I signed Chuckles up for kindergarten but I was a wreck (as I always am when I make a decision).

It turns out the homework was sent home on Monday and not due back until the following Monday. Sometimes we did it Sunday night and sometimes it was done by Tuesday. It just depended. It wasn’t bad at all. I found out later that only 2 kids in his class turned in every single homework packet that was given and there were only 4 or 5 out of 20 who returned any homework packets. They had popcorn words and spelling lessons, phonics, whole language, and after a few months, Chuckles could read with me. He started spotting words on billboards and at the grocery store. They did number lines and addition, subtraction, and greater than and less than. He can count by fives, by tens, by twos. He did some rudimentary multiplication and division. He started to tell time. They hatched butterflies from cocoons.

The decision to put him kindergarten at 4, could not have turned out any better. Mrs. Marie was his teacher.

Fast-forward through Bobo’s various illnesses and Chuckles is still chugging along with Mrs. Marie teaching him anything and everything he or she wanted. I think she taught specifically to him and his strengths since he paid attention and caught on quickly. We kept Chuckles in kindergarten until the graduation ceremony (the one during which Bobo spiked a fever) and a week after that too. It was a natural time for him to leave. He took it well (though the part where I went back to work after the month at home with Bobo was hard on him).

We had always planned on keeping both boys at our day care center because they offered before and after school care, fed the kids breakfast, and had a bus to drop them at school (plus would hold them on snow days and breaks). Mrs. Marie drove the bus. I had signed Chuckles up for all-day kindergarten at the public school as it was less expensive than full-day day care plus he was clearly ready for the academics of kindergarten. I was more worried about the social aspects (being responsible for his own potty, finding his classroom on his own, being independent, etc).

Once we had Mrs. Marie in place, though, we no longer needed all-day kindergarten. So, I fretted and ultimately switched him to half-day. I was not worried about separation for him at all. We’ve been apart a lot. I’m not worried about him getting the entire curriculum in kindergarten since he’s already gotten that and more. I still had concerns about his independence, but he’s a young 5 and coming along.

So, yesterday was his first day at Big School. Mrs. Marie, Bobo, and I walked Chuckles to his classroom. I took some photos. Mrs. Marie met the teacher. She left with Bobo and I stayed behind. Eventually, it was time for the parents to leave. It was a little after 10 am. I ran an errand, came home, made lunch for everyone (grumpily and so I would feel like I wsa doing something), and by then it was time to head back to the school. I watched Chuckles get on the bus, and then I took off running for home so I could greet the bus (all that running training has not been for naught), but I didn’t make it. I called Mrs. Marie and told her to head out and meet the bus. I ended up getting there just as the bus pulled up. I got some photos.

There is a little boy in his classroom who has some physical limitations. There is a paraprofessional working with him. That means there is an extra set of adult eyes and hands in the classroom. If there ever needs to be a sub, at least someone will know the routine.

Chuckles had a fine first day. They sang the R-E-D red song. They did not say the Pledge of Allegiance. He had art class in the art room and they walked single file there. They heard a story at circle time. It was someone’s birthday (and he didn’t know whether the girl was turning 5 or 6), so they had cookies (with nuts as it’s not a nut-free school, which is OK since no one in the class has a nut allergy and the cafeteria will give you PB&J if you forget your lunch or money). They colored a sheet and it was time to come home. Chuckles thinks they need to play more while at school. They have toys, and he wants to use them.

Because he’s half-day, there is no recess (but it’s less than 3 hours) and there isn’t as much time for play as there would be in the all-day program (but he can play all afternoon at home). The half-day kids get weekly homework packets. The state-mandated curriculum is the same for half-day and all-day students, so they have to cram the same amount of learning into a shorter time frame. I think that will help him because transitions aren’t his best suit (although I think it’s because he has a long attention span and isn’t ready to move on in 10 minutes). I talked to the teacher about play time, and she devised some ways to do the reading groups so that two groups of kids are playing in the areas while the third group is doing their reading lessons. Ingenious.

Today was good too. Mrs. Marie put him on the bus, then drove up to the school to make sure he got into his classroom OK (he did). Then she came home to wait for the bus. He got off happily and told her all about it (and me too…they called me). He had gym class. His jumping jacks were crooked. He forgot to change his shoes before gym class. He played with little legos and put bad guys on the legos and found a boat and put the bad guys on the boat. Today was bring-your-own-snack day so I sent a baggie of grapes and a juice box. When we talked on the phone, he begged me to come home right then. But I know he was having a nice time with Mrs. Marie, but he just loves me so much (it’s exhausting).

The morning bus is K-5 on the bus. He won’t take that all the time. But the after-school bus is just the one room of half-day kindergarteners. There are 15 kids in his class and only 7 of them take the bus. We’re the closest house to the school, so his own private charter basically just dropped him home. School lets out at 11:45 and he was home on the bus about 11:50 today (yesterday was closer to noon). I have no qualms about the noon-time bus. They open the door to the K classroom right to the bus and escort them and do name-to-face to check them out of class and onto the bus. I’m not as keen on the morning bus, but on Speech Therapy days it’s going to be necessary.

So, my panic is over (but I lost my Power Parent Portal Password, so I need to call and get it back). School has started. Yesterday was the first day of the rest of his life. Mrs. Marie and I both shed a couple of tears, but I wasn’t nearly as bad as I could’ve been (like if they’d read The Kissing Hand while I was present).

Oh, his teacher sent home a questionnaire asking about strengths and weaknesses and what we hoped to get out of kinergarten. I couldn't really think of anything other than independence and getting used to the school for 1st grade. I have very low expectations for what I want him to learn in kindergarten (though, truthfully, he went through kindergarten last year and learned a ton so he doesn't need much with respect to that).

Oh and he'd normally be considered a young 5 in kindergarten (with a May birthday and a mid-0summer cut-off), but there are at least 2 kids younger than he is, so I think he's just fine.

Takin' Care of Bidness

Sure, I could tell you all about how I'm hyperventilating about Chuckles starting kindergarten tomorrow (tomorrow!), but you don't need any more proof of my neuroses.

So, instead, I will tell you about an unexpected side effect of the running. Yes, yes, my cardio is improving, my muscles aren't getting sore any longer, my stamina is increasing. In a month, I'll be jogging that entire 5k (3.12 miles). Whatever! That is just not that interesting. What is interesting? I'm having a most unexpected, but not unwelcome, side effect from the exercise. Let's say I am (how to put this delicately?) libidinous. So, if you were wondering how I was finding the time to run, the answer is Mr. Long-Suffering is going above and beyond to carve out the time for me, to his benefit.

Couch.

I suppose I should fess up about the whole couch-to-5k thing.

I’m not doing it because I’m some kind of martyr or better than anyone else. In fact, I am doing it because I am not as good as everyone else.

I’ve never really been in particularly good shape…at least not since I gave up playing outside and riding my bike around my 6th grade boyfriend’s block just hoping he would come outside and “bump” into me. (If you “bump” into Dave tell him I said, “Hi.”)

In high school, we had to do the Presidential Fitness Test each year and Run The Mile. I was more likely to win the Presidential Academic Fitness Award than any physical fitness anything. I only ran a mile all the way through once without walking and that was after a 6-week track unit in gym class junior year. My time was like 12 minutes. This last Sunday, I ran an entire mile without walking (according to my GPS) in 12:30. My first mile in 18 years. And then I walked for one minute and subsequently ran another ¾ mile.

There are a lot of things going on, and I will list them in fancy numbered points for you.

1. I have weaned, but I still like to eat. To keep from turning from the milk cow into just a plain old cow, I need to do something to burn off the Breyer’s Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream. I mean, it’s not like I am going to give up ice cream. Ergo, I have taken up running.

2. I don’t want to die, and I hear that cardiovascular exercise is good for you. I do not generally speaking do exercise. I wouldn’t say I’m sedentary, but well, butt.

3. I want to be a good role model to my kids, so I want them to see me being active, which is why I take them with me when I run (sometimes). I want them to see an adult exercising and having “fun” so that someday they will take up exercise or just stay active as they get older.

4. I want to be a good role model to my kids. I am not naturally good at athletics. I’m good at Sudoku. I’m good at math. I like puzzles and trivia. I don’t like sweat. But, I am running. And a little more each day, and with practice, I might get good at it. Chuckles has a bit of a perfectionist thing going on. He won’t do handwriting practice because his letters aren’t perfect. I am trying to teach Practice Makes Perfect by example (and directly stating it because sometimes kids are dense).

5. I want to be a good role model for my kids, and I am fitting this exercise (small time commitment, really…1.5 hours per week) into my already-full life. I guess I am making it a priority and getting it done.

6. My 35th birthday is fast-approaching, and I always told myself that I was young and didn’t need to worry. I would be fit when I needed to be like when I wanted to start a family or when I wasn’t pregnant or when I was done nursing or done having kids or when I was older and it was more important. Well, I guess, that time is now.

The couch-to-5k plan has been very forgiving. You’re supposed to run 3x per week for about a half hour each time (really more like 25 minutes in the beginning back when I was timing myself with a Shrek watch because it was the only thing I had with a digital second hand). I routinely take 8 days to get my 3 runs in, and that’s OK. It’s still working. I’m seeing improvement.

In the beginning, you’re only running for 60 seconds at a time. And by the 55-second mark, my lungs were begging me to STOP. They were on fire. They felt like I was running through a forest fire inhaling burning, acrid smoke. STOP already. My legs were like, “meh”. But here I am in week 5 or 6 and my lungs are A-OK and fine. But my muscles have gone all “WTF?” on me. My legs and hips would like it if I would just stop and stretch them for a minute now. They beg me to STOP and s-t-r-e-t-c-h, but I just keep going. Sometimes Chuckles can’t keep up and begs me to STOP, and for him, I will run in place until he catches up.

Last night, the PLAN told me to run 20 minutes non-stop or two miles. Now, I know from my mile time that 20 minutes is not equal to 2 miles. 2 miles would be more like 25 minutes or more. So, which do I do? Do I run for 20 minutes straight or do I go for the two miles? I went for the two miles and it took 29:00. Which is pretty slow, but I did it. I ran (jogged, really) the entire two miles without stopping to walk. I’m ridiculously proud because I am doing something I am not very good at, practicing, working hard, and getting better.

So, that’s what I’m doing….slowly.

Got Therapy?

So, would you like to talk about Bobo’s Speech Therapy?

Sure, we work on speech and say things really slooooowleeeeee and draw all the sounds out and repeat the same few key words and phrases over and over again. But, apparently, the parts of your brain that make speech can get developed doing other things, so we are to encourage crossing the midline (having the child reach across the body to get something…like using the right hand to pick up a ball on the left side). We are also to encourage using two hands to do a task like using the right hand to stabilize a shape sorter while the left hand puts the block in or using the left hand to hold the paper while the right hand scribbles with a marker. That sort of thing.

We’ve also been talking a lot about whether Bobo is sensory seeking or sensory defensive. He probably is neither although he does love to rub soft blankets across his face (but who doesn’t?).

It turns out through all of this we have discovered that I am a bit sensory defensive. I don’t think so, but my husband and the therapist keep laughing at me. I can’t help Bobo with all of his therapies because I cannot touch a Koosh Ball. I also, for the record, cannot touch peaches (so we eat a lot of nectarines instead). I can touch kiwi, but it is a challenge and they absolutely must be peeled (apparently, there are some people who eat the kiwi skin, but you have to be kidding me, right?). I have a thing about comfy shoes (and clothes and tags and ZOMG, ick, wool) and I like to rub soft blankets across my face too. So, there you go. And don't even get me started on velvet.

So, in conclusion, Bobo is doing fine, but his mother is a whackadoodle.

Big News from Big School

Yesterday was registration for Big School. I was pleasantly surprised that they had evening hours during which you could do this as I’ve been less-than-impressed about their accommodation of working parents on other things. I left work a few minutes early so we wouldn’t be rushed. Mrs. Marie was staying late so Mr. Long-Suffering could work late. The plan was that the kids and I would walk to the local school. It’s only about 2 or 3 blocks away (maybe 4 if you walk around to the front of the building to enter the main door) and do the registration then play on the playground. Mrs. Marie offered to stay with Bobo, but I assured her I was fine.

Well, just as we were getting ready, I realized I was out of checks. Like completely out. No more checks in the checkbook and no more in the box of replacement checks. How did that happen? I hardly ever write checks. Well, I had cash and a different account’s checkbook, so crisis averted.

We started to get shoes on. Bobo pooped. OK, shoes off, change diaper, “Chuckles go potty before we go”, etc. Chuckles went potty, so did I, we all washed our hands, then Chip took a tumble down the stairs and came up crying. He hit his legs on the ceramic tile floor. He might have bumped his head. He needed some special snuggly time with mommy, and he needed his blankie. “I want my DING.” He hasn’t cried for his ding in months.

At this point, I decided that maybe he was in no condition to walk to the school, so we drove. That’s right. I drove my SUV 3 blocks. I did.

Smartly, I had thrown the umbrella stroller in the back of my not-a-mini-van before we left so I’d have some way to contain the whirling dervish while I filled out paperwork. And boy, was there paperwork to complete. They had stations set up. You went to the first station and got a packet to complete, then on to the gym for stations 2 through 6. I had to sign a waiver of photography release, an acknowledgement of receiving the code of conduct book, I had to attend a 5-minute lecture on how to drop off and pick up students if I drive them with my car, sign up for bus, look at Spirit Wear, the PTO, review getting a cash back credit card that pays your school money, ability to purchase kits of school supplies, Boy Scouts, and go through a criminal background check in case I want to volunteer at the school. Then, on to the cafeteria to look at menus and talk about pre-paid lunch cards.

I am now a member of the PTA. Heaven help me, I hope it’s not clique-y. The meetings are at 9 am on Tuesdays once a month so I feel like maybe they don’t want my help, but I volunteered for a team already since they kind of encouraged you to do that. There were choices like 5th grade graduation something, talent show, DARE graduation, selling popcorn at something, Market Day coordinator, field day picnic, and others. I’m going to be sorting, counting, and bundling Box Tops for Education. I think I will be good at that. It seems like a solitary and math-oriented activity.

There will also be a lottery to see who gets to be room party mom. I did not volunteer for that. A party fee will be assessed for all students during the first month of school. OK, then. I also signed my living heart up to ride the bus. He won’t need it all the time, but there will be days he will have to take the bus. And WHAT AM I DOING? My baby! Ahem, anyway, are my neuroses showing?

They can’t tell me whether he gets half days, and they don’t know why I didn’t contact them sooner. Uhhhh, let’s see, I called every half hour all day for three days and no one ever answered the phone. I definitely have a tuition-paying spot in the all-day program though. I did not bother signing up for the lunch card thing though (apparently, there is no cash to be carried so they get these photo ID cards that you load with money...it's all very plastic, debit card carriers of the future...divorcing spending from actual cash that they can see seems like setting them up for huge credit card debt later).

Obviously, this was boring for the kids, so Chip was pushing Bobo around the gym in the stroller. He was being a little wild, but all was well. I told him to get all 4 wheels back on the ground. When we went into the school office to pay the bill (almost $200, all told), Chuckles couldn’t take the large turns with the stroller he had been, clipped a corner, and tipped the stroller over crushing my baby (all was fine…it was the umbrella stroller so it was more of a figurative crushing). If we’d have walked, we would have taken the good (heavy) stroller. Then I wouldn’t let him push any more (or made him push while I also held the handles because I am a mean mom who tries to rob fun from life). Meltdown ensued. We still had to drop forms at the school nurse.

Chuckles refused to look at anyone and when asked questions, turned his back on people. I have a hard time with this shyness thing. He is painfully shy and takes a LONG time to warm up to people. Even people like his grandparents (although, tellingly, he warms up to Mrs. Marie within 2 minutes of her being at our house). So, I want to give him the space to warm up to people on his own, but at the same time, turning around when asked a question is RUDE. I mean, that’s rude. I don’t want to force him to answer, but at some point, he’s going to need to speak to people.

On the way out, I distracted him with the playground. There were other kids there! They played, they ran, they climbed, stooped, and jumped. He ignored them and then complained that kids were talking to him.

Good news: the secretary from the school just called me and left a message. I returned the call (and she answered after one ring) and we got half-day and they’re refunding our $200 deposit for the all-day spot. Woo-Hoo.

Get Your Boobs Here

It’s (National? World?) Breastfeeding Awareness Week, and I’m here to say YAY BREASTFEEDING. I’m like a borderline lactivist. I don’t judge people who don’t nurse though (much). And I found Giselle’s comments distasteful, at best. I mean, because being a supermodel makes you an expert on how to hold your chin when posing for a cosmetics ad - not how to feed a baby so it grows and thrives. (And I really want someone to ask Christina Applegate why she's not going to nurse her baby...answer: because she had a double mastectomy now don't make her cry. I hope she comes out swinging if anybody gives her sass.) Ahem.


I nursed both of my kids, BUT I felt like a failure while nursing Chuckles. After infertility, I was strangely invested in nursing as a way to prove my womanhood.

It was never easy, he woke up to eat a lot, I had trouble keeping up with his bottles for day care while pumping at work, I let the hospital nursery give him 3 ounces of formula when he was a day old (why couldn’t I resist?…I mean I had just spent 13 hours in labor, 3 hours pushing, and had a c-section…why would I let them do that to him?), and by 7 months, I was near a full-on raving lunatic.

I hadn’t slept more than 4 or 5 hours in almost a year. I was like little shards of glass held together with piano wire. I was nuts. But if someone had said to me that I needed sleep and why don’t I let someone give the baby a bottle overnight (not that anyone offered or that I knew to ask), I would have freaked out. Don’t you think I can feed my own baby? What I really needed was for someone to acknowledge that it was hard and offer to bring the baby to me to nurse so I could stay horizontal and possibly only marginally disturb my sleep. And my goal was to nurse him a year. I failed. I nursed 05-05-05 to 04-12-06. Not that I’m counting or anything (and that was not exclusive by the end…there was some formula started right around that fragile 7 month mark).


Fast-Forward. Anyway, by the time Bobo came along, I had resolved that I would make it a year. They tried to give him formula in the hospital but being a seasoned pro (who had a c-section without the labor and pushing and thus had more mental and physical energy), I resisted.

And they didn’t badger me about it since I was a second-time mom and had some very good arguments, which I had practiced in advance knowing that the nurses would push formula in the wee hours when no one was watching them guilt new moms. I ended up nursing Bobo for 13.5 months (pretty much exclusively, possibly exclusively, I don’t actually remember because the stakes seemed lower after a year). I nursed him 11-16-08 to 01-01-10.

I figure if I had a third baby, I would do like I did with Bobo. I have very few regrets about how things went with him and the nursing. I would have like to have kept nursing a little (maybe once a day) until 18 months, but he was ready and biting, so it doesn’t feel important.

And sure, it might seem like I’m pro-breastfeeding because I was ‘successful’. My kids knew how to latch (eventually), and I made milk (eventually). With PCOS, this is not always the case.


I would like to mention that post-c-section with Chuckles (who lost 11% of his birth weight), the only time I took narcotics was before nursing because the pain was excruciating (literally toe curling and eye-closing), but by 3 weeks it had mostly dissipated. For the first 3 weeks, I would curl my toes and press my eyes closed and just wait for the piranha to latch. I would have Mr. Long-Suffering double check to make sure the latch was good because I couldn’t open my eyes right away.

A few times I had cracked and bleeding nipples and wound up pumping blood. Nothing says love like milk tainted with blood (it separates out in the refrigerator into a blood layer on the bottom, then the clear-ish milk part, and the cream on top). I always had a fear he would wind up part-vampire after that.

And I had none of that with Bobo. There were a few days of discomfort in the beginning, but my body kind of remembered what it knew from Chuckles and toughened up quickly. The milk came more quickly, I pumped early and often and froze a lot of milk to take the pressure off when I went back to work (and supercharge the supply). It was like awesome wrapped in chocolate.


So, if you nursed the first time and it wasn’t great (or couldn’t nurse at all), Keep the Faith and know that things can be unicorns pooping rainbows the second time around.

And if you're a nurse, lay off the new moms, OK?

I did not actually fall off of the face of the earth

Life has just been...calm.


So, Mr. L-S is perfectly healthy. Apparently, all the wonky test results in the world are just wonky and there is no fatty liver, no cancer. Which is good. He's being retested a few times this week.


Only 4 days until I go to the Bon Jovi concert. I’m going with another mom. When I bought the tickets at the beginning of December, it seemed so far away and here we are. We are staying up past our bedtimes. When we bought the tickets, we both had babies. Now, we have toddlers. Little walking people. ( I wrote this last week. Since then, we went to the concert, screamed our little hearts out to Livin' on a Prayer and noticed that the entire concert looked like Moms Night Out. Good times. We were up way too late and the kids didn't get the memo about letting us sleep in the next morning, but when you play, you have to pay.)


I’ve been doing Couch-to-5k. I’m training training training. I take the kids. Bobo in the stroller, Chuckles on his Big Wheel. It’s not ideal, but it gives Mr. L-S some breathing room. I also sometimes go out in the morning before they wake up or in the twilight hours after they go to bed. I am now lusting after a Baby Trend double jogging stroller with disc brakes, air shocks, pneumatic tires, and a hand brake. But my kids are probably too old for that now and I’m not a serious enough runner for it to matter. I may search the interwebs for an ad for a used one. Nothing wrong with used. Oh, I found a couple of ads, but still a wee bit out of my budget…really a hundred bucks for a USED stroller!

We’ve decided on the kindergarten thing. If I am allowed to change him, I am going to change Chuckles to half-day kindergarten. And I'm signing him up for the bus because of law changes in Indiana. They aren't allowed to charge for bus service any longer. So, even if we only need it occasionally, he'll be signed up for it.

PCOS be damned…I fear I might be ovulating right now because having a third baby sounds like a simply fantabulous idea. And it is not a brilliant idea at all. My life is full and busy and delightful and complicated, but I don’t need a third baby. A third bonus baby would be great, but let’s not go out looking for trouble. Fortunately, the mirena is up to the task. My long-term appreciation for it is great. It’s been everything I ever dreamed it would be since I weaned. (It wasn’t terrible while I was nursing, it just was kind of a bummer.) It’s convenient, no hassle, no fuss, no remembering, no bleeding – ever, and cost-effective. (And I wrote this last week too. The ovulation must be past since it no longer seems like a great idea to have a baby.)