Blew out my flip-flops

I have a problem. I hate wearing shoes. I have an even bigger problem. I love buying shoes. If I had my choice, I'd be barefoot or in flip-flops all year long. And yet, the bottom of my closet is littered with shoes (well, the ones JoJo hasn't demolished, anyway).

I've got sneakers, hiking boots, my three (ugh, two pair, thanks JoJo) beloved pair of Doc Martens, flip-flops, various high heels, but the crown jewel in my collection is a pair of Naughty Monkey pumps. You've probably never heard of the brand. They're not like Jimmy Choos or Manolos. I first heard of the brand in the most unlikely of places...a Washington Post article about a then unknown Governor of a little state called Alaska.

Yup.

The Post analyzed her outfit down to her sassy peep-toe kick ass red pump. I was intrigued. I had never seen a pair of shoes like them...plus, come on, the name was too funny to not investigate. So, I googled the name, and the angels sang and the clouds parted. It was sassy shoe nirvana. Page after page of cute shoes....with 3-5 inch heels.

Did I mention how much I hate wearing shoes? But these were just irresistible. I had to have a pair.

So, I went online and bought some.  And they are totally and completely  impractical. The heel is four inches high...and they are hot pink and black, and I loooooooooooove them. And I've had them for two years, and I haven't worn them once.

Not. once.

I'm afraid I will fall and break my ankle.

Have I mentioned my irrational fear of falling before? It's not like my TOTALLY rational fear of birds. Birds are evil creatures just waiting to peck your eyes out or poop on you. Really, that's all they were put on the planet to do.

Anyway...my fear of falling is totally irrational. I can walk for days, weeks, even months without falling (yeah, I know....totally jinxed myself). And seriously, for the money I spent on the shoes, I should be wearing them everyday, plus sleeping in them.

And yet, they sit still in their original box, out of JoJo's reach in the top of my closet.

They're safer there.

And so are my ankles.

For now.

Hold me closer, Tony Danza

I have a confession to make....

I am tragically uncool.

I am sure this comes as a surprise to no-one.

I have strived for at least a modicum of cool-ness in my life, but alas, I keep falling short.

I can't even blame it on Michael Buble, as much as I wanted to. No, it goes back further than that. There have been songs with lyrics no-one can understand (see: Louie, Louie), and there have been songs with lyrics that are mis-understood (see: Tiny Dancer). In fact, there is a website dedicated to the topic: http://www.kissthisguy.com/

I tee-totally butchered one line from a song....for well over a decade. Luckily, I never sang the mangled lyric in front of anyone, and until now, I have never spoken of it. I am baring my soul in the hopes that it will prevent y'all from making a similar mistake with a different song. I am quite certain that I am the only person on the face of the planet to hear what I thought I did. Even as I sang the words, I knew they sounded odd.

So, here goes.... the song? Anthrax's "Bring the Noise."

The proper lyrics:

Bass!
How low can you go?
Death row, what a brother knows 

What I sang:

Bass!
How low can you go?
Death row, water buffalo

Yup. I honest to God thought they said "water buffalo."

I'll let that sink in for a minute.

Water.buffalo.

Yup. That's pretty bad.

I have come to the conclusion that being cool is over-rated. It's very easy to come to that conclusion when you realize that you will never be cool. Especially when you think Anthrax is singing about water buffalo.

Bring the noise, indeed.

The horror of it all

I believe my love of music has been pretty well documented. I am by no means an expert, but I do know what I like, and it's a fairly eclectic catalog.

I also know what I don't like (see: AC/DC). There are singers that I don't listen to, and I will, in fact, turn the station if I hear them on the radio (Josh Groban is at the top of that list). When the radio stations start playing Christmas Music, I know it will be a Josh Groban-athon, and that just about turns my stomach (oh, and on that note - I'm so punny- the radio stations should be switching to 24 hour Christmas music in two weeks. Yippee!).

Usually, I can tell after one or two songs that I am not going to like an artist. So here's my conundrum...I had heard a song on the radio several times, and I really liked it. I never managed to catch the name of the artist, and honestly, by the time I got home, I had forgotten the lyrics of the song, or even that I wanted to find out who sang it. It was one of those kinds of songs.

Fun, catchy, light....but totally forgettable (as Jason would point out, that summarizes 99.9% of the 80's music I love). 

You have to imagine my shock and dismay when I got into the car, and it came on the radio. The DJ announced the artist, and it was Michael Buble. Seriously? I have avoided getting sucked into the Clay Aiken/Josh Groban/Adult Contemporary Singer du jour vortex for goodness sake, and I now find myself singing along to Michael Flippin' Buble.

How far the mighty has fallen.

Hmmmm....I wonder if *he* has a Christmas album out....

When 2+2=20

Math is not my strong suit by any means, but even I know that 20 > 2.

Now, my four indians obviously outnumber Jason and I, but since Jason & I have two hands,  4 = 4. We may be outnumbered, but we still have enough hands to cover zone defense when needed.

It was announced on the Today Show this morning that the Duggar Family is expecting their 20th child. If you live under a rock and don't know who the family is, they  have a tv show on TLC. Unlike the Gosselin Family (Jon & Kate + 8), the Duggars are making babies the old fashioned way, and obviously, they are pretty darn good at it. Another difference is that the tv show is not the Duggar's sole means of support. For goodness sake, they even built the house they are living in themselves!

Paige is a huge fan of the show, so I confess that I know more about the Duggars than I really needed or wanted to. And of course, I have opinions on the family. LOTS of them.

#1. They are bat guano crazy. I love babies. I do. You put me in a room with a baby, and I will find a way to hold the baby, and keep holding the baby and not share. However, if I had a baby every 18 months for 20+ years, I would be so sleep deprived, that I would end up with 20 kids...and a padded room in the loony bin. This mama needs sleep.

#2. The irony is not lost on me. The family is very conservative, and they don't allow kids to watch tv, but the kids are ON tv. The older kids (and JimBob &Michelle) also have iPhones.

#3. The doctors who haven't told her to quit having babies should be strung up. I don't care what your religious views are, there comes a point when the mother's health & well-being must come first.

#4. There is not enough time in the day. I have four children. There are days when I want a clone just for driving to get the kids where they need to be. And laundry? I do five loads a day usually. I cannot even begin to fathom the amounts of laundry that 20 kids generate. Even with the extra washers & dryers the Duggars have, it must take freakin' for-EVAH to get it done.

#5. Better them than me. I hope that Michelle has a totally uneventful and smooth pregnancy and that baby #20 is a healthy little bundle of joy...oh wait, they already have a child named Joy...ummm....bundle of joviality. Is that a word? Well, it is now, and I guess it's also a contender for the 20th "J" name they have to come up with.

Beggars

JoJo is a world class beggar. At dinner time, she sits next to me, and if I don't toss her a treat, she scoots closer and closer to me until she is close enough to head butt me. If that fails, she moves around the table to the kids and does the same thing. 

Last night, Paige gave JoJo some scraps. After dinner was finished, JoJo wanted to go outside to stalk our neighbor. When she started to bark, I called her to come inside. I know you will be shocked to hear this, but she didn't listen to me.

Cameron stood up, went to the door, and yelled, "JoJo! Steak!"

Wouldn't you know it, the dog stopped dead in her tracks, stopped barking and came running into the house looking for steak.

After we stopped howling with laughter, Jason gave her a piece.

I swear, she looked positively smug.

Steak obviously tastes better than my shoes.

Party of Five

JP is now (mostly) moved into his apartment at school. There were a couple of things that couldn't fit into his truck (that had he let Jason or I help him move wouldn't be sitting in the middle of his room here), but other than the mess he left behind, he is no longer a full time resident of this house.

sigh

Only five dishes were placed on the table last night for dinner.

double sigh

While I was wrapping my brain around all this, evidently the wheels were also turning in Cameron's pea brain. As Jason & I were lying in bed last night, we heard crashes and scuffling above our head.

I started laughing because I knew that Cameron was trying to make the bed so he could sleep in JP's now (mostly) empty room. Cameron has been waiting for this day for years. As much as he will miss his brother, he has been drooling with anticipation over having his own room.

I've tried to explain that JP will return for weekends, Christmas Break and summers. Cameron's reply? "He can sleep on the couch." We'll see how that goes over with son #1.

After JP left yesterday, I went into his room. I was going to throw a pity party for one, but after looking at the carnage left behind from his packing, all I could do was take a picture, and start making a mental list of things to tell him about housekeeping.

So, here's the list so far:

1. You have a hamper. Use it.
2. Don't leave wet stuff on the floor.
3. Change your sheets. Weekly would be awesome.
4. That stick with the bristles on the bottom is a broom. It is useful for cleaning up messes.
5. If something spills, wipe it up right away.
6. Clean the bathroom. Weekly would be super awesome. (also, see #5)
7. Science experiments can grow in the refrigerator (again, see #5)
8. Doors have locks. Use them.
9. Locks on doors need keys. Don't lose them.
10. Call/text/Facebook your parents even when you don't need anything
11. Eat a vegetable once in a while. French fries with ketchup do not count.
12. There is no laundry fairy at college. Don't overload the washer, and use cold water to wash your stuff. I know you won't separate lights from darks, and you don't want a pink wardrobe.
13. Check your snail mail. You never know what might be in there.
14. Saying "thank you" for snail mail pretty much ensures you will continue to get it.
15. Visits home ensure care packages being sent back with you.

My Uterus is not a homing device...or my almost adventure as a Charlie's Angel

As a mom and wife, I am expected to know where EVERY possession of every member of the household can be found. Usually, I am pretty good at it. My standard responses to the wail, "where is my xyz?!?!" (in no particular order) are:

1. in your bedroom
2. on your floor
3. in the washer
4. in the dryer
5. in the car
6. Honestly, the last time *I* wore/used/stumbled over it in the middle of the floor your xyz. I put it back. How am *I* supposed to know where *YOUR* stuff is?!?!?!?

Electronics in this house have been the bane of my existence. No, I haven't seen your iPod/cell phone/ear buds/iPod charger/Game Boy/XBox Controller/Double A batteries anywhere!

Last month, I was playing Bunco with the girls when my cell phone rang. The number on caller id popped up as Son #2's phone, so I answered it. It was NOT Son #2 on the other end. The phone had fallen out of his pocket at the Carnival, and it had been found by a stranger who scrolled through the contacts until he got to "Mom." (Let me point out that "DAD" comes before Mom alphabetically speaking, but I was the one who got the call.)

Having never experienced something like this before, I agreed to meet said stranger under the Ferris Wheel. After I hung up, it occurred to me that said stranger could in fact be a homicidal mass axe murderer.

Well, shoot.

I had to get the cell phone back. So, I called Jason, who was at the Carnival with Paige watching the fireworks. He didn't hear his phone. By the time that he did, he was stuck in traffic leaving the fireworks.

So, I had no choice but to go to the Ferris Wheel...and hopefully not get murdered.

Meanwhile, the Bunco Babes are listening to/watching all this transpire. Two Bunco Babes offer to ride with me up to the Carnival to keep me safe. Well, seeing as how I am the biggest chicken this side of the Mississippi, I took them up on their offer. There is strength in numbers, even if one of your sidekicks barely comes up to your chin.

We pull up to the Carnival, park the car, and my phone rings. Son #2's number pops up on caller id again. I answer, and it is actually Son #2. Seems that he finally realized he had no phone. He met up with a Scout Mom who called his phone, and they met the stranger (who obviously was no homicidal axe wielding maniac) and got the phone back.

So much for the three of us getting to be Charlie's Angels.

Maybe next year, though....

I don't want to start any blasphemous rumors...

....but I think that God's got a sick sense of humor. (Depeche Mode)

I've said it before, and I'll say it again. There was some sort of cosmic rift, and I was given my sister's child.

Paige looks like my sister, acts like my sister, and seems to be eerily shadowing my sister's actions as a child. I've lived through this once already; I am getting much too old to live through it again.

Flashback a couple decades ago: Heather got in trouble, and she got sent to her room. (While this was not an uncommon occurrence in our household, something was different this night.) She was in her room having a meltdown of biblical proportions when IT happened. For whatever reason, she threw herself on her bed and kicked her bedroom window. Hard.

I honestly don't exactly know what happened next, but I do know there was a lot of yelling involved.

Fast forward to yesterday: Paige was playing (quite nicely) in her room with her cousins. All of a sudden, I heard a crash, and a lot of yelling.

It seems the kids were playing catch with stuffed animals, and Paige decided to throw a flip-flop instead. She hit the window. There was much yelling (on my part) and much crying (on her part).

So now there's a hole in her window. Believe it or not, it's beyond Jason's Mr. Fix-It capabilities. I called a repairman, and he's already been out to assess the damage.

It's fixable.

No-one got cut to ribbons.

It could have been worse.

At least Paige didn't do it on purpose.

The Circle Game

Anyone remember this Joni Mitchell song?

Yesterday, a child came out to wander
Caught a dragonfly inside a jar
Fearful when the sky was full of thunder
And tearful at the falling of a star

And the seasons they go 'round and 'round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game

Then, the child moved ten times 'round the seasons
Skated over ten clear frozen streams
Words like, "When you're older", must appease him
And promises of someday make his dreams

Sixteen springs and sixteen summers gone now
Cartwheels turn to car wheels through the town
And they tell him, "Take your time. It won't be long now.
'Til you drag your feet to slow the circles down"

And the seasons they go 'round and 'round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game

So the years spin by and now the boy is twenty
Though his dreams have lost some grandeur coming true
There'll be new dreams, maybe better dreams and plenty
Before the last revolving year is through.

And the seasons they go 'round and 'round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return, we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and 'round and 'round
In the circle game
And go 'round and 'round and 'round in the circle game.

********************************

My birthday was this past Tuesday. I am now 43. I am the same age my mother was when I got married. Next year, I will be the same age as my mother when she became a grandmother.

To say I am a little freaked out is an understatement.

To top it off, this is the last week that all my wild indians will be living under my roof full time. JP has (wisely) decided to no longer be a commuter student and to live at college.

No longer will I be serenaded to sleep by him playing guitar and singing.

I won't hear him thumping down the stairs at the butt crack of dawn when he is dangerously close to being late for his 6 am shift at work.

There will be no more texts requesting "spaghetti for dinner?."

When I walk into the kitchen, I won't see any overflowing hamper sitting in front of the washer.

And yet, he is the same age Jason was when Jason returned from Boot Camp.

He is close to Jason's age when we met.

This year, he could very well meet the girl that he will marry.

The girl who (many, many, MANY) years from now will make me a grandmother.

....and we'll go 'round and 'round and 'round in the circle game.....

The Things I do For Love

Jason went in for his physical so he he could attend Scout Camp with Cameron, and his doctor put him on the South Beach Diet.

This means that *I* am now on the South Beach Diet. Umm....yeah. The Cupcake Queen...the chick who an eat stuffing on a sandwich...the chick who fervently believes that Ben & Jerry's is one of the four food groups.

Jason is a bread junkie. The lack of bread is the hardest part for him right now.
In fact, he said last night that he would punch a sixth grader in the face for a baguette. Luckily, none of our children are in sixth grade. But any of y'all with sixth graders and french bread, you have been warned.

I've actually found it easier than expected to change how I eat. The two problems I have are.... #1 I hate most vegetables and #2 with the blood thinner meds I take, the types of vegetables I can eat is restricted as well.

So, I've had to do something I've been avoiding since I became an adult. I'm eating vegetables. Since I was a child, and certain vegetables were forced upon me, and I threw up, I've avoided them. The other night I made mashed cauliflower, and I ate it (without getting sick). Last night, I made a pan full of summer squash & zucchini...and ate it (without getting sick). I will say, although mashed cauliflower will never come close to conquering my love of mashed potatoes, it wasn't a wretched substitute (the kids may argue that point).

I haven't been brave enough to try broccoli again yet. I don't know that I ever will.

You may be asking yourselves if I am so loathe to eat vegetables why I agreed to go along with this. That's easy. I'm lazy, and I didn't want to become a short order cook making a zillion different dinners each night. OK, that and the fact that I want to be healthy....and support Jason in his journey....

....And buy a bunch of new clothes.

Daddies Mean Fun...

...and Mommies mean business. I watched yesterday as JoJo the insane dog tackled Cameron as he walked into the door. She was so happy to see him, I thought she was going to have a heart attack. She kissed him from head to toe, and I swear, she was smiling. This happens pretty much every time the child walks in the house. It doesn't matter if he's been gone all day or 10 minutes.

Later last night, when Jason walked in the door, he, too, got a warm reception. When Jason walks in, she actually stands up on her hind legs and hugs him.

As for me? I could have been wearing Lady Gaga's meat dress, and I would still have been ignored. I barely got a passing glance.

I'm home with the dog all day. I let her out...I let her in...I make sure she has water. I throw toys around for her to fetch. And yet, she pays me no mind (unless I am sitting on the couch in "her spot" next to Jason).

When the kids were little, it was the same thing. The squeals of "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy" would ring though the house when Jason walked in the door.

I guess when you are looking at someone all day, you take for granted all that they do for you. When it comes to the dog, I know Jason & Cameron will always be her favorites, and that is just fine by me.

I do wish she would show their possessions the same love she shows mine. I mean, really....I am not the only person in the house that wears shoes. She can definitely make the effort to chew up someone else's.

Just sayin'.

Say What?!?!

When JP (aka Son #1) was little, he wouldn't talk. It wasn't that he COULDN'T talk, he just made the conscious decision not to. He was never disrespectful in his silence; he found other ways to communicate.

Once, we were headed to family party out of state. When we pulled into Jason's cousin's driveway, JP said simply, "I am not going to talk today." And he didn't. For hours upon hours, the child was silent. When we got into the car to leave, he was no sooner buckled into his booster seat, than the words came pouring out. He talked for the entire car ride home.

He was the same way in preschool, Kindergarten and First Grade. If he decided not to talk, there was no way he was going to make a sound.

It takes an inordinate amount of will power not to speak for an extended period of time...especially for a child. I have to give him credit for his tenacity. I know I sure couldn't go a full day without talking.

As JP got older, he did begin to talk in school. Of my four kids, though, he remains the most quiet to this day. He has never been one to make scenes yelling or carrying on. He uses his words sparingly, but I must admit, to great effect.

Last night, during what started off as a perfectly benign conversation among Jason, JP & I, JP swore. For those of you that know me well, you know that I have a mouth like a sailor...as does Jason. I was not shocked by what JP said (in fact, I was laughing), but what struck me was the fact that he was comfortable enough to say it in front of me. I pointed out to him that even now, at my advanced age, I don't swear in front of my parents. He then pointed out that he has heard my parents and Jason's parents swear...and he's right.

So after he went upstairs, he went onto Facebook, and posted his status as "JP is going to start a group called Things I Feel Entitled To Say To My Mother Now That I Am Eighteen Years Old." Now, I know he was just being silly, and I know he did it just to get a reaction out of me. Well, it worked. I blocked the kids from seeing my status quoting him, and my oh my did my friends chime in.

One of the best responses was that I should start a FB group named "things I can kick JP out of the house for saying now that he is 18." Naturally, I jumped all over that, and I made it my status. JP's response was simply, "well played."

Now that he is getting older, I love having conversations with him on an adult level. His humor is quick witted, his beliefs are passionate, and his words are used wisely.

Well, most of the time.

I'll Tumble for Ya

Yes, I just quoted a Culture Club song...wanna make something of it?

I hate wearing shoes and socks. I'd rather be barefoot. Since I can't be barefoot all the time (stores have those silly "no shirts, no shoes, no dice" rules), I wear flip flops as much as humanly possible. As long as it's not raining or snowing, I really try not to wear shoes.

Jason & I disagree on what constitutes appropriate footwear. He loathed my crocs. I am almost 100% positive he tossed them to JoJo for her to chew up. That's how much he hated them. I thought they were the most comfortable things on earth, and I said wearing them was like walking on marshmallows.

He's always saying that flip flops are only for the beach, they're not safe to wear all the time, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

So, yesterday, since it was above 40*, it was flip flop weather for me. I managed to do just fine in my lethal footwear until Youth Group. The front of my flip flop got caught in a crack in the sidewalk, and BOOM. I folded like a card table. I put out my left hand to break my fall (thankfully I didn't break my wrist), and my right knee hit the concrete. Luckily, I was wearing jeans, so I didn't break the skin.

Being on the stupid blood thinners, I have a new fear to add to my list of irrational fears (which includes falling and birds) - bleeding to death.

Now Russell's reaction was the best...he said, "well, if you were really hurt, I'd get to drive home" (Russell has driven with his learner's permit exactly once. In a parking lot). Yeah, so THAT was going to happen. Not.

I'm ok, bruised and a little sore, but I'll survive.

And I'll survive while continuing to wear flip flops.

So there.

Don't Blink

I was one of the first of my friends to have kids. When Jason & I were first married, we didn't live in a neighborhood full of kids. I felt very isolated until the day when Jason brought home a shiny AOL disc.

I was rather non-plussed at first, and then I found it...a message board full of other stay at home moms. Some had older kids, some had younger kids, but they were all just like me. I had someone to talk to when I was having a bad day...or the kids were having a bad day...and the moms with older kids assured me that I would survive the terrible twos...and potty training...and temper tantrums in public...and they were right. And even though they teased me because I was the "baby" of the group, they made me more confident of my choices, and they without a doubt, made me a better mom.

These women have been my friends and confidantes, and we have shared triumphs, hopes, dreams, and sorrows beyond imagination. They have been my lifeline over the years...even as we outgrew AOL...some of us lost touch...and reconnected through the magic of Facebook.

Today I learned that one of our group lost her 20 year old son last week. He was a young man full of promise, and I cannot even begin to comprehend the magnitude of his loss on the family. All I know is that my heart is breaking for her and her family, and no amount of words will change the fact that he is gone.

Please say a prayer for her...and her family...and the friends that all are mourning his passing.

And do me a favor and hug your kids an extra time tonight.

Knock, Knock

I am the first to admit I am not always the sharpest crayon in the box. I mean, I'm not Forest Gump, but I am definitely not Albert Einstein, either. Most days, I fall somewhere in the middle. Today was not one of those days.

I had my morning all mapped out. On paper, it was a perfect plan. It would have been a thing of beauty, actually, if only I hadn't locked my keys in the house. Yup. Now, let me say, I had unlocked the car before I left the house, so the keys were in.my.hand. Instead of putting them in my purse, I put them down on the table. Brilliant.

Normally, this wouldn't be a problem. Since the car was unlocked, I could have used the garage door opener to get into the house. Except....I locked the door to the garage. Now, I never lock that door (just on the off chance I do something boneheaded like locking myself out of the house). However, Jason left last night for Atlanta, and I had the house locked down like Fort Knox. Including the door that I never lock. Awesome.

I think who has keys to my house. My mom & my sister have keys. Great! I call my sister...who is at work. Call my mom....who is at work. Mom says my house key is at her neighbor's house (umm, what?). OK, so I try to track down my stepfather to go to the neighbor's house and get the key. Now mind you, I have my one year old nephew strapped into his carseat in my car.

I grab my cell phone to call my stepfather, and....his number is not pre-programmed into my phone. Why, I don't know. I scroll through all of my contacts, and it is not there. I have his email address, but no cell number. So, I text Jason (in Atlanta), JP (in the middle of his college class), and Russell (in the middle of his High School Class). No answers. Perfect! I call the High School, explain the situation, and ask if Russell has his keys at school. The secretary tracks Russell down, and yes, he has his keys. Great. Only problem is...how am I going to get them?

My wonderful stepfather shows up with the spare key. It.doesn't.fit. Seriously. In my panic, it didn't occur to me that when Jason replaced the door knob, we got all new keys. I hadn't given anyone the new key. My stepfather volunteers to go up to the High School to grab Russell's keys. So, I finally get into the house, grab my keys and head off to do my errands.

And yes, one of the errands was going to the hardware store and getting spare house keys made.

I may wear the key around my neck...or as earrings.

Mother's Little Helper

My brother and I are under two years apart in age. He also had the good sense not to ruin my seventh birthday like another sibling of mine, so I harbored no ill will towards him at first. The angst wouldn't pop up until we were older.

As noted before, I am a baby junkie. This started at very young age. Now, I don't remember this incident, but my mother tells it with such...drama and flair....that it must have happened.

One day, my mom was in the kitchen, and I walked in "carrying" my brother in really what could only be described as an awesome WWF choke hold. Evidently, I heard him fussing in his crib, and I thought he needed to get up. The other possibility (given the choke hold and all) is that I was going to get him to stop crying, come hell or high water. I'm pretty sure though it was choice #1. Most likely.

So my mom turns around, and sees me basically strangling my brother. I have to give her props for keeping her cool. Me, I would have gone to DEFCON 10. Because, honestly, I don't do well in stressful situations. At all. Shocking, I know. If there is an emergency, call Jason, not me. I will be of no use to anyone (but don't tell Jason I said that about him. I'd hate him getting a big head. I'm still dealing with the "If it weren't for me you'd be dead" hubbub).

Mom said she very calmly spoke to me, and she managed to rescue my brother from my loving death grip. I'm sure I got a lecture on why it was very bad to drag the baby out of the crib, down a flight of stairs, through gator infested waters to the kitchen. You'll be relieved to know that he suffered no ill effects from this escapade, and he went on to give my mother even more freak out moments than I did.

Thank heaven for little boys....

Baby Love

My sister, Heather, claimed from a very early age that she hated kids. Me, I could spot any baby in a 50 mile radius and ask to hold her. I figured I would grow up to the be "Old Woman who lived in a shoe." My sister figured if she ever had kids, she would send them to my house, visit occasionally, and pick them up when they turned 18.

Then I had JP. Heather stayed with me towards the end of my pregnancy with him. I chose her as godmother. Three more babies came. She said she hated all kids but mine. Uh huh.

Between the births of Cameron & Paige, my sister in law (Jason's brother's wife) gave birth to a baby boy. Every time I would get near him or try to hold him, he would cry. I mean, the gut wrenching, she's going to sell me to the gypsies or boil me in a stew cry. Never in my life had a baby reacted that way to me. It just didn't happen. Ever.

Guess who he loved? Yup. My sister the baby hater. He looooooooooved her. Couldn't get enough of her. She, of course, thought this was hilarious. Me, not so much. Not that it made me bitter or anything. I tried everything in my power to win that baby's affection, and I failed miserably. He was having none of it.

So, I waited. And, as babies do, he turned into a toddler. I don't know what changed, but all of a sudden I was no longer Public Enemy #1. (Now of course, I'd love to say that Heather was, but she wasn't. He still loved her to bits. Dammit.) As he got older, his hair went from dirty blonde to platinum, and his eyes were the bluest blue (please note his father has strawberry blonde hair, and his mother has brown hair). He looked like he could be one of mine.

In fact, one day at Preschool, his Mom picked him up instead of me. One of the teachers walked up to her and asked, "and you are?" She said, "I'm his MOTHER." Ooops.

The Preschool had a "Grandparents and Special Friends Day," and he chose me to come because I was "fun."

Fast forward a few years, and Heather not only found a boy willing to marry her, but they had two beautiful boys of their own. They both look like me. When I am out with Heather & the boys, people assume they are mine. I tried to remind her what she said about me getting to have them until they are 18, but she is having none of it.

I guess even baby haters (I mean zebras) can change their stripes.

I enjoy being a girl...

When I was a child, I loved nothing more than playing with my Barbies and baby dolls. I loved doing their hair, dressing them up, etc.

After having three baby boys, when Paige came, I was ready to play with my real life baby doll. It worked out great when she was teeny. I could put her in pink dresses with bloomers and matching headband and socks to my heart's content. I couldn't do anything with her hair though, because she was bald until she was about 2. Once she did grow hair, I had visions of french braids and cute barrettes and pony tails.

Paige had other ideas. She hated her hair being done. I mean, she HATED it. A bunch. So, my dreams of her having Rapunzel like hair were shattered. If she wouldn't let me brush it, it would have to be cut short. Fine. I could still pick out cute frilly things for her to wear.

Yeah, that worked out well, too.

Paige loves dresses, but they have to be comfortable dresses. Nothing too fussy. No belts, itchy stuff, buttons or gee gaws. Plus, they would have to withstand her riding her bike in them, digging for worms, chalking up the sidewalk....you get the picture. Unlike me, Paige is not afraid to get dirty...even while wearing a dress.

As she has gotten older, she has been able to come with me to my salon appointments. It's a three hour proposition when I go, so it takes a lot of patience (and a few bribes on my part) to keep her occupied. She was particularly interested in my pedicures. She would sit and watch the process totally mesmerized. I can't remember what the occasion was when I made the appointment for her first pedi. It may have been her birthday.

Well, she was hooked. It helps that Carrie (the nail technician) is young, fun, and treats Paige like a grown-up. Over the past couple years, Paige has had four or five pedicures. It's fun to watch her enjoy herself. Earlier this month, Paige asked to get a pedi. I had to get her hair cut, so I made a double appointment. Paige was adamant about having green toes for St. Patrick's Day.

I snapped the picture while her feet were soaking. She had no idea I took it, and I love that out of the stack of magazines available to her, she chose this one.

It was serendipitous.

Diary of a (former) Wimpy Kid

So, let me just say I hated school from 6th Grade on through High School. There were some bright spots, but they were few and far between. I was picked on, called names, excluded, and on and on. I was lucky that I had a core group of loyal friends as my touchstone during this time, or else things would have been worse.

Have I mentioned I am grudge holder? Once or twice? OK, just checking. As I've gotten older, I've realized that my tormentors were dealing with their own demons. No, that totally doesn't excuse how they acted, but it explains why, I think.

I am grateful beyond belief that I was in school before the advent of texting, Facebook, and the like. The things I see Middle Schoolers writing about is, at times, horrifying. "Mean Girls" have nothing on these chicks. I want to believe these kids have no idea that words can hurt as much as fists...but in some cases, I'm not so sure.

I'd like to think I have raised my children to be tolerant, kind, and respectful (quit laughing, I did say, "I'd like to think...." Seriously. You can stop at any time). Moving on...I know the need to conform and be like everyone else when you are in school. You don't want to stand out or be different. Different=bad. If you blend in, there's less chance of getting hurt.

I gave birth to four non-conformists. While this is not a bad thing in general, it has not made their academic careers any easier than mine was. I've told my boys many times that school was something that they would have to survive, and college would be a different world.

Paige was hit by a classmate last week. The girl walked up to Paige and punched her. This child has a history of saying mean things to Paige (and other kids). As a mom, my knee jerk reaction was to flip out on the kid and her parents. I mean, honestly...if the child acts that way in school, how does she act at home? But, I didn't go postal. I made sure Paige was ok, and then I did something totally foreign to me. I was quiet. This is not to say I didn't address the issue with the school, I did. I didn't call my girlfriends and rant. I didn't vent my spleen on Facebook. I didn't blog about about it.

I just digested it all.

And tried to rid the thought of an ACME safe squishing the bully ala Wiley Coyote.

It's funny, when things were bad for me, I turned to writing about it. Most of the time, no one ever saw what I wrote. Sometimes, though, I would write papers for class about it. I've noticed that my children do the same. After the punching incident, Paige sat down, alone, at the computer and wrote a paragraph about what happened. She couldn't find the words to talk to me about it, but she found the words to write about it.

It's not easy being a Middle Schooler or High Schooler.

It's even harder being the parent of one.

I spy with my little eye....

Most of you know I spent last Wednesday evening in the Emergency Room with problems breathing (and if you didn't already know, you do now). I am a people watcher by nature. I love to sit and observe (judge) all the weirdos around me. The ER is a fantastic place to people watch...even on a Wednesday night. Friday & Saturday nights are the undisputed champs of ER people watching though.

Having grown weary of the people waiting to be seen by ER Staff, I began to concentrate on the ER Staff themselves. There were the older volunteers who spoke gently and quietly and smiled constantly. There were the nurses that were trying to meet up for their "lunch" break at 1 am. There were the Security Guards...some that looked like they could snap you in half with their pinkies, and some that looked like they couldn't even catch a cold (and that particular guard was trying to woo the nurse behind the counter with his copies of GQ magazine and Car & Driver).

There were two nurses that caught and held my attention for very different reasons. Both were guys. The first one looked like he should be a movie star. He was, quite literally, tall, dark & handsome. What endeared him to me was not his good looks, though. When he came to check on me, he asked if the Vampires had gotten to me yet. I just looked at him and laughed while saying that that's what I called the blood drawing nurses too. He did tell me not to tell the girls that's what he called them. I could see his point. You don't want to tick off a gaggle of chicks with sharp objects at their disposal.

The second nurse was a wee little man. I don't think he even came up to my shoulders. I remarked that he looked like he should be an elf. He had the bluest eyes that twinkled when he smiled, and he made a point of smiling every time he passed a patient. I didn't hear him speak until he came to take me back for my Cat-Scan.

He had an accent. A French Accent. I'm pretty sure I was slack-jawed when he started talking, because I didn't expect that voice to come out of that elfin little body. It was a very soothing voice, which is exactly what you need after getting huge needles jammed into your veins by the Vampires. He brought me a warm blanket, explained what was going to happen during the Cat-Scan, and then he vanished behind the bunker while the Scan happened. Seriously...it was a concrete walled room with a glass window (which was probably 2 or three feet thick to protect them from what I was being subjected to).

After the Scan, he walked me back out to the Waiting Room, and I swear, my first thought was that I would love to put him in my pocket and take him home. Being stuck in the ER for six hours will make you think of things like this.

Trust me. It made perfect sense at the time.

Searching for My Long Lost Shaker of Salt

During all of my latest round of pokings and proddings, it was determined that I have high blood pressure. I really wasn't surprised because #1, what HAVEN'T I been diagnosed with? and #2 my two younger siblings are both on high blood pressure meds. Did I mention they are YOUNGER than me? Anyway....

I went to the grocery store so I could feed the wild indians, Jason & myself. That had to have been the singularly most depressing shopping trip I have ever been on. There is sodium in everything. Every-fricking-thing...soda, flour, milk, cereal, bread...Jason looked at me and wailed,"what are we going to eat?!?!"

Now, I didn't mention it to him at the time, but really, I could have kissed him right there in the middle of Safeway for using the word "we" and not "you." But, he has this weird thing about PDA, and well, I was too depressed over having to quit my Diet Mountain Dew habit cold turkey to muster up the energy to plant on on him. So, we went schlumping down the aisles, looking for sodium free sustenance.

In addition to not being able to have salt, foods/drinks with Vitamin K and Phosphoric Acid are also on the banned substances list for me. So, I can eat iceberg lettuce (which does NOT count as a leafy green vegetable) and drink water. And that's about it. More or less.

So, when I got home, I did the first thing I could think of. I went online and ordered two Low Sodium Cookbooks. I haven't cooked anything out of them yet, but at least having them in my possession gives me a little ray of hope.

What I could really use is a big ol' glass of Diet Mountain Dew.

If It Weren't For Me, You'd be Dead....

That is Jason's new mantra. If I've heard it once, I've heard it 67.9 gajillion times this past week. All my doctors have heard him say it. Even the dog and the turtle are tired of hearing it.

Now y'all know I love Jason with all my heart. I really, really do. However....when he is right about something, he is like a dog with a bone. He will gnaw and gnaw and gnaw at it and not let it go. Ever.

I will freely admit that when it comes to my health, he has been right about 98% of the time. Unfortunately, it's usually the big stuff he's right about. Like making me go to the Doctor for Bronchitis...and making me go to the ER (although I will point out he got the Pneumonia diagnosis wrong -- as did the ER Doc)...making me follow up with my Primary Care Doctor...all of which got me to where I am today.

It's no secret that I am hardheaded. I've already told y'all about how much I like to go to the Doctor. So, nothing gives him greater pleasure than to crow over me dragging my feet about getting an appointment, and then the Doctor fussing at me. Then, when the Doctor is done fussing, he starts back in and gets the Doctor all wound up again.

I know he does it because #1 he loves me and #2 he doesn't want me to croak and leave him alone with the kids. And the difference between reason #1 and reason #2 is really, really, realllllllly small. I mean, I don't think you could slip a piece of paper between the two.

So, in order to keep me alive, he has become Warden Jason. He hovers, he fusses, he worries, and he tells me that if it weren't for him, I'd be dead.

Maybe he's right, maybe he's not...I really don't care. I just want him to stop saying it. He can think it all he wants.

I'll let you know how it goes after my Cardiologist appointment on Wednesday.

Every Breath You Take

You don't realize how often you breathe until it becomes difficult to do so. Every breath in or out either caused me pain or a coughing fit....and going outside and breathing in cold air? That was the worst.

After my release from the hospital, I came home and was put on lockdown by Warden Jason. After not being able to sleep much in the hospital, I was looking forward to being in my own bed with no nurses waking me up to see if I was ok. I guess I should have told my family that. The door to my bedroom was constantly being opened by my new set of nurses checking on me. At least they weren't drawing blood....there were still needles involved though.

Because I was discharged before my medicine level was at a "therapeutic level," I had to give myself injections in my stomach twice a day. Let me tell you how happy that made me. My stomach is now a sea of bruises from the needles. Thank god I'm not a swim suit model.

The first full day home was a marathon of making phone calls for all the doctor visits the Hospital said I had to schedule. My dance card was definitely full. I must say, Valentine's Day 2011 will go down in Bailey History as being memorable...though not for the right reasons.

Wednesday rolls around, and I go to see my Primary Care doctor. I go through the whole story about the past few days, and we go over what the course of action is. The course of action seems to be more blood getting sucked out of me and even more doctor's visits. Awesome! My discharge papers list everything I am diagnosed with...and one of the items on the lengthy list was "breast tumor." Um....pardon?

It seems when they did the Cat Scan on my lungs, the scan also picked up on the numerous fibroids in my chest. I tried to explain to the doctors that yes, I knew they were there, yes, they were biopsied, yes my mammogram in fall was clear. I felt like Charlie Brown's teacher. The more I talked, the more they only heard, " Whaaa whaa, whaa whaa whaa whaa." The report they sent my primary care doc evidently had even scarier verbiage than "breast tumor," so my doctor wanted me to go for a mammogram just to rule out cancer causing the clots.

This did not make me all warm and fuzzy. The rest of the appointment was a blur of more bloodwork appointments to be made, what I could and couldn't do, what medicine I could and couldn't take. I was now certain that it wouldn't be the clots that killed me, it would be breast cancer. Little Mary Sunshine, I am not.

I get home, and I am laying around waiting to die when the phone rings. It's my doctor, who has just been sent some more of the paperwork from the hospital. She gives me the good news that when they did the sonogram of my heart in the hospital, they found pulmonary hypertension and a swollen left ventricle. Now mind you, the doctors in the hospital did not find it necessary to share that little nugget of information with me. So, she says I need to make an appointment with a Cardiologist.

WTF?!?!

I mean, really. What in the world could be thrown at me next? I swear, the only diagnosis that they didn't give me was pregnancy, and as God is my witness, if they had said I was pregnant with twins, I wouldn't have been surprised. That's how nuts my week had been.

So, I hang up the phone, and I sit in a daze for a minute. As I try to process all this information, I try to tell myself that the doctors are being thorough, they want to find out exactly what caused the clots....but then, all I can think is more doctors, more blood drawn, more tests....ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH! I really need to work on being more patient. It's on my bucket list...towards the bottom.

When I call the Cardiologust Office, the receptionist asks what kind of appointment I want. I tell her I don't know, and I start telling her the story of the past week. There's a brief pause, and she puts me on hold. A nurse comes on the line to ask me what's going on. I tell her the story, and she makes the appintment. I have a feeling there's going to be some sticky note on my file saying, "nutjob" -- or whatever the medical term is.

Now, my mammogram appointment the following day was much better. I get put in my little cube to change in the ever so glamorous hospital gown, and I sit and wait for the Tech to come back and get me. When she finally comes back, she has a Doctor with her. I looked at the two of them, and my first thought was, "Holy crap. This must be really bad if the Doctor is coming to talk to me before I even get the mammogram done." The Doctor proceeds to tell me that he believes what the Cat Scan showed were the fibroids we already knew about. He said he really was leaning against having me subjected to an unneeded mammogram, but he couldn't be truly certain as he had not seen the Cat Scans. Well, this perked me up considerably. I proclaimed (almost to the point of yelling) that I had the Cat Scan films in my car, and I would send my husband out to fetch them.

So, after the Doctor looked over the films, he said nothing had changed, and I didn't need to get squished (I may be paraphrasing the last part a smidge). I just about danced out of the waiting room. One thing to check off my list...cancer was not going to kill me today.

The next day, I had bloodwork to see if I was finally at a therapeutic level of my meds. I did not have high hopes, so I was Snoopy Dancing to find out I was at the right level, and I could quit shooting myself up in the stomach. Oh, happy happy day! Then I found out that they were upping the amount of blood thinner I was on. My mind raced....shots in my stomach or not being able to shave my legs for 3-6 months*....which was less appealing? OK, I can handle the upped dosage. Thank god I'm blonde...and it's winter.

This week brings yet another follow up with my Primary Care Doc, the Cardiologist appointment, and an appointment with my GYN. The original thought was it was the hormones I was taking to regulate my cycle that caused the clots...and that first diagnosis may, in fact, be the final diagnosis...after we rule out every.other.fricking.thing.imaginable. So, I need to visit with the Doctor that gave me the pills that almost killed me. That should be a rip-roaring fun appointment.

Thank you all for the prayers, good thoughts, food, and support. I have more stories to tell about this whole ordeal, and since I am still on virtual house arrest, I will have plenty of time to tell them all. Hold your applause until the end, please. :-)