A Baby Story (But Not So Full of Doctors and All That)

Since my sweet Peeves will be 6 months old this week, I thought I would revisit the day of her birth. I wrote up this up for the Mothering forums. It is a bit of a professional/factual/stiff accounting. It is also very very long and detailed because I know how much I love reading all the gory details in birth (especially unassisted birth) stories. It is an important part of preparing emotionallly and spiritually for birth. So, you will be really getting in my "head space" so to speak. Enjoy.

My second (and final) unassisted birth story:

The week seemed to be stretching on endless as my secret due date was approaching. Because my previous two children had each been born a few days before their due dates, I anticipated that this child would be born sometime that week as well. I had frequent bouts of semi-intense contractions that were uncomfortable and annoying, I felt the baby’s head lower in my pelvis every day, and my upset stomach and gag reflex had heightened. Every night I would put the kids to bed with my husband and think, “Okay, everyone is asleep, I can go into labor tonight.” Often, I would experience contractions that woke me during the night and get restless, but I would wake every morning in disappointment knowing I was not likely to begin labor during my busy days.

I continued working three afternoons a week with patients asking constantly if it was hard to continue to adjust them while so pregnant and how I was doing. Being busy at work was actually some of my best times emotionally, when I would totally disconnect with my obsession with *when would “it” happen* and just live my normal life. I knew my obsession with second guessing every sign of impending labor was detrimental to my goal of intuitive labor. I knew how my educated mind could pull me away from “laborland”, that intuitive and almost meditative state of labor that was so critical to me during active labor. I knew that the days of prodromal labor I was experiencing were indeed part of my labor, but I was still struggling daily (hourly) with letting go of my constant thoughts and surrendering to my body’s wisdom.

The next day was a Saturday, and my husband had planned to leave me with the kids for several hours while he went to work on a major project for work. In the morning it was very snowy and blowy so he delayed leaving. I was struck with an intense need to get the whole house clean all at once while he was home to help with the kids. My (brilliant) husband sensed that something was going on with me, and decided to stay home all day as I continued to scrub floors and wash windows and fold laundry. I had been nesting for weeks, so I didn’t consider the day’s activities to be necessarily outside of the norm.

I also did some extensive reading on the motheringdotcom unassisted childbirth thread. I not only read a number of inspiring birth stories, but also a few links to threads debating the legitimacy and safety of UC principles and practice. This reading was just what my psyche needed. I felt empowered and validated on a deep and primal level. I knew everything was going to be okay and all I had to do was relax and wait.

We were up late, watching a movie and didn’t even start getting the kids ready for bed until 11:00 that night. The house was immaculate and I finally felt relaxed. My husband took the kids upstairs to bed and I was getting myself ready for bed in the bathroom when a bad smell made me throw up into the sink. That is also a common occurrence in pregnancy for me, so again I didn’t jump to any conclusions. I cleaned up the bathroom and crawled into my solo bed downstairs saying to myself, “Probably not tonight. Just get a good night’s sleep after all that work.” As I settled into my pillow configuration and got comfortable, a felt a slight *pop* or release from an unknown location. I had just enough time to think, “Weird, I wonder what THAT was?” and then I felt the unmistakable warmth of my water spreading. I jumped out of bed faster than I thought possible for that stage of pregnancy, worried about staining the new mattress. I noted that the fluid (now running down my legs) was clear and pulled off my underwear.

I immediately went upstairs where my husband was still reading to the kids and told him that my water had broken and I would like him to come back downstairs to adjust me (DH is also a Chiropractor) before he went to sleep. I settled back on the sofa with a pile of towels to distract myself with some mindless TV. I had no contractions or discomfort at all. After about 15 minutes my husband came back and asked if anything was happening. My other labors had always been well underway by the time my water broke, and then the flow was only a slight leak. This had been a good sized gush and when I got up from the sofa for my husband to check my spine, I gushed more. We giggled at the continuous stream of fluid and grabbed more towels. Every time I shifted positions the stream would start up again. Finally I got into a neutral position and my husband was able to quickly adjust me. Then he gave me a kiss and went off to bed with his cell phone in hand so I could call him rather that go all the way upstairs if I needed him. I settled down on my cushion of pillows to watch a cheesy movie and see what would happen next.

It was so strange to know that this baby would likely be born by sunrise, yet not be having any real “symptoms” of labor. I was having an occasional mild contraction, but nothing different that what had gone on for the past week or so. I considered going to bed but was too full of adrenalin and still leaking fluids. I got up to pee after about an hour and noticed a small clot of mucous and blood on my towel. When I went to the bathroom there was more bloody show but no real change in intensity of contractions. I did have some slight loose stool, which cheered me up, knowing that things were moving along normally. Periodically I would check my watch, noting the passage of time in a distracted and impatient way. My last birth had gone so quickly (just a little over an hour after waking with uncomfortable contractions) and this seemed so anticlimactic. The ramping up of contractions was so subtle and gradual that I really didn’t realize I was getting uncomfortable until I realized I was spending more time going to the bathroom *to relax* than watching TV. A little over two hours had passed. I decided to run a bath because I could still smell my vomit a little and I didn’t want to labor with that smell in my nose. The bath didn’t seem to help or hinder things, so I just matter of factly cleaned up and got back out, feeling a little refreshed. I continued to mostly sit on the toilet during contractions. I made a conscious decision to stop watching TV and to try to get into “laborland”.

At that point things suddenly got more serious. I lit a few candles in the bathroom and turned off all the lights in order to lessen the distractions of “the real world” invading my laborland. I was softly moaning during each contraction and visualizing a dark hole that I was sinking into more deeply with each surge. Between contractions I would get distracted thinking about whether I should wake up my husband and have a little moral support or if I would rather do it alone. We both had talked about a fantasy of my birthing completely alone during the night and him getting up in the morning to the surprise of the new baby. Suddenly, this didn’t sound so great to me. I was feeling restless and a little lonely and time was passing slowly. I decided that this decision was too distracting and that I should just wake him up so I could quit thinking about it. I went upstairs and woke him at about 2:20 am. I don’t know why I didn’t call him. I guess I didn’t want to freak him out.

Obviously, my instincts had been correct once again. As soon as my husband joined us in our small bathroom things picked up dramatically. I don’t know if I hadn’t fully surrendered to labor without the reassurance of his quiet presence (he knows very well by now that I need extreme quiet and stillness during labor) or if I had just innately timed the need for him to the exact moment labor kicked up the next notch, but I suspect his being there was critical for my complete release of control and thought.

I continued to moan through each contraction while sitting on the toilet. My husband made me a glass of weak Gatorade and checked my pelvis between contractions. He was mostly silent unless I expressed my frustration and discomfort. At one point I checked my watch (bad idea!) and was so disheartened to see that I had been laboring hard for well over an hour. I had experience such a quick and effortless birth with my daughter previously and just expected that this birth would be equally efficient. Instead I felt that I was wallowing in an every increasing sense of futility and intensity. I wished I knew how dilated I was and how much longer it would take. This seems silly in retrospect as I know that my cm of dilation wouldn’t really tell me anything more than what I already knew…that my body was doing its job…steadily and surely.

My mental state was slowly deteriorating as I grew exhausted from the steady and painful contractions. I continued to breathe through them and *maintained control*, but I was feeling increasingly out of control and panicky. I didn’t fear that anything was going wrong, but just a growing sense that I couldn’t handle it anymore. I was sitting on the toilet for 2 to 3 contractions and then standing for a few contractions while my husband applied light but steady downward pressure on my sacral bone. The standing position was slightly more painful but during those contractions I would sometimes feel a subtle but distinct shift of the baby and of my pelvis. This gave me the much needed confidence that *something* was happening and I was getting closer with every contraction. I began to get overheated and feel like I couldn’t catch my breath during the contractions. I was feeling desperate and at the end of my rope. I knew these feelings probably meant I was in transition, but I didn’t let myself label it consciously as such for fear I was wrong. I was trying so hard not to *think* about the process and tried to push away thoughts that identified or labeled what was happening.

I asked my husband to run a bath, hoping that something new would distract me from my desperation. As the water ran I knew there was no way I could sit down in a tub right then. I was so so hot. We had left the heat on overnight since we knew I would be awake and laboring, and now I couldn’t cool off. DH suggested I go to the kitchen for a minute (where there was no heater) to cool off. I moved to the kitchen and stationed myself in front of the (miraculously clean!) sink as another surge overtook me. This time I felt a little grunty and pushy. Not quite there but just on the cusp of *there*. It didn’t hurt but wasn’t quite right. Again I asked my husband to traction downward gently on my sacrum and again I felt a *shift* but this one was more significant. “That moved something” I said. DH said, “I know!” DH inquired how far down I thought the baby was positioned. I felt gently and discovered the head right at the tips of my fingers. “You should feel it!” I encouraged my husband. He gently felt and looked thrilled. As I waited between contractions, I felt the baby wriggling quite energetically. “Its okay baby,” I said aloud, “We’re almost there. This has been some crazy sh*t, but we’re gonna get you out right now!”

Suddenly I was totally pissed off! I read recently about the fetal ejection reflex and the characteristic accompanying surge of energy and emotion. Well my emotion was entirely of the angry and frustrated variety. I pushed with all my might during the next contraction, determined to get this “blessed event” over with! I felt the baby come down substantially, but as the contraction eased away the baby slowly shifted back up. “Is it closer?” asked DH. “You check,” I answered tersely. He felt carefully and announced I was making progress. I was still angry and doubly so that this baby would shift back upward between contractions. With the next contraction I pushed with all my might, even past the point when the contraction started to ebb a little. It was so close and I didn’t want it to. Go. Back. Up! Amazingly, just at the end of my strength, the head broke through. There was a seemingly endless pause as I waited for the next contraction. I was on my tip toes, trying to keep my pelvis open and squirming uncomfortably. DH was crouched on the floor and biting his tongue. The baby’s head was pretty purple and he was wanting to make sure everything was okay, but he wisely held his tongue and waited while the baby rotated its shoulders to line up properly for birth. At last the urge came again ( it was probably only a little over a minute…seemed longer) and she slid easily out and into her Papa’s hands. She did have a cord around her neck, but DH gently eased it off and turned her to check her gender. As he announced it was a girl, I remember thinking that I had forgotten to tell him that I wanted to discover the gender myself when I was ready. I was so relieved that the whole ordeal was over that I didn’t really care anyway. We immediately dubbed her Ribh Wallis, (pronounced Reeve; Gaelic pronunciations are a trip!) the name we had finally agreed upon after an extensive search for a Celtic girl’s name we both liked. She looks like a “Ribh”.

Most stories seem to end here, but I think a little third stage dialogue is important so others can recognize what un-managed third stage and post-natal periods look like. I was bleeding a bit and shaking a lot (although I wasn’t cold at all). I settled myself on a kitchen chair on another towel with Ribh in arms, wrapped in an old towel. She was very vernix-y and her color was excellent. She was breathing well, although with a slight raspy sound of fluid. I cleared her mouth and found no obstruction, so I let her work it out herself over the next hour or so. I held her while DH checked her neck (the area of the spine most frequently stressed during labor) and cleared the subluxation he found there. She still had not cried or even made any noise, but she began to open her eyes and peer at us. DH got the camera and I put her to my breast where she got to work immediately. The three of us just hung out in the soft light of the kitchen and talked a little about the birth. I asked my husband what he felt the second time he checked her head for descent. He said it felt no different than the first time but he wasn’t about to tell me that!

DH rolled up the kitchen rug (totally ruined) and got me a drink. As Ribh nursed I began to feel some uncomfortable low back labor-y pains. We checked the cord and found it to be white and cold so we decided to cut it so I could move about more freely in order to birth the placenta. I would estimate about an hour had passed since the birth. While DH held Ribh, I went to the bathroom and balanced a stainless steel bowl on the toilet. Then I squatted above it and gave a slight push and the placenta released neatly into the bowl. I examined it to be sure I hadn’t retained any portion and that it looked intact and healthy. Then I returned to tell DH that I was going to take a quick bath to warm up and wash off the sweat and blood on my legs. I had him bring the baby to me in the bath to gently wash some of the blood and mucous off her, but I left the vernix alone to nourish her skin. It was all gone except for pockets in the folds of her skin by that evening. Then I bundled up in comfy clothes (and a frozen sanitary pad) and wrapped Ribh in a clean towel and took her to bed with DH to snuggle and nurse while we talked softly about the birth.

About this time, my oldest child woke up upstairs and missed his papa and then his crying woke his little sister. I send DH up to bed with the “big kids” and I settled down to snuggle and babymoon with my newborn. I was tired but elated. I had no tears, no pain and I was able to experience such peace and harmony with my purpose as a mother. This is what birth is all about. I cried a bit in relief and happiness that my family is complete and whole and that we did it all on our terms. Such bliss!

Gurgle Gurgle Glub (Part II)

Uh oh is right!

So, this morning I discovered that the drain no longer holds water in the tub. Ooops.

In the process of wrangling it off and on last night I have injured its sealing capacity. Damn!

Tonight I will take it out again and mess with the assembly to see if I can repair it. Otherwise I will have to buy a whole new assembly and replace it (very carefully this time).

I am not a Mama Goddess. Sigh.

Perhaps that is why my trophy hasn't arrived.

Gurgle Gurgle Glub (Uh Oh)

Each new parent should be sent, in the mail, upon receipt of their first child, an instructional manual. This instruction manual would give them specific instructions, step by step, listing the tools needed for each task as well as when you can "do it yourself" and when to "seek professional help".

The title of this marriage saving book would be, Basic Plumbing: How To Fix All The Plumbing Problems Your Kid Is Bound To Make.

Seriously people, I have learned more about plumbing (self taught) in the past 5 years than I had ever thought possible and I learned it all by necessity. Because of my children.

My darling children have flushed paper, crayons, books, toys, and stuffed animals down the toilet. My children hide things in the garbage disposal. My friend once came into my bathroom in the dark late at night and used the toilet and flushed it and then heard the horrible gurgling and squelching noises of a (very expensive) cloth diaper going down the drain and into my septic system. My faucets leak due to children hanging from them like monkeys and stripping their gaskets. My jewelry gets played with and slips down the drain (Why were you playing with my rings in the bathtub, I ask them. I wash them Mama!). Huge quantities of food items, vomit, fecal matter and other nasties have been down not just my toilet, but every other drain of any kind in my house. (Who wants to sleep over?)

This is why, I repeat; Every parent should get a Basic Plumbing Instruction Book with their first child.

Last night I was exhausted from a long weekend of class and coming home to an exhausted Nonny who immediately tagged me "it" into full parental mode as she went to bed (At 6:30 pm). I was up late, and up again early each morning. On top of the killer schedule, we had to keep the house super clean for a showing this weekend (to no apparent avail).

After I put the kids to bed (late) last night, I came down to discover that during their evening bath, they had shredded a coloring book into the full bathtub. When they had opened the drain, all the little bits of shredded paper had gathered on the small parts of toys and hair and hair ties in the drain assembly and completely clogged the whole she-bang.

Now, I am no faint-hearted mother. I have born three children at home, two with no outside assistance whatsoever. I will not be daunted by a basic plumbing challenge. I have three children and I have read my plumbing instruction manual.

I first attempted the quick fix by McGyvering a clearing and poking tool with a chopstick and managed to get some basic drainage. I pulled the bigger gobs out of the drain assembly (It the kind where you cannot actually take the plug out ever, but can only screw the plug up or down. Ugh. Curses on drain engineers!) around the bulky plug head. There was still a very diminished flow capacity which I feared would lead to overflowing showers and the like.

I realized that I needed to use my pliers and wrench and I disassembled the entire drain unit. I removed copious gobs of hair, toys and more shredded paper. I went down to the basement to find my plumbers putty. I reassembled the drain. This entire procedure took no more than 15 minutes. It now flows like it hasn't since, well since we began living here and my children began putting things into the drain assembly.

I am a Mama Goddess!

Can I have my trophy now?

My Non-Lump

My Non-Lump, originally uploaded by esserboo.

Here she is...in all her squirming glory.

Let's Celebrate Her Graduation! (It's Either That or Cry!)

My Peevers in no longer a lump. Technically, she is an "infant" until she is 24 months old (silly-neh?) and depending on your criteria she could still be considered a newborn. But she is nearing the 6 month mark and in the past two weeks she has officially graduated from Lumpdom to Non-Lumpdom.

Any parent to a second or third child will tell you: Enjoy the Lump Phase. This should be a cardinal rule of parenting. Stressed out new parents should be reminded of this twice a week. Lumps are great! And here's why:

1. Lumps sleep more than they are awake. (Well, most do. Sorry, Anna. Mielle is exceptional!)

Non-Lumps only take two or three naps per day (if you are lucky) and cannot be depended upon to allow you to "work on the computer" while the big kids watch Dora.

2. Lumps smell good. They cannot sweat. They only drink breastmilk, so they have no nasty gas or poo.

Non-Lumps want to eat your frozen blueberries and then will have blueberry seeds and skins in their explosive poo four hours later! Once "real" food begins, watch out for toxic waste dumps.

3. Lumps stay where you put them.

Non-Lumps require that you leap up multiple times to rescue them from sliding off sofas, rolling off beds, and other attempts to bungee jump without proper restraints. You will often leap up to race into other rooms just because you "sense" trouble which may or may not be real. You become jumpy, like an old cat in a house full of toddlers.

4. Lumps don't need toys or dolls or really any accessories when you are out and about since your boobs are already with you and a diaper fits easily in the purse.

Non-Lumps require an entire diaper bag full of toys that rattle and squeak and crinkle, and changes of diapers, and clothing for blowouts, and teething tablets for crankiness, and two different slings depending on the occasion, and snacks for you and the child, and perhaps a rolly suitcase and a sherpa because damn that car seat is getting heavy and awkward to carry around!

5. Lumps snuggle.

Non-Lumps do semi-seated gymnastics and bite your shoulder off, while simultaneously headbutting you and giggling.

6. Lumps nurse quietly and calmly with just a little intermittent gasping during "the big letdown" to keep from drowning.

Non-Lumps sing the Star Spangled Banner in farsi while standing on their heads, attached to your nipple. You will not move for fear of those teeth they are working on latching down a bit too hard at just the wrong moment. Non-Lumps will also pull on and off your breast 67 times per feeding or within 3 minutes, whichever comes first.

7. Lumps cause everyone to smile at you admiringly when you are with them.

Non-Lumps cause you to be scowled at when you bring them to class (or nice restaurants) and they insist on continuing their burbling and fussing for fun.

8. Lumps fit nicely in their car seats and slings and stay there until you remove them.

Non-Lumps squirm or attempt to squirm out of every child containment device known to mankind. Non-Lumps can escape from a non-belted car seat, squirm across the room and change the TV remote with their teeth. Non-Lumps can kick you from the backseat of the car when worked up enough.

9. Lumps don't know they have hands.

Non-Lumps can rip up magazines, coloring-books, bills and even checks. Non-Lumps can rip out hands full of sibling hair. On purpose.


But, My little Non-Lump has just to look me in the eyes and grin, or light up at the sound of my voice, or squeal with delight at the sight of her big brother, and she is instantly not only forgiven for no longer being a sweet little lump, but celebrated for being the little person she has become.

Who Wants To See My New House?

I've been so busy studying, that I have had no time to post. And now I am off to sit in a classroom all weekend. Blech.

I will leave you with these photos of the house my husband put earnest money down on yesterday. We close in mid-August. I hope I will live there soon afterward.

Sleepy Babies and Other Adventures in the Night

How come for every night of relative peace, quiet, and actual slumber, you always get two or three filled with crazed child-monsters who crowd, kick, and pee on you?

Overall, I am a big fan of the Family Bed concept. We have used it with all three kids to all of our convenience and comfort. But the bottom line is: even with all the benefits of family bed-dom, they still wake you at night with needs.

Gabe's needs are frequently potty related. The kid wakes and whimpers and thrashes around fitfully until finally he wakes himself enough to realize that he needs to pee. He is too sleepy and pitiful to walk downstairs himself to find the bathroom in the dark and usually request that you not only wake-up from your well earned slumber but that you also carry him down the stairs and all but direct his urine for him. Then you must carry him back up the stairs and tuck him in...for the 3rd time that night. Even after peeing just before bed at 10:05 pm, and waking me to pee at 1:27 am, he still peed in my bed at 7:30 this morning. (But at least now all the bedding is clean. With everything on my plate, sometimes it takes a puddle of steaming urine to push sheets up above work clothes and underwear on my laundry list.) I don't know where the little camel stores all this excessive urine, but I hope his talent pays out someday. Also in Gabe's favor: he'd the one who likes to sleep in.

Quinlan on the other hand, while she doesn't wake as often as Gabe, has great need when the time comes. You can't just stumble down the stairs once or twice and call it a night. When she needs nighttime love, it usually involves copious itching (she has crazy allergies) or even; vomit patrol! Quinny's nighttime interruptions are usually followed by a soothing bath and dates with the washing machine in the basement. And I should note, it is amazing how, even in the dark, a vomiting child will always manage to vomit right on your head. So, you always need extensive clean up as well.

Quinlan also has an inbred nighttime talent for kicking, usually directed to the crotch. While I find it merely irritating, Brian finds this unbearable and now instinctively sleeps with his hands clutched around his balls. She doesn't wake up, be she sure can wake you up in a right smart hurry with a roundabout to the family jewels, I am told.

And come 7:00 am, Quin will be awake, whispering in my ear, "Hi Mama! I's hungry!" It doesn't matter if she went to bed at 9:00 or 12:00, she will be ready to rumble at 7:00 am. It also doesn't matter if you went to bed when the kids did or stumbled in at 2 in the morning after a night of kareoke stardom. Sometimes kareoke singing rockstar mamas have to drink coffee at 7 in the morning while trying to tune out Dora the Explorer in order to allow the other two children to sleep enough that they will not spontaneously combust into crabbiness. These rockstar mamas need mochas but are on weight watchers and must settle for very black coffee with a teaspoon of sugar. It makes them awake, but more crabby and less rockstar-like.

Ribh has no true nasty habits but she is a nursling. I couldn't honestly tell you how often she nurses in the night because thankfully, one of the awesome benefits of sleeping with your baby is based on the concept of sleep cycling. This means that she and I both rise to the top (wakeful part) of our sleep cycle at the same time. She rustles about a little, I roll over and hook her up, she nurses, and I fall back asleep within minutes. This also means that she doesn't cry or fuss or wake me from a deep sleep ever, the way the big kids can. I don't lose any quality sleep during her nursing and I never wake to worry or check on her. But she sleeps pressed against me like a leech and occasional reaches out to pinch my nipple in her sleep. Lovely.


And now, while Brian is gone and I am the single mama, the ultimate problem arises. This single mama has three children, but only two sides. Peevers obviously wins the snuggle lottery since she is the nursling. I put each of the other two to sleep in their own "nests" on the floor on either side of my bed and wait to see which will weasel up into my area during the night. By 6:30 am I typically have Peevers under my armpit, another pressed against my back and the third pinned at armslength to protect Peevers from her sibling's thrashing.

So, when Quin whispers, "Mama, I's want go downstairs and watch Dora now?" I don't even fight it. Time to get up! I've got blogging to do!

Ahoy Thar Me Hearties! Here's a Great Link!

As Gabe was prancing around the house, semi-naked but with a cape, sash and sword, he reminded me of a demented pirate.

This in turn, reminded me of the truest followers of the Flying Spaghetti Monster.

So, apparently, my child is a born follower of the great creator and will someday lead us all.

Color me contented.

Why You Are Glad You Are Not Sitting Next to Me This Weekend: A Rant

I am studying this week.

I have to prepare for class this weekend. I am taking a class in Chiropractic Pediatrics and Obstetrics. The entire course is given over a three year period. There is a big test at the end that must be passed with moderate levels of competency in order to get the title that accompanies the program: Diplomate in Chiropractic Pediatrics.

I am in the first year. So far we have covered Pregnancy, Birth, and Evaluating the Neonate. Overall, these are areas of expertise with which I am very comfortable due to extensive first hand experience. I don't think I have learned everything there is to know by a long shot, but I also don't feel that I am learning anything I consider very valuable in this academic world.

In the birthing community, or any alternative health community, there seems to be so much talk about how a "new paradigm" about health is needed and the need to emphasize and rely upon the superiority of the systems intrinsic to the human body. In other words, "Nature Needs No Help, Only No Interference." But this appears to be just so much lip service, because the class work becomes 70-90% (western) memorization of "facts" and regurgitation of all the dire worst case scenarios and abnormalities.

Do you think midwives spend more time learning about what normal birth looks like or more time on what each emergency could be and how to freak the hell out. My midwife friend assures me that it is the latter. The same is true of the class I am taking. The pregnancy and birth portions have been all about awful things that might happen. (And the chiropractor wouldn't even be in the room anyway!) But the chiropractic student body, many of whom have never had children, are walking away with the impression that birth can be very dangerous and they had better have an OB ready to go with heroic measures or their child will likely die! With this background, it is little wonder that almost every woman who has had a C- section or another emergency measure can justify why it was "totally necessary" in her case. But all you have to do is look at the statistics to see that something is rotten in this scene. The fear is bred in every aspect of our education.

I know that comfortability and knowledge when dealing with the exceptions to the rules is an important part of providing health care. But I also see first hand that the time and emphasis given to these less typical situation is what leads us down the slippery slope of distrusting the body's ability to cope with crisis and relying on others expertise rather than looking inward to the amazing strength and knowledge of our bodies.

For example: In a threaded discussion question, we were asked what our recommendation would be to a parent who had brought in a 6 week old infant with a 102 degree fever. Our assigned textbook states that this child should be referred to the ER after being adjusted because it theorized that a child's immune system is less developed and that age and this fever could signal a more serious illness or infection. I imagine that the "break through moment" intended in this discussion is that we should actually adjust this child, thereby boosting the immune response, prior to sending them off to the ER doc in politically correct CYA fashion.

But this advice, while "safe" in the legal sense, astounds me!

Fever is the body's innate mechanism of dealing with pathogens. While a newborn's immune system is less well developed, how do we think it becomes the normal healthy immune system it needs to be? By being challenged and reacting normally.

I mean really, what are they going to do in the ER? Continue to fuss over this baby (when it should be snuggled in bed with its mama, nursing!), getting the parents further riled up, alarmed, stressed, and distrustful of their own instincts (which is all being transmitted to the baby energetically), and ultimately the ER personnel will likely either send them home with admonishions to "watch closely" for further developments or perhaps they will attempt to artificially lower the temperature with anti-inflammatory medication, thereby both thwarting the body's innate immune response and introducing nasty chemicals into this tiny little body. Uggh. And this is the safe thing we should recommend to our patients. I say: "No Way!"

No wonder we are a society which throws drugs (er...medications) at every little thing and no wonder we have problems trusting our own bodies and instincts when it comes to birth, food, health, whatever. Even those who are supposedly our "alternative" leaders are giving us the nice safe advice that they were taught to regurgitate in school. I've had it! This is such a waste of my time. I have so much to learn and instead I have to deal with more of this shiite.

I think I understand why this happens in so many well intentioned alternative health professions: chiropractic, midwifery, what have you. In order to justify, in educational circles, the stringency and validity of your education process, you must teach something quantifiable. In other words, in order for an educational process to be recognized in our western society as valid, as containing actual working information, it must have set parameters and hours of study and in essence, a bunch of stupid busy work, so that it will be accredited and valuable to the rest of the western world. Anyone dealing with homeschooling issues understands what I am talking about here, I'm sure.

So, the creator end up veering farther and farther away from their original intention and away from true organic learning, as they incorporate more and more western based tripe into their process. It's a fucked up vicious cycle and I am currently caught in the vortex.

So, off I go to memorize all the horrible disorders and diseases and their differential diagnosis so I can be recognized as an expert in my field even though these conditions are rare, often iatrogenically caused, and I could easily look them up if confronted with such a case in real life.

But here's what: I vow, here and today, that when I teach this and any other subject matter, I will be constantly striving to not spend disproportionate time regurgitating dire worst case scenario emergencies, but will instead let the educational process evolve organically with an emphasis on how we can change the world, instead of fit in.

My Moment of Glory

This weekend I am in Eau Claire at the always scintillating High School Reunion. I would regale you with stories of my classmates and photos of the amazing nights out, but it was pretty much like your own high school reunions. The scene is comprised of about five people you actually wanted to see again, another ten that are somewhat interesting to reminisce with, and another 50 or so drunken fools who you either don't remember or just plain don't want to remember.

Everybody seems to just fall into the cliques and groupings of high school and then the scene is fueled by alcohol...which doesn't really seem to add that much to everyone's personality despite firm beliefs to the contrary.

But then, toward the end of the night last night, something extraordinary happened.

I was given the opportunity to sing (kareoke) the World's Greatest Rock Ballad.

Apparently only 5 or 6 people felt drunk/confident enough to sing in front of (gasp) their high school peers. Therefore, if one wanted to try something new, one had every opportunity. While I was neither drunk (Just two glasses of wine at dinner 3 hours prior. I had to go home and nurse my Peevers) nor overly confident (I was singing a difficult and classic song I had never tried in public), I still took the bait.

For those of you who know me in real life: I am not overly shy when it comes to public performance. I generally love any captive audience, even drunken ones. However, what you may not know is that I do get nervous and uncertain and although I love kareoke, I am not so keen on singing something with a high potential to make me look foolish due to infamiliarity and high difficulty level. I consider myself far from an accomplished singer but my love of attention outweighs my fear of foolishness. Then, as I perused the song list, I saw the perfect song. The song which contains the best deep and yet cheesy song lyrics ever written as well as being a kickass '80's power ballad. So, I couldn't not go for it.

And so it went:

I know just how to whisper,
And I know just how to cry;
I know just where to find the answers;
And I know just how to lie.

Can you feel it yet, the building music, the grave solemnity:

And I know the roads to riches,
And I know the ways to fame;
I know all the rules
And then I know how to break 'em
And I always know the name of the game.
But I don't know how to leave you,
And I'll never let you fall;
And I don't know how you do it,
Making love out of nothing at all

And then finally...the big crescendo:


Every time I see you all the rays of the sun
Are streaming through the waves in your hair;
And every star in the sky is taking aim
At your eyes like a spotlight,
The beating of my heart is a drum, and it's lost
And it's looking for a rhythm like you.
You can take the darkness from the pit of the night
And turn into a beacon burning endlessly bright.
I've got to follow it, 'cause everything I know, well it's nothing till I give it to you.

The big finish! The crowd goes wild! Air Supply brings down the house!


Really, that moment encapsulates my remembrances of the world that was the '80s and my high school experience. Silly, overly dramatic, sometimes nonsensical, hormone driven, and just plain me being ultimately willing to be a total fool just to get the big moment of glory (even though 2/3 of the people there were either paying no attention or rolling their eyes at the moderate talent fame-whore I can be. Ahhhh. Like I care).

You should all now go to Napster or wherever and immediately download "Making Love Out of Nothing at All" by Air Supply. Imagine yourself pining away over some teenage boy to whom you talk on the phone for two hour every night with the phone cord stretched across the kitchen and into the closet while you parents plead with and threaten you for use of the phone. Remember the glorious earnestness of your dreams and desires and inarticulate longing to be exactly where you are today: grown up.

It's even better than we dreamed, isn't it. Take this journey down memory lane with me. You will thank me.

At Long Last, the Promised Post About Harry's

"What is this Harry's you are so hepped up about?" you might ask. Ahhhh..Harry's. Good times. Good times.

Harry's is a Farmer's Market/Grocery Store.

Brian first went to Harry's while visiting a friend of ours in Marietta last year. He returned from that trip, full of tales of how I would love Harry's, Harry's was so cool, yada babble babble. I didn't doubt that it would be a neat store, but I had lived in Madison and I had gone to the Madison Farmer's Market for years. And even now, I live in a town with a great natural foods store.

I mean, Harry's is a grocery store really. Big Deal. And then I went to Harry's myself.

You have no idea. Really. Even as you read this, just know that I cannot really do it justice. If you are ANY kind of a foody, this place is foody heaven.

It's really, really big. Like Walmart big. I am not exaggerating. We were there for well over an hour and I saw like, 1/3 of it. I could spend days just salivating in the isles. I asked Brian if he would buy me a tent and an air mattress so I could sleep over. There are entire isles devoted to individual ethnic foods. The bulk food area could serve for a great frisbee golf course. The dairy case holds an entire herd of cows! (Okay, I am exaggerating now.)

So, what all does Harry's carry? Every single gourmet or organic food known to man. For example: if you were hankerin' for a lovely balsamic vinegar, you would have the choice of approximately 150 gorgeously packaged top-o-the-line balsamic vinegars in every flavor and variation imaginable. Peanut butter, you say? How about 50-some gourmet all-natural varieties with interesting twists like cinnamon-sugar, honey, and white chocolate. White chocolate peanut butter. Quite tasty on an english muffin, if I do say so myself. Organic meats a plenty, of all kinds: check. Organic high end seafood galore: check. Sinfully delicious bakery and deli: check. Every ingredient you can think of: check, check, and check. In the produce section, there were about 20 kinds of fresh mushrooms. There were shitakes, and creminis, and oysters, and porcini, and truffles, and those soft velvety mushrooms in hot and sour soup, and morels. There were fresh morel mushrooms, people! At Harry's!

I have never been so moved by food in my entire life. I exclaimed over food. I gasped. I swooned. I oogled. I snatched. I named by name all my foody friends who would give their first born child to live within driving distance from such a shangra-la (and you know who you are). I blasphemed. I might even have had an orgasm. And then I cursed at Brian, who was too embarrassed to allow me to run out to the car and get my camera so I could take pictures of all the glorious food at Harry's.

It is that great. Really. And it is only a few blocks from The Big Chicken. What more could a girl ask for?

Nice Computer. Computer Friend.

Hellooo! Did y'all see what I did? I added links! Whooo hoo! I also figured out how to install a program that allows me to track my hits. So, for those of you out there who are lurking lurking lurking,...BUSTED! I know all about you!

Did I mention the part where I am a self-taught computer genius! And don't you forget it!

Peevers Loves Papa

Peevers Loves Papa, originally uploaded by esserboo.

On our way to the airport, we stopped and had margaritas and burritos. Peevers gave Papa a little extra love because we won't see him again for three whole weeks!

Today's Tableau of Woe

Today's Tableau of Woe, originally uploaded by esserboo.

This is a new trend in Gabe feeding himself. Note that he requires a new spoon (count'em: three spoons) for each yogurt container. Note the yogurt "art" spread across the entire table. Note that he went right to bed after my discovering this tableau (last night). Note that this trend better end real soon!

What I Learned About The Southland

Here's what I learned during my sojourn in The Land Of Plenty this past weekend:

Southerners Use Extreme Creative License While Naming Roads: First of all, the road are not laid out in any form of grid or even seemingly straight lines. The roads are exactly where the cattle or animals or wagons or whatever left a trail "back in the day" and none shall go elsewhere, to this very day. So to go somewhere say 15 miles away as the crow flies, one must switch roads approximately 7 times and cover about 37 miles. I kid you not.

And the roads are all named either almost exactly the same thing (Due West Highway, Due West Ackworth Highway, Due West Lane etc.) or, even more thrillingly, named different things entirely every couple hundred yards! We drove down a road yesterday that changed names four times as it went through a town and then changed names two more times after we left the county. I don't think there is a single road in the Atlanta Metro area that doesn't react to a county line without instantly attempting to assert a new identity by assuming a brand new name (Cobb County is for sluts...I shall heretofor be called: Loreta!). Interestingly, many times the changed name appears to be based on the largest town towards which said road leads, which seems logical. But, since every road goes two ways, it also leads away from its namesake and will then change names to the next biggest town as you cross the county line anyway. Confused yet? I think it may be a conspiracy by road namers and map makers. I bought three maps in three days. I need more.

Nobody Was Exaggerating When They Said It Was Damn Hot In The South: It was hot. And humid (this note is for you Northerners who are thinking: "Sure it's hot, but its not humid like up here."). Let me repeat: it is humid and hot. Yes, there was air conditioning pretty much anywhere, but try telling that to an eight year old subaru who doesn't like to sit runnning in the 97 degree heat just in order to keep a sleeping baby cool. Also, it is very embarrassing when you are looking at houses to have to go to the neighbors and beg for a jump 'cuz your battery died. Great first impression! "Hi, we're your new neighbors and we are dumbasses who left our car running in this heat!" Anyway, I didn't really like that house so much anyway.

Southerners Don't Think It's That Funny When You Joke About How We Beat Their Confederate Asses: Our realtor seemed to take these comments in stride (she will get paid you know) but our clever observances didn't seem to elicit the hilarity we were going for. Perhaps we should save this kind of talk for the next time there is a Packers vs Falcons showdown?

The Big Chicken Really Is Big But Barely Looks Like A Chicken: When getting directly in Marietta, all discussion of location is prefaced with regard to orientation from " The Big Chicken" (Y'all just gotta turn left at the Big Chicken and it's just down yonder on yer right). It even appears on maps. Needless to say, I was intrigued and impressed by the idea of this landmark. And now I have seen The Big Chicken. It is in fact about three stories high but is merely a three dimensional rudimentary chicken head with cartoon eyes that roll in circles and a beak which opens and closes. It is attached to KFC. That's it. It's hard to know where this legend began. Be afraid.

People Really Do Say "Fixin' To" and Other Southern Language: Plenty of people have little to no accent down south, but there is no escaping southern expressions and drawled out words. Our realtor insisted the we all had to try some "piaaaah" (pie). Frankly, I'm okay with "y'all" and even find a bit of southern lilt quite charming. However, I put my foot down at "fixin' to". If my children begin to utter such heathenish talk they will be sent to a summer in Canada/Northern Wisconsin where they will learn to say "aboot" and "you betcha, shure, shure" like their parents. And since they will likely be with their Grandpa, they will learn to say "dirty rotten sons of bitches" and "goddammit" with alacrity as well. Maybe "fixin' to" is not so bad after all.

I'm sure I have much more to learn about the Southland but since all we did all weekend was look at houses, I'm afraid we had little to no contact with the outside world. More on house hunting later. And photos too, I promise. Y'all come back, ya hear!

Did ya miss me?

I was gone soo soo long from my faithful readers and my lovely computer access. And now I must confess to the gravity of my addiction to this here blog: I got home after traveling all day and put the three kiddos in bed and crept back downstairs to check my comments and whatnot. And now I am posting before crawling back to bed because I. just. can't. stop. I swear, I will sleep much better if I just post a little something before I go to bed. Otherwise sometimes I actually lay (lie?) awake at night thinking of posts I want to write. (Now I will lie/lay awake trying to decide which form is the proper usage. Damn!)

This passionate relationship I am developing with my computer (computer, friend!) makes me think of how my sister-in-law calls my brother's computer "the little grey whore" because he stays up late into the night loving on the computer while his poor wife sleeps alone. Now she (the computer, not the SIL) is called the "little silver whore" I think, because he got an upgrade.

And I now have my "little flat screened compaq lover" who loves me while my hubby is far far away. Be afraid sweet hubby.

How My Day Is Going

I am currently on step 54. There have been a few changes and additions. I didn't forget the dog, but I did have a dead battery as I tried to leave the house today! I have a five minute break at work before it gets crazy again and before my food gets here! I was only an hour late for work and will only have to stay about 45 minutes later than planned. It's gonna all work out. I'm going to need more caffeine and definitely some chocolate before this day is over though.

I've got a lot of driving to do tonight an tomorrow. They better have lots of margaritas in The Land of Plenty! Thanks y'all!

The Long List of Terror

On Friday I am going to the Land of Plenty to visit my sweet hubby and to look at houses.

My older children are going to Brian's sister's house to spend the weekend so that I can actually see houses rather than wrangle children all weekend. We don't know any babysitters in the Southland yet and frankly don't feel like shelling out another $600 in plane tickets, dragging three children through an airport, on to an airplane, and then sitting there for 2 hours, twice. So, I'm just bringing Peevers, who sits in my lap for free and is easily transported.

Until I arrive in Atlanta, my TO DO list is as follows:

1. Work until 7:00 pm tonight.
2. Pick up kids at sitters.
3. Go to Y and swim.
4. Stop at Target to get a computer disc so I can download the damn file of the photo of my house that the dratted House Selling People just cannot seem to upload via email even though they have already received all the other ones taken by the exact same camera in the exact same way!!!!! I paid them two weeks ago and still do not have my house listed on their website!
5. Arrive home around 9:00 pm.
6. Begin laundry.
7. Give kids a snack and put them to bed around 10:00.
8. Continue laundry.
9. Put kids back to bed 10:15.
10. Nurse Peevers back to sleep around 10:20.
11. Tidy kitchen and run dishwasher to keep ant population in check. (Must sell house.)
12. Put kids back to bed and actually lie there with them until they fall asleep around 10:30
13. Wake up at 3:00 am and realize I never got back up from putting kids to bed to turn off lights and take out contacts. Get up and do so.
14. Wake up with kids at 7:30 am.
15. Make coffee.
16. Feed kids breakfast.
17. Bring laundry up from basement, fold and sort.
18. Continue trying to feed children healthy protein-acious food while they are begging for a popsicle at 8:00 am.
19. Go on line and pay a few bills that cannot wait until after the weekend.
20. Negotiate truce with whining children: One bowl of cereal, then a popsicle outside!
21. Check email.
22. Become sucked into blog world.
23. Children interrupt morning blog fog by screeching for promised popsicle.
24. Peevers can be put off no longer is escalating fussiness. Nurse Peevers while watching trashy morning television and occasionally peering at children outside in their pajamas.
25. Realize Gabe is now naked. Go outside and force him to come back in and get dressed again.
26. Begin packing all the things the kids will need at Aunt Jodi's this weekend.
27. Observe that the kids are now swimming in the wading pool in their pajamas.
28. Continue packing kid's stuff including toys, movies, diapers for Quin and snacks for the car.
29. In separate bag, begin packing self and Peevers for trip to Atlanta.
30. Search for wallet and photo ID.
31. Strip down wet children and start up Dora the Explorer video for them.
32. Remember that the dog must go somewhere too and throw bag of dog food in back of van. Aunt Jodi loves dogs, right?
33. Outfit diaper bag for plane trip including camera, trashy novel and baby sling.
34. Begin loading van.
35. Arbitrate argument between kids over Scooby Doo vs Baby Doolittle.
36. Find Peevers has completely squirmed out of her baby seat onto the floor near the other kids and now has jelly (!?!) in her hair. She doesn't protest until you rinse her head in the sink.
37. Nurse Peevers again.
38. Look at watch. Realize you now have 45 minutes to finish packing, shower self and dress self and all three children.
39. Lose mind.
40. Regain mind 3 minutes after leaving the house to drive into town.
41. Think: "Did I remember everything? I know I must have forgotten something important."
42. Remember that dog was left sitting on sofa. Remember that I never downloaded the dratted photo of house.
43. Go back and get dog.
44. Drive to babysitters. Only 40 minutes late so far.
45. Arrive at the office at the same time as first patient arrives. No time for prepping for day at work.
46. Work (with dog locked in back room, barking occasionally).
47. Realize you have eaten nothing and are running on fumes of 2 cups of coffee for breakfast.
48. Send assistant to grocery store to buy a sandwich. Answer phone yourself while adjusting patients and scheduling new appointments. (Note assistant deserves raise.)
49. Finish with last patient and run to car. Run back for dog.
50. Eat sandwich while driving to pick up kids at babysitters.
51. Start Dora video as you drive out of sitter's driveway. Hand out PB & J sandwiches. Dole out sippy cups. Force Gabe to put seatbelt on properly.
52. Hit highway at 7:00 pm
53. Drive 400 miles. (Only stopping 6 times for bathroom breaks and nursing meltdowns).
54. Arrive at SIL's and unload each sleeping child. Incoherent of time.
55. Wake up via strange alarm clock at 5:30 am. Sneak away from sleeping children and get back in van.
56. Drive 3 hours to Milwaukee Airport (the nearest direct flight to Atlanta).
57. Sit at gate and eat crappy fastfood breakfast while guzzling sweet delicious mocha.
58. Fly to Atlanta.

I'll stop there: I think. You get. The picture. (Extra Credit-What movie quote is that, smarties?)

Gabe's Deepest Wish

Gabe: Mom! On Fairly Odd Parents, Jimmy has two fairies named Wanda and Cosmo.

Me: Really? What do they do?

Gabe: They pretend to be things like squirrels and frogs.

Me: Okaaay. What do they do for Jimmy?

Gabe: He wishes for things all the time and they help him with their magic.

Me: That sounds cool. What would you wish for?

Gabe: Hmmm. I know! I wish I had a double coated marshmellow fudge sandwich.

Twelve Reasons Why I Wish I Carried a Watermelon

There is a movie that cures all ills in the world for me, even if temporarily. This film cheers me up when I don't feel well, when I am stressed to the hilt, when I am bored, when I go through a breakup and even when my husband and I live in different states and I am suddenly a single mom. This film has the perfect combination of a deeply moving plot, glorious cinematography, inspiration for life, and whimsical nostalgia for my youth. This movie is quite simply all that I aspire to be.

And the esteemed film is: Dirty Dancing starring Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey.

What exactly do I love about it?

1. I love that Johnny (Patrick Swayze) is both cheesy and sexy in the perfect combo of manliness and dopiness. Generally macho guys leave me cold but Johnny Castle: hubba hubba.

2. I love the music. This soundtrack was one of the first cassettes of my very own that I played relentlessly on my tiny tape player in my bedroom. Even the songs performed by Patrick Swayze. (Did you know that Patrick Swayze was almost cast as Danny in Grease?!) Admit it: As you read this post, specific songs are playing in your head as you imagine the scene. You know it's true!

3. Fine Dancing Moment #1) I love when "Baby" is walking home from "dance practice" with Johnny and dances to "Wipeout" on the stairs. That is exactly how I dance.

4. Excellent Movie Dialogue Moment #1) "Me? I'm scared of everything. I'm scared of what I saw. I'm scared of what I did, of who I am. And most of all... I'm scared of walking out of this room and never feeling the rest of my whole life, the way I feel when I'm with you!" (Awww. How sweet and real is that? The purity and innocence. Especially knowing that immediately afterward she goes and gets herself de-virginated. The perfect justification, no?)

5. I love Jerry Orbach.

6. Fine Dancing Moment #2) I love it when Baby and Johnny go to The Drake to perform and she chickens out on the lift move and makes up an improptu hand gesture instead. A hand gesture instead of a dramatic lift. I'm sure no one will notice. (This movie moment also always makes me think of my friend, Patrick in Buffalo, who does the best Baby Misses Her Lift impression ever seen. I am chortling right now just thinking of it. Aww Patrick. I miss you.)

7. I love the way this movie reminds you of what it really feels like to be a teenager. Now that I am slowly sinking into the world of Mom-itude it feel good to remember how backward and clueless my parents seemed (sorry mom) and how my need to go out and makeout with stupid guys and drink crappy beer seemed so reasonable. I don't have teenaged children so I am right in the center of the emotions of this film. On the one hand, yes, teenagers are real people with real needs and desires and raging hormones. But on the other, parents need to guide them. I should watch this movie with my daughters once a month from puberty through age 21. Does that seem too long? Regardless, I will always totally relate to Baby.

8. Excellent Movie Dialogue Moment #2) Penny: "Go back to your playpen, Baby."

9. I love the chemistry between Baby and Johnny. I saw on E! that Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey met while filming Red Dawn and they HATED each other. I think that actually translated as perfect chemistry on the screen. He is so rude to her and she just tries sooo hard. Love it!

10. Fine Dancing Moment #3) When they first meet, Johnny tries to teach Baby the basic niceties of dirty dancing. She is a total clod. He keeps trying until the music stops as the song ends. She continues dancing jerkily and alone. Oh, the horror! Yes folks, that is me on the dance floor.

11. I love love love the scene where they are practicing the sexy breast-stroke in their dance number and Baby alternates between giggling uncontrollably as his hand grazes her boob and melting into him as she stops freaking out and gets all hubba hubba. That is like porn for me. (Sigh. I miss my husband. No more talking about sexy Dirty Dancing moments.)

12. The Ultimate Excellent Movie Dialogue Moment: "I carried a watermelon." Baby says this stupidly and out of the blue when she is first introduced to the stud, Johnny. Then immediately afterward she snerks to herself, "I carried a watermelon?!" Oh, isn't that just the way it always is. Realizing you have said something supremely stupid 30 seconds too late. I watch this movie just for this scene because it tickles me so. When ever I see a watermelon I must repeat that line. Produce clerks think I am nuts.

Interestingly, the AFI recently published this list of the top 100 Memorable Movie Lines and Dirty Dancing made the list at #98. Sadly, it is NOT the best line from this movie, since "I carried a watermelon" clearly IS. But the folks at AFI are almost certainly fuddy duddies and I'm surprised they have even heard of Dirty Dancing, since their taste seems to run pretty old school. I've never heard of some of their movies or quotes for that matter. Perhaps we should begin a new and more *hip* version of the Memorable Movie Quote list, filled mostly with Terrantino and Will Farrell quotes. I mean seriously, give me: "That is some fucked up repugnant shit" over "You had me at 'hello' " any day! But I'll save that list (You can help if you want. Send me your favorites.) for another day.

Batman Begins

I'm sorry ladies, but Gabe has Christian Bale beat!

I'm a Bit Down Today. And Hot.

This is the day I have been dreading. I should amend that statement. Actually, this is the day I have been avoiding really thinking about in order to avoid getting all down and dread-y.

I felt a little sick to my stomach all day yesterday, but I mostly managed to avoid thinking about it and just go on as if it were any other miserably furnace-like day in Iowa. It was so hot and damn humid (All together now: It's Not So Much the Heat as the Humidity) that the kids didn't even want to go out and play in the pool. I started the AC at 7:30 in the morning. We still have some yard work to do before we show the house and we simply couldn't bring ourselves to face the sauna of our backyard. Seriously, my gramma's woodburning Finnish sauna can barely compete with the natural windless swamp created by the endless fields of corn that surround my house. Ugh. So we were hot and trying not to think about Brian leaving. But we packed his stuff into the subaru and then sat around and drank squirt (elixer of the gods) and watched HBO. Escapism at its best.

We made full use of the family bed last night. Brian slept with each of us in turn during the night. He snuggled Quinny down to sleep on her nest on the floor. Then he climbed into the king with Peevers and me for a while. When Gabe fussed a bit in his mary-like sleepwalking stupor, Brian joined him in his floor-nest for bit.

Brian was already up and getting ready to leave when I got up at 7:30. I helped him finish packing his stuff. I moped around like a lovesick goose while he made coffee. I dragged him out to the front of the house for a final picture of us living in Iowa. He went upstairs and kissed all the sleeping babies (awww!). And then he had to leave.

And what will I do while he is gone? Weep. Copiously.

Honey, when you arrive in the land of plenty, can you send me a good absorbent mop and a dehumidifier? Between the weeping and the goddamn cornfields, I'm going under here.

Oh Computer, how you mock me!

I am so slow when it comes to computer stuff. I try to blame it on my advanced age (33) but since so many others who have me cooked age-wise still manage to put together a reasonably techno-savvy blog, I have no excuses.

I tried today to enter the blog-roll world and thereby needed to enter the proper code into this blogging do-jiggy so you, my faithful readers, can see all the interesting blogs where I waste all my time ( like this and this and this to name a few). All I managed to do was curse a lot and look up help and FAQ a lot and ultimately end up with no changes to my blog format. However, faithful reader, you may note that I am getting better at this exciting hyperlink thingy!

I swear, I am not slow. If you want to learn more about what a subluxation is and why you should take care of your spine from birth on; I can give you a clear, concise, and compelling argument that could change your way of thinking about your nerve system forever. If you need to swap out a leaky drain in the bottom of your tub; hand me the plumber's putty and a pliers. If you would like a discourse on the merits of Blue's Clues vs Dora the Explorer vs Julie Clark and her goddamn Baby Einstein Empire; I can debate you for weeks. If you want to know where Brian has put his book, Gabe has left his Batman flashlight, and Quin has left her Waterbaby (Don't ask. It's a weird toy); I can usually produce it for you within minutes.

I am competent, practical, intelligent, and rational. And yet this f-ing computer kicks my ass every time. Bah!

I could get nasty and call the computer (my nemesis) a bunch of names but then it might just eat the next four posts I write, introduce Gabe to online porn, and then send an email to Brian's new boss calling him a pantywaist. I think I'll just quit for now.

How I Won the Name Game

I was reading this and I realized: "I may be one of them!" Egads!

This website is devoted to the egregious wrongs done by insipid parents in the search for the elusive "unique yet gorgeous name" for their children. Each parent is trying so desperately to avoid having any other child with their child's name that they make up crazy things and crazy spellings and ultimately and ironically, end up with a bunch of names that are amazingly similar and frankly, hokey sounding.

I am afraid that I may be one such parent, however.

It typically begins slowly. The first born will have a somewhat recognizable name with frequently a "unique" middle name.

My first born is named Gabriel Palmer [Recognizably Irish Lastname].

Gabriel because we like it and we like the shortened version (Gabe) just as well. And we liked its Celtic tradition.

Palmer for the founder of Chiropractic and the Chiropractic school we both attended. This seems well meaning but may stray into the territory of contrived namery (I just made that word up too! How creative am I?)

Our second child is named Quinlan Maia [Recognizably Irish Lastname].

We had planned to name her Maia if she were a girl because I have always always planned to name my first daughter Maia. Maia/Maja is Scandinavian for Mary and would have been my given name if my parents weren't such pussies and wimped out at the last minute to give me the lame, trite, and biblical version: Mary. Bah. So, I have always intended to right this wrong. However, in the three days leading to Quin's birth I notice suddenly scores and scores of little girls suddenly being named Maya! Different spelling, but I am no dummy. For those deluding themselves by thinking that changing the spelling changes the name: Sorry! Wrong! You lose!

Quinlan was the intended middle name and as soon as she was born we said: "She's not a Maia. Definitely a Quinlan." And so it is.

So, to sum up:

Quinlan because it is pretty and unique and shortens attractively to Quin. And it's Celtic once again. I should however note that in all baby name books, Quinlan or Quin is listed as a boys name. So I am clearly bending the rules into creative namery once again!

Maia because I must right the wrong done to me and settle The Curse of Lame Namery once and for all (to save future generations and all that).

And then the third pregnancy. We had long since settled on the perfect boy's name: Seamus. Celtic, manly, cute, and it rhymes with famous, so the child would be destined for greatness, right?

But alas, a girl's name was not so easy to settle on. We were clearly hooked on the Celtic thing and found all the names to be to Mary-ish. Not original enough, not fun or interesting, and so on. At last I gave in a bought this book, Celtic Names for Children, because it was actually written by an Irish person, rather than the usual made-up crap in Irish baby name books. We considered names in this book for weeks and finally took to just reading names aloud to each other when trapped in the car or while one of us was taking a shower. And then it happen: we found the name we both liked and... the descent into namery madness truly began.

The chosen name: Ribh. Pronounced 'Reeve'. Ribh Wallis [Recognizably Irish Last Name].

Ribh because it sounds strong and pretty at the same time and it's Celtic (duh) . For us, the fun Gaelic spelling is just an added bonus. We think of it as an opportunity to teach others a little about the wonky Gaelic alphabet and its proper pronunciation. Most encounters go a little like this:

Random Normal Person: Oh, what a sweet baby! What is her name?

Us: Ribh. Its pronounced 'reeve' like Christopher Reeve.

RNP: Oh, that's pretty/different/interesting. How to you spell it?

Us: Uuhhh. Its R. I. B. H. (talking very fast now) Because in Gaelic, a B is pronounced like a V.

RNP: Oh. (pause) What's her middle name?

Us: Wallis. (talking fast again) But it's spelled W. A. L. L. I. S. That is the feminine spelling. Like Wallis Simpson. Edward VIII gave up his throne for her in 1936.

RNP: Oh. (trying to get away) Um.

Us: But we usually just call her "Peevers".

RNP: I gotta go now. Nice meeting you. (Thinking to self: That pooor child.)

So, have we done it? Am I one of them? In my defense: I still like all their names very much, and besides Gabe, I think they will have pretty unique names. Nothing in the top 50. No Madisons or Jaydens or the like. And ultimately, at least none of them are named Mary!

Lap Swim (A Deep Post At Last, If Underwater Counts)

Last night I was swimming laps at the Y. This is part of my new commitment to exercise (to keep me healthy) to weight loss (to keep me a hot mama rather than a dumpy mama) and to personal time even while Brian is away in GA (to keep me sane so that my children will live to tell the story of the summer of '05).

The first thing I noticed was that all three lanes were occupied which meant that I would have to swim in close proximity to another person. Gasp. It's weird how territorial we get about our workout space, neh? I also noted that all three lap lanes were occupied by slow and lazy swimmers. While I am far from a competitive swimmer, I at least get down to business and swim during my allotted swim time. These people were swimming slowly (strolling really, swolling?) and taking long contemplative (couldn't be catching their breath, really) breaks at the end of each pass. C'mon people...Get in one lane for slow sloppy swimming 'cuz I need to tear things up (snort)!

So I chose the lane with the slowest swimmer, hoping to scare them out of my way, and discovered it was a kid. He was probably about 13 or so and clearly just killing time. He would dive deep at each turn and peruse the pool bottom and stopped frequently to adjust his goggles. Astonishingly, rather than responding internally by thinking, "move child or I will cut you!" I tried to follow his example. I didn't slow my pace of workout but I tried to recapture that feeling of childhood.

Think of those idyllic summer days that drifted by while you dangled your feet in the lake or read a book flopped on your bed with absolutely no thought of what you would do next or what needed to be done. A child's casual reverie and complacent ability to think of nothing and worry about nothing is such an amazing talent. This youngster had no concerns about getting in shape or having a little alone time. He was just playing in the water. Sigh. I am so jealous. So, this is my new YMCA goal: Just Have Fun In The Water (And Get a Tight Ass to Boot!)

And by the way, my "lifeguard": was about 5 years older than Gabe, I swear! (Okay, he was probably actually a manly 16 years. But still. A child. I'm old.)

Scabs, Band-aids, and Hair Loss

My children are bent on self-mutilation.

Gabe has gouged both of his big toes running around outside with no shoes on. You may be thinking, "Why doesn't she just make him wear shoes?" I'll tell you.

My children have inherited my intense dislike for wearing shoes. As a child, my hatred of footware of any kind ran hot, (much like the intensity of a thousand suns) and frequently ended in teachers, babysitters, busy-bodied church ladies telling me of the many dire things that would happen if I did not put on said footwear posthaste! And yes, I did my share of foot damage including stepping on glass and jumping on a rusty nail. And it was no big deal. Feet are hardy creatures. I only wear shoes when I am truly forced, to this very day. Feet need to be allowed to breathe and be one with the universe in my opinion.

In contrast, I have a friend who abhors bare feet. I have seen him stocking-footed exactly once in my life. He was my boyfriend's roommate, and my roommate's boyfriend (at the same time) and has been a friend for over 15 years. I have stayed over at his house and had him at my house as a guest countless times. I have seen him first thing in the morning, late into the night and passed out drunk, and in all kinds of weather including the inferno that is Wisconsin in August, but he is always always wearing socks and steel-toed combat boots. He has NEVER gouged the hell out of his big toes. At least his baby gets to go barefoot. In the summer. Inside the house.

So, Gabe has ugly nasty flaps of skin hanging off his toes. Which seem to require about 13 band-aids daily.

Quin somehow bashed her face up. I don't know how or when this injury occurred, but she now has scabs all across her nose. She never even came crying to me with this injury, which I find almost unbelievable, since I usually hear The Cry Of Unimaginable Agony following her brother looking at her just so or The Pterydactyle Shrieks Of Suffering following her brother pointing his fingers at her!

Ribh has been scraping and scratching her face with the intensity of a creature with no fine motor skills and too long fingernails and poison ivy or somesuch itchy nasties. Mayhaps I should cut her nails again? But I usually, very organically, bite them off and this truly pisses her off. I imagine the clippers would enrage her as well and she doesn't seem to mind the scratches across her entire visage. Yes, yes, I know; Bad Granola Mama.

Her rooting reflex doesn't seem to have slowed down. Whenever she is sleepy she thrashes her head back and forth repeatedly in search for the elusive phantom nipple. She does this even when asleep with her head pillowed against my bare breast. She is a future headbanger or something. All this thrashing has served to wear a pathway of baldness all along the back of her head, looking for all the world like a tiny comb-over gone wrong (aren't they all wrong?) on my perfect and fashionable baby.

Oh the mutilation!

And just 5 days until my husband moves out of state. Grump!

The Post in Which Scooby Doo Rules the World

Scooby Doo is Gabe's role model. Particularly his eating habits. Like most four year olds, he has few favorite foods (mostly PB &J and yogurt) and anything outside of that is considered evil alien food with which mom is trying to secretly poison him. But, if I tell him it is a "Scooby Snack" he will try just about anything.

Recently, food has become an even greater source of make-believe delight. It began with the plastic kitchen Quin received for Christmas. Now he and Quin delight in whipping us up batches of "cookies", "cakes", and "cheese sandwiches". The added bonus of this activity is that they both go upstairs to their play room for at least 5 minutes at a time! This is an unprecidented ability to not play directly under my feet and I am truly grateful for the five minutes in which I can watch a movie without the subtitles! (These are movies which are filmed in English, people! Need I say more? You can't imagine how excited we were when we discovered this trick and watched the first movie through in three years without rewinding 27 times just to see what critical piece of dialogue we had missed. Plot continuity; its a good thing.)

Now Gabe frequently requests a new Scooby Doo treat: "Double Dipped Marshmellow Fudge Sandwich" (followed by a slurping/smacking sound, just like Shaggy). The problem here: I am one of "those moms" who doesn't allow the routine ingestion of sugar, chocolate, marshmellows and the like (at least not by the kids!). So, I simply make him a peanut butter and jelly (#2087) and we discuss how marvelously gooey the marshmellow (peanut butter) is and how fantastically drippy the fudge ( all-fruit-natural-granola-ass-jelly) is. He likes it when I garnish it with a piece of fruit and stack it up just so. Then he joyously announces, Shaggy style: "Through the teeth and over the gums, watch out stomach, here it comes!"

Who says you can't learn anything watching television? What, do you want him to have no pop culture references? Jeez! Look at all that imagination he is using! He's a phenom!

I'm a bad granola mom.

Bungalow For Sale

I staged the house for these schmancy photos so someone will snatch up my house real quick. The instructions from the web hosting group we are selling from suggested that I make the house "look like it stepped out of the pages of a decorating magazine" and would "invite a prospective buyer into every room". Isn't that the look I go for every day anyway?

I got all the toys and dishes and paperwork out of the six photos I am allowed to submit, but where am I gonna put that stuff when the prospective buyers come to see the house in person? They will know something is afoot when they open closets to reveal all the crap I stashed in there in order to make the house appear inviting. Then they will see that the neatly sliced fruit on the kitchen counter (seen in every house magazine) have little bite marks where some child or animal tried to nibble a taste before I shooed them out of the kitchen. They will see the boxes upon boxes of clothes and toys under the beds and in the basement. They will see my dirty laundry. Hopefully it will be neatly lying in the laundry basket, but still! Gasp! They will realize that I am a mother to three small children who works part time and whose husband has moved to another state.

They will then offer me $25 K less for the house than I am asking for it because they will be able to not just smell, but taste my desperation. And I will say, "Yes! I'll take it! Just free me from this torment!"

I think I need to invest in storage. Or a maid. Help!

The Pictures That Must Sell My House

Classic Craftsmen Bungalow

Breakfast Nook 

Formal Dining 

Living Room 

Bedroom 

It's official: we're moving again

While I was in Eau Claire last weekend for my sister's baby shower, Brian flew down to Atlanta for his final interview. And, he got the job. And they want him to start in a week. He gave his two weeks notice on Monday and steeled himself for the quite possible *You Can Just Leave Right Now* speech from the administration at his current job, but it didn't happen. So he will be here for two weeks. He will leave next Sunday. Wow.

His students are coming over this weekend for a farewell party, since many of them are leaving for break or clinic abroad and he will be looong gone by the time they get back in July. He is planning some quality "family time" between now and then. But he will be gone before I know it and I am wondering how I am going to say goodbye. When and what is our farewell party?

I remember when we were separated during the period when I was still in school and he began practicing in Wisconsin. Each goodbye, although we saw each other at least every three or four weeks, seemed so painful and heartbreaking. Over time we became accustomed to our long distance status and I no longer cried with every goodbye, but still, the fierceness of my misery without him comes back to me now.

I keep talking about how tough it is going to be taking care of three kids under the age of five as a *single parent* and how I will go crazy with parenting alone, but really, deep down, I just feel so sad for me. Because I will be lonely and uncertain and without my touchstone of sanity and strength, him. I'm just gonna miss his himness so much.

I know we will talk on the phone multiple times every day, just like we do now. I know he will fly here or we will visit there every three or four weeks at the very least. I know this seperation will be short-lived and we will likely be reunited before the summer is over. I know that it will all be okay. But just for now, I am going to let myself feel very sad (well, probably a few more times but I promise I won't dwell on it).

The Weekend in Photos (Again)

How Kids Get Subluxated (even while wearing superhero capes)

Tristan Tummy and presents! 

Gabe spends the weekend "Killing Monsters" with Grandpa Tom 

A Peaceful Moment for Jerome and Mielle 

Miss Peeves meets Alex  

The Peapod and The Chickie 

The day in photos

While I Am On The Computer Gabe Makes His Own Breakfast.

Feet detail 

Pibhres crashed out on the couch on Sunday afternoon. Is she Brian's child or what?

Princess Peapod and The Peony

Why I MUST blog

We had to turn on the AC this weekend. Iowa summer has begun. While the actual temperature was typically in the 80's over the course of the weekend, it rained off and on and the general atmosphere was closer to that of a turkish bath. It smelled like one too. Quin has been pooping multiple times each afternoon while at Michelle's house, and we were treated to her new diaper experiments and extravaganzas. Seriously, she pooped like 8 times in two days. And a lot each time. Shouldn't she be dehydrated or the size of a chihuahua or something?

Brian was a manly man and worked on my "honey do" list. He went to town and bought stuff at Lowe's. He replaced the screens that Gabe had "speared" in his daily quest for something to kill or maim. Then he and Gabe had a long talk about putting sticks and other pointy objects through screens (it's not okay, for those of you thinking of visiting).

We caulked the bathroom to finish up the great wallpaper removal project. It still needs a little touchup paint but...DONE AT LAST!!!! I'm gonna celebrate anyway. And may I add: curses on all who put wallpaper up! I don't care how *great* it looks today. Someone (else) will have to remove it one day. (At least faux painting, although cheesy, is easily erased!) I just had to get that off my chest.

Brian also pulled up the carpeting in the guest room to reveal the perfectly nice hardwood floors beneath. I tried to help pulling out staples and such...but I pretty much sucked. I guess I'm better at plumbing.

After all this, Brian felt he had earned slacker time for the rest of the weekend (Sunday afternoon and evening). I whirled around the house doing the more routine cleaning (laundry, child disasters and so on), sorting out the disaster left in the wake of our home improvement projects and making dinner two nights in a row, while he *worked* on the computer and watched TV. I tried to get him to hold Pibhres for me but he said that he was too hot and he prefered not to hold a "lump of lava." That is totally going to be the name of my next blog. Either that or "What I Can Do With 18 Kids Hanging Off Me," because really, that what my life feels like typically.

This morning would be entitled: "How To Fight With Idiotic Insurance People So You Can Get Approval To Fix Your Crashed Minivan While 18 Kids Hang Off You." As I wrote this post I got up three times to answer the phone (which has no good signal in this room), nursed Pibhres back to sleep, searched for her sucky but couldn't find it, nursed her back to sleep again, pulled Quin off my leg and then made her breakfast, pulled Gabe off my shoulders and found his Scooby Doo game, enduring a running commentary as he captured each bad guy, culminating in "Mom, I got the Black Knight. I destroyed him with electric *zzzzt*", and I changed another poopy diaper from Quin. They say I should get my minivan fixed on Thursday. How is it possible I can do all this in one morning with three kids (or is it 18?) attached to my hip and it will take over a week before they can even BEGIN to repair my Toyota. Argh. Gotta go...Pibhres is awake again and I think the phone is ringing.

Hooray for Peevers (Pibhres)

Pretty soon here Peevers will actually exist! How is this? Because her mother is finally sending in her birth registration to the state! I had all the paperwork filled out shortly after she was born except for the part for the "birth attendant". Let me note that the attendant section contained all the most important and detailed questions about her and her birth.

For the parents, they simply wanted: name, DOB, SS number, state of birth, race, level of education (?) and occupation/employer (!!??!). Like that is somehow pertinant to who is *qualified* or something to be parents? I'm sure they are using this information to build a monstrous data base that they will use eventually to justify how more highly educated and gainfully employed parents have healthier babies or some other ridiculous socio-economic conclusion. Cuz education has sooo much to do with intelligence (snort). And good parenting. And the ability to think beyond the instructions in "What To Expect When You Are Expecting". Education and gainful employment. Right. Bah! All the more likely to be sheeple in my book. (Except me and all my friends: we are both brilliant and revolutionary, socio-economic status be damned!)

The birth information section (to be filled out by "attendant" mind you) requested: Mother's history of births excluding this one, apgars, birth weight, date of last menstrual period AND clinical estimate of gestation in complete weeks. (Why do they need both?! To try to prove that you can't count or have a wierd ovulatory cycle or something? Oh my God, I last menstruated in 1999, does that mean this baby isn't mine!?)

They also asked for the month of pregnancy in which prenatal care began (I put "first") and then total prenatal visits (I put "na/self care").

After asking about plurality and tranferring to another facility, they then asked if I was employed during pregnancy (huh? What about the being a mom to two other kids? I don't get paid. But I don't really get paid yet for my other self employed job either. I put yes, because damn it, I worked my ass off and I want it counted! By whomever it is, for whatever reason. I'm totally messing up their numbers now! Heh. And I'm just getting started. (Insert evil cackle here).

Medical Conditions (check all that apply): medical risk factors for pregnancy (including herpes, vaginal bleeding and oligohydramnios) and to which I chose: none, weight gained during pregnancy (I refused to respond), obstetric procedures (amniocentesis? EFM? induction? ultrasound? tocolyis?). Again: none! Events of labor/delivery (febrile? meconium? premature ROM? excessive bleeding? (!) placenta stuff? dysfunctional labor? (!!) precipitous labor? (less than three hours = bad folks!) prolonged labor? (if you can't get that baby out within 20 hours, you are broken! Bad uterus!) blah blah blah! What a list! Guess what I answered? (None. Boring. We need mopre drama here.)

Method of delivery: vaginal.

Then the truly monstrous list: Abnormal Condition of the Newborn (check all that apply). This section is as long as all that preceded it. Suffice it to say that it included every possible scary or seemingly scary thing a parent could dream of. Oh, and this paperwork was sent to me by the state registrar with the "heel prick" testing kit to send away to the state lab. That's some pretty good marketing there. I "lost" that kit though, drat it! Answer: none.

I had filled all this claptrap out but I was still stumped by the attendant page. So I called the state registrar directly:

Me: I am filling out the registration papers for my baby who was born at home and I don't know what to do with the attendant worksheet since we had no attendant.

Her: Oh, your midwife couldn't make it in time?

Me: No, I didn't have a midwife. My husband was there. We didn't hire a midwife.

Her: Well, did you bring the baby to a midwife or doctor afterward?

Me: No. The baby is very healthy. We don't see any need for that.

Her: Are you going to get the baby vaccinated?

Me: I have no plans to do so at this time. (I'm hedging my bets here. I don't want to just announce that there is no way in hell I will ever ever ever do such a thing. I'm already feeling a bit vulnerable in this conversation. What if she decides to "red flag" me somehow.)

Her: Ummm...well we *prefer* (said in a prissy tone) to have someone outside the parents evaluate and register the child but I guess....(long pause. I think she is waiting for me to suggest some alternative person to verify this poor neglected child.) ...you and your husband can write a statement verifying that what you just told me.

Me: Okay, that sounds great! You just want me to attest to her live birth to me specifically and that there was no other attendant by choice, right? (I have done a bit of homework here).

Her: I guess that will work.

Me: Thanks for all your help!

So then I write this letter:

To whom it may concern: My child, Ribh Wallis F....., was born to me on this date, time, place. I am writing to attest to her live birth in my home. We did not hire a medical doctor or midwife. Because there were no complications with the pregnancy or birth we did not seek any outside care for the labor or delivery.

I, Mar F....., delivered my child Ribh Wallis F.... (signature) <you're DAMN right!>

I Brian F...., was present at the birth of my daughter, Ribh Wallis F..... (signature)

And I sent it all out with the check for $30, which brings the total cost of this birth to about $57.26.

Bottle of Gatorade: $.99
New shoelace: $1.27
Herbs for yoni and twatsicles: $15
Pads: $10
Registration of child: $30

Oh, and we have decided that we should spell "Peevers" more like how we spell Ribh (pronounced "Reeve" for those not in the know)...to be congruent, you know. So, henceforth she shall be known as "Pibhres" (the poor dear). If only there was a place for that on her birth registration.

Beware of Silver Toyota Minivans

I got in a car accident last night after I left the office.

The minivan in front of me had to stop abruptly in fast and heavy traffic. I stopped just short of hitting it. And the guy behind me plowed his minivan into me. Then I hit the van in front of me. So I had two impacts. Nice.

It sucked. It was really really violent. That may seem like a stupid statement (really? your car accident seemed violent? duh!) But it was such a horrific noise and jolt and impact. And judging from how sore my body is this morning...umm....yeah. It was pretty violent.

The irony is that my minivan barely looks a little crumpled. The rear bumper has shifted out of place and has a big gouge in it, but everything still works fine. My front bumper has a crumpled licence plate and I don't know if there is more damage under that. The Toyota dealer will find more problems I'm sure.

I haven't really been in a car accident as an adult. It just feels different from this perspective, maybe because I'm a mom now?. I am glad the big kids weren't in the car with me. Peevers was in her rear facing infant seat. She was asleep when we got hit and she started crying like hell. The first thing I did was check her. I gave her her sucky (pacifier) and she went right back to sleep. I was shaking like a leaf and that point. I knew that she was okay on a deep innate level but you just can't help but be shaken up by the potential that someone could have hurt your child.

I was talking to Brian on the phone as I was hit. I wish I had a recording. I said: "wow! (or maybe it was an expletive) I am about to get in an accident. Oh it's okay, I stopped...NO I AM GOING TO GET HIT" or something like that. Then there would be a noise (Brian said it didn't sound loud on the phone but I remember it as really loud) followed by Peevers crying. Then I told Brian I had to get off the phone but I was all right. And I didn't call him back for ten minutes. Poor guy.

It took over an hour for the police to fill out all the paperwork. I got a "ticket" for not having my current insurance info in the vehicle and will have to go to the courthouse to show my proof of insurance or pay a $600 something fine. Gah. Just what I need: another errand on top off fixing the van, buying new car seats (!? Is this really necessary?!) and numerous Chiropractic appointments. And I am stiff as an old lady today: top of neck, bottom of neck, midback and lowback...geez! Whiplash is no joke people.

As I was driving home I ran over a rabbit. I drive a deathmobile.

A little too quiet

Today Quin woke up from her nap crabby! She woke up just about five minutes before we needed to leave to get into town on time so I was trying to hurry her. Post nap turpitude and hurrying do not mesh well, so I decided to give her a few minutes to chill out and left her sitting at the bathroom sink playing with hair clips while I quick nursed Peevers. I then realized I had been gone a while (over five minutes) and she hadn't made a sound. Either she had fallen back asleep (in the sink) or god knows what! So I ran in to behold: she had discovered an old tube of lipstick in the vanity.





And used it.






A lot.


She was covered in bright red lipstick around her mouth, covering both hands, one knee (I later discovered it went all the way up that leg and into her diaper! how'd she do that!?) and up one arm to the armpit. The lipstick was all gone! She said "pretty." Oh man, how do you yell at that. I was the one who left her there. Too cute.

And the worst part: It didn't occur to me to take a photo until after the bath. damn.