So How Was YOUR Weekend?

A very quick version: Fell on Friday while playing soccer with A. - hit the back of my head very hard on the asphalt. Started throwing up and went to the ER - the CT scan showed a skull fracture and some bleeding into the lining of the brain. They transferred me to a hospital about 20 miles away with a better neuro unit, and I spent the night in the ICU. Besides a little blurred vision (which is making it hard to catch typos) and a headache, there are no other neuro symptoms. So I spent the rest of the weekend in the regular neurosurgery unit. Didn't need a craniotomy - thank god, I was having trouble imaging a hairstyle that would cover up a big swatch of shaved head.

Now I'm home with instructions to return if anything changes - the bleeding appears to have stopped, and the clot will reabsorb on its own, eventually. So I'm on percocet and steroids, which help a lot. I kept a diary in the hospital, so I'll be compiling the whole story over the next couple of days. Overall, I really think I'll be OK. All things considered, I'd rather not have a brain bleed, but you know, it could be a whole lot worse.

Random Friday Bits

1. A's new playground game: take off your clothes and throw them down the slide. Fortunately for everyone, it's chilly out, and a hat, scarf, jacket and shoes have been enough to throw so far. When it gets warmer, though, watch out for the streaking little redhead.

2. We went to the Garden Railroad train show last weekend, along with every other 2-7 year old boy in the region. We met Harlan and his trains, who said, "It's good you're getting them started early. I didn't start till I was four. Wasted three years. I'll never get those three years back." He actually wasted four years, but I wasn't going to argue. Aidan was in engine heaven.

3. Model trains are fine, and I appreciate the work it takes to put up a good set. But then you watch it go around and around and around, and that's where the hobby loses me. Next year I'm going to bring a book and park A. and Ben next to the tracks. I'll bet they could watch them for at least 3 hours.

4. Why do you have to ask for butter now at KFC? If I'm paying for a biscuit, the butter should be automatic.

5. Ben continues to get up at 4:30am rarin' to go. This is what I get for asking for a baby who sleeps more than 3 hours in a row. A. got up at least twice a night until he was 18 months. Ben sleeps straight from 7:30pm to 4:30am. But, A. loved to nurse and I could always get him back down easily. Ben is much harder to get back down when he wakes up, and actually rarely falls back to sleep. I didn't realize this was the trade-off and I'm not sure which is worse.

6. We're starting the potty-training "encouragement" with A. He's three and a half, and we've finally faced the fact that he is not going to show any signs of "readiness." He has never cared about being poopy or wet, and apparently, so the assertion that it's nice to have clean, dry pants is actually a matter of opinion.

We want to avoid a power struggle, so we just encourage him to use the potty, and when something lands in it, he gets a sticker. We don't force him and if he says "no," we say "fine." We searched all over town for special Thomas the Moody Tank Engine stickers to put on his special chart.

So far we've succeeded in getting him to pee twice this week. Last night he pushed, but no poop came out while on the potty chair. It came out just fine in the diaper, though, and I think he thought he should have gotten a sticker for effort. "Because I pooped really hard!" he complained. Well, yeah, but it *has* to land in the potty. I'm sorry I'm being so hard-nosed about this, buddy, but we've got to draw the line somewhere. I'll keep y'all posted because I know you'll want to know.

Help Me Win Here

Here's how it works: You use Blingo, which is powered by Google, for your web searches. Every hour, they give away random prizes to searchers. In the last hour, they gave away an iPod nano. If you sign up through my referral, and you win something, I win it too. And so on, and so on. BusyMom won an iPod shuffle and some other stuff, and I've tried Blingo's search engine and it's fine, so I thought it was worth a shot. But you may remember my previous post where I noted that I rarely win stuff, so I'm counting on you guys. Win some love for me, would ya?

There's a Porn Site for Every Word in the Dictionary...

...and probably every first name, too.

Got this off WyoWoman's blog. You do an image search on Google for each prompt, and post what you find.

My Hometown:


Danville, CA: Ham Radio capital of the world


















My first name:


c 2005 kjo








My grandmothers' names: Adelaide and Ellen



This is a BMX park, not another planet.








I managed to find a photo of my actual grandmother online!








Favorite Food : Cereal


This is a candle. With, it seems, a particularly shiny tablecloth. You can find find more candles and fake food here.






Favorite Drink: Coffee




Coffee Kool-Aid: otherwise known as instant coffee (except that this makes 2 quarts of it).














Favorite Scent: Vanilla



Ben and Jerry they're not.










Favorite Song: I Melt With You




Wow, this fondue's so thick, the forked food just floats on top. Can you imagine what that stuff would do in your stomach?

But It Was a Pretty Big Salame

I don't win contests. I just don't have any luck in the lottery-type ones, and I never have enough skill for the skill contests. The last time I won anything was freshman year of high school, when I won a salame at the mother-daughter fashion show/luncheon.

And that's the last time I remember winning anything, except for one baby shower about 10 years ago where I cheated. Yes, that's right, my losing streak drove me to cheat at a baby shower. Don't judge me.*

I am good at a lot of things, but I'm never quite good enough. Lest you think this is just a self-esteem issue, I'll give you several heart-wrenching examples of how true this has been:

1. Grade School: I decided to actually work on my science fair project one year. I'd heard over and over from the science teacher that I could do better if I "applied" myself, so I decided to try. I worked really hard on my project, which was the now-classic "growing plants in different conditions." They gave awards to the top 5, and I was, of course, number 6.

2. Grade School: There was a club called the "Junior Altar Society" where 7th-8th grade girls got to clean the church on Saturday mornings. Yeehaw! You had to be asked, and most girls in my class were. I was not. Who knows why? Why would they do a ceremony where they hand out engraved invitations to girls to get them to clean the church?? It wasn't something we earned, it just happened, and I was one of maybe three girls who didn't get asked.

In a display of chutzpah that still impresses me, I ignored the snub and showed up that first Saturday anyway. I told my mother I'd been invited and I told my friends the invitation had been mistakenly sent home. The first Saturday I blithely ignored the moderator's confusion as she searched the roll list for my name. I smiled gracefully as she wondered what to do (since I think she knew I hadn't been invited), and finally, in defeat, wrote my name in on the bottom. Then I went and got the vacuum to start cleaning the altar.

3. High School. In one of my crazy spells Junior year, I decided I needed to beat my best friend at something. She excelled at pretty much everything she did. There was no way I was going to attempt calculus, so I took Anatomy/Physiology with her. I was used to being a B to her A, but I wondered what would happen if I really "applied" myself. Anatomy/Physiology was a very tough class taught by a med student who looked like Tom Selleck and had the social skills of a house fly. There were straight lectures, tons and tons of memorization and 15-page tests that asked us to recall absolutely everything. He was not into "making the material come alive," so to speak. I mean, beyond the way physiology and anatomy sort of is alive, already.

Anyway, I worked my ass off. I thought I had a chance at the Physiology award, which excited me since I'd never won an award (see above) for any subject, although I did well - I just never did the BEST.

So, at the end of the semester, the cumulative scores for both sections were posted. Unfortunately, some chick had a photographic memory and beat me for the top score. There were 700 points possible. She got 670. I got 650. The next score down was 520. Do you think maybe they could have sprung for two Physiology awards at the end of the year , since we were pretty close and the next 40 students were over 100 points lower?? Nope. Miss 670 got the award and I got zilch. I did beat my friend, though, so all was good.

Believe it or not, we're still friends. She's very forgiving and ignored my craziness. I also beat my lab partner, who is now a very successful OB/GYN.

4. When I was a freshman in high school, I heard about the National Honor Society. I heard you had to be nominated to get in. What an honor that would be, I thought - and I wouldn't have to be the best, I just had to be good enough since they took about 10-15 girls (this was an all-girls high school) per year. When I saw the girls that got in, I thought, I could take them.

Most nominations happened in junior year. I volunteered, did community service, etc., all motivated by the hope of getting into the NHS my senior year (yeah, I know - how selfless). I was sooo excited to get the application. I'd been "nominated!" Now I just had to apply. I had tons of student council service, etc., and I poured over the application to make sure I included everything. This was going to be the pinnacle of my high school years - this would make it all worth it.

You can see where this is going. I didn't make it. I was a hundredth of a GPA point too short (3.67 as opposed to a 3.68). The nomination letter said that my grades had qualified, but there was some arcane formula, and they could only take the top 20% of the people who applied, so I could meet the requirements and still not get in.

But here's the worst part: ALL my friends made it. EVERY SINGLE ONE. I literally had no one to eat lunch with on the Thursdays when they had their meetings. And what hurt the worst was that I'd wanted it more than any of them - most of my friends were not very impressed with it and didn't care, but accepted because it looked good on the college apps. And many of them didn't have half the service I had, but they did have slightly higher GPAs. I remember approaching the moderator, Sr. Marcella, rather hysterically and asking if there was anything I could do to get in or to get her to reconsider. I couldn't exactly bribe her, but I thought maybe we could, you know, massage the numbers a little. Can't we weigh the student council stuff a little heavier? I mean, my friend Sally had good grades, but didn't do any service at all, and she got in. Sr. Marcella was a little freaked out by my intensity and said, "Sorry, no," and bolted for the door.

I cried. I cried for days. I cried during class. I cried at home. I couldn't stop. I couldn't eat or sleep. All my friends would wear the gold cord around their necks at graduation and I wouldn't. I had never felt like my efforts amounted to so little. I was completely crushed. I can still feel the weight in my heart, over 20 years later. For the next year, on the first Thursday of every month, I skipped eating and snuck into the library so I wouldn't have to search for someone to eat with and it wouldn't be so obvious I was alone. I eventually stopped crying and was able to act like I didn't care, but I felt so excluded and worthless.

One last triumph, though - at our last assembly when it came time to hand out the cords and gold tassels (for members of the Calif. Scholarship Federation, which was open to anyone with a GPA over 3.0) to graduating seniors, the administrators were so flustered and ill-prepared that when they called my name and I went to the front, the vice principal glanced at me and said, "I think she gets everything!" I didn't correct them when they handed me a gold cord and gold tassel. So there, Sr. Marcella and NHS.

5. There was a weird ritual in my high school that involved inviting a group of girls to spend the night at the convent with the sisters. I'm not sure how they did it, but I remember that I didn't find out about it until after it happened and we heard that 1. the nuns ate popcorn while they watched TV, and 2. they had a closet full of feminine hygeine products. It had never occured to us that nuns would get their periods like normal people.

This time, not all of my friends got invited, so I didn't feel quite so lonely in my exclusion, but enough did get invited that I wondered what the hell I had to do to get noticed. On the other hand, maybe it was a recruitment thing and they were smart enough to write me off early.

6. The next thing I wanted badly was to be an RA in our college dorms. I won't bore you with all the details, but suffice it to say that I made it all the way to the final round for three separate dorms, none of which finally selected me.

7. The following year, I started sorority rush and dropped out. I said it was because I didn't like the fake smiles and cheery small talk, which was true, but the real reason I dropped out was because I knew my history and decided I wasn't going to put myself in a position to be so painfully rejected again.

8. Now, to be fair, I have to admit that in grad school, I applied for competitive internships and got them, so it's not like I always lost everything. I had confidence in my clinical and interviewing skills. But if I don't have a WHOLE LOT of confidence in something, I don't go for it. I stay out of competitions and contests. I've wanted for a while to apply for some regular writing gigs, but haven't had the guts.

This is all a very long, sad, self-pitying way to tell you that I won the Bay Area's Best Baby Blog award for January by Parent's Press. It's a new thing, and I think they're going to award it every month. But I won it first. And yeah, I shared it with someone else. The actual copy in the paper says "We had a tie vote among staff members judging the contest." I don't know if it actually came to blows, but I'm glad someone had my back and I didn't come in second this time.

*Extra points if you can tell me what recent TV sitcom that quote comes from.

Confusion in My Home

The St. Matthew's Prayer Rug has found its way back to my house. Nothing's changed, except the envelope is now addressed to "friend or current resident" instead of "Someone Connected to This Address." My question is...why do they want me to send the rug back in their postage-paid envelope? Are they assuming that if people believe that sending it back will get their prayers answered they'll surely think including money with the rug will speed up their request? 'Cause although they say another address needs this rug Right Now!, I've received these twice and am pretty sure they're fresh, not used, rugs. And by "rugs," of course, I mean "pieces of paper." So why pay the postage to get them all back? I suppose one $10 check, though, would make up for quite a few of the non-payers.

This time I did the "gaze softly at Jesus' face" thing to see if his eyes opened as promised. They sort of do, but it's in that no-iris-or-pupil way of Greek statues. It's creepy and Jesus can keep his eyes closed, thank you.

I like that I can pray for "Confusion in My Home." I would, but we're full.

I think God may be laughing right now. "Oh, you humans crack me up. Like I haven't got anything better to do with my time except keep track of who's holding this piece of paper on their lap for the right amount of time and then sending it back. No wonder I can't straighten out that Middle East thing." With big ol' God-size eye rolls. I think it's the same face he/she makes whenever Pat Robertson opens his mouth.

::Cough Cough::::

My nomination for most brilliant ad campaign ever: Ricola Mystery Cougher. The idea is that if people offer the mystery cougher, who could be anywhere in the US, a Ricola throat lozenge, they'll win up to a million dollars. The great thing about this is that random coughers will be offered Ricolas all across the nation, think, "Hey! These are good!" and then buy them.

I use Ricolas when I'm coughing, and I have a cough right now. So I'm going to go around town coughing and hope that I get lots of free Ricolas. I like the Cherry-Mint best, if you happen to see me.

If Tiffany ever decides to do a campaign like this, I'm so there.

Um, Thanks

For A's birthday and Christmas, we usually get a bag of Scholastic books from some generous family friends. We found "Yikes! Lice!" in this year's Christmas gift. G. started reading it to A. this morning and quickly changed books because although it's a good explanation for kids who have to deal with it, this story about bugs in their hair will give nightmares to kids that don't. We're assuming (hoping?) they don't look terribly closely at the titles they give because last time there was a book about a girl who put on too much makeup. I have a photo of G. reading it to A., both scowling with the effort of figuring it out. Maybe next time there'll be a bedwetting book.

A.: I don't want to go to bed! Are you and Papa going to bed?
Me: No, we're going to watch the West Wing first.
A: Oh! The West Wing! I love the West Wing! It's my favorite!
Me: Riiiight. Nice try.

A Little Intelligence Can Be Dangerous

Aidan has just enough vocabulary and language knowledge to sound like he’s participating in a coherent discussion, but not enough to actually make sense.

We made chocolate chip cookies tonight.

Me: Are your hands clean?
A: This hand is clean. This hand is a little clean. It’s OK, Mama. I know how to bake.
Me: Yeah, well, let’s wash your hands anyway.
……..
After mixing the dough with a wooden fork, I took a knife out to scrape the fork clean.
Me: The dough sticks to the fork, so we have to clean it off.
A: Wow! This is my very first…um…knife!
Me: Were you about to say these were your first cookies? Then you remembered all the cookies we made before Christmas.
A: Are these your first cookies?
Me: No.
A: Are these Papa’s first cookies?
Me: No, we’ve all had chocolate chip cookies before.
A: Chocolate chip cookies??!! Wow! I love those! Those are my favorite!
Me: Oh, good. So now we put them in the oven.
A: Ok, you roll out the dough first and then I’ll roll out the dough.
Me: No, these are chocolate chip, not rolled cookies. They bake in these little balls on the cookie sheet.
A (shaking head): Oh, no, not a cookie sheet.
Me: No?
A: No. You can’t say that, Mama.
Me: Um, OK. What would you call it?
A: It’s a cookie baking thing that you bake cookies on.
Me: Yeah. OK.
…………..
A: Oh! I can’t wait to hardly them!
Me: You can hardly wait to eat them?
A: Yeah!
Me: Let’s see how long we bake them. It says longer for 2 dozen, shorter for 3 dozen. How many do we have? (counts) We have 28.
A: 28? Oh no, that doesn’t sound good.

He always sounds reasonable enough, and can be quite emphatic.

In other news: He now has an office. It’s behind the easel in the corner by the floor lamp. According to him, it has a computer, two phones and a lamp. It also has a whole bunch of thank you cards that I’m trying to get him to draw on so we can send them out. He’s hoarding them and says he needs them for his work. He’s turning into a workaholic, though. When I try to change his diaper, he yells desperately, “No! I have to do my work! No! Please! I have to do my work!”

G. just threatened A. that if he didn’t cooperate in getting his jammies on, we’d eat all the chocolate chip cookies tonight while he slept. Damn, it worked.

Happy Birthday!

So today is Beastarzmom's birthday! We went and had lunch with her and got to see her office, which according to A., was the highlight of his day. All her coworkers admired the boys and told me they were gorgeous, which I, of course, appreciated. One even told me the story of her daughter who refused to perform certain motor tasks for the longest time as a baby. I didn't confirm it, but she's in her thirties now and I assume she walks on her own. Anyway, Happy Birthday, Middle Sis! Even though you're not celebrating.

In other news:
I like to go to bed around midnight. I'm a night person. Ben is a morning person. He likes to get up at 4:30 am, and boy, is he recharged and refreshed! He thinks the pre-dawn time is the best time of the day to exercise. One of us will have to change his/her habits. Guess who it's going to be.

Man, I should have health crises with my kids more often (just kidding, God). Readership has doubled in the last week. Thanks for checking in, everyone. Even if you're not following orders and delurking.

OK, I'm going to bed a full half-hour before midnight. I expect to awaken fully recharged and refreshed.

'Twas Three Weeks After Christmas

Improvised by A. this morning, as he circled the family room and waved his arms around (I grabbed my notebook). We've been reading "A Visit from St. Nicholas," and I guess he's watched Mickey's A Christmas Carol and some Thomas' Snowy Surprise, too.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds
with creatures not stirring
not even a head.
It was the ghost of Christmas Eve!
They jumped on the bed
and jumped out of sight!
He goed in the chimney
And sprang to the necklace!
With one little hint
Rolled on through the cloud
With one little scent.
But it was Christmas Eve
And Santa came with a bent!
I'll give you a hint.
He goed through the cloud,
(here it
goes into less of a poem and more of a
narrative):
Thomas springed off the winter of Christmas Eve.
It was Santa Claus!
At Santa's workshop he worked his roof off.
He was buzzing around the Christmas tree.
(back to verse)
It was so long though,
with one little hint.
He was tired with white
Santa Claus or St. Nick.
He didn't know anything
Not one little hint.
He went through the clouds
With a little mist of scent.
Here is 25 dollars of train!
He was covered with some little scent.
He sprung through the night
With Skittles and went.

Sometimes he sings. Last night he was singing a very up-beat, inspiring number: "You can do anything you want to do. You can be a plant or a train. You can...." yada yada. We got it on video, thank goodness. He doesn't necessarily need an audience in place, but it's a bonus. Last night he liked being taped, and whenever G. would think he was finished and start to turn away, A. would yell, "Here comes another song!" like the music was overtaking him and he was helpless under its spell.

I don't know where the "mist of scent" comes from. Or the "not one little hint," either. But I liked that Santa was bent and that he sprang to his necklace and worked his roof off. I think A. really captured the spirit of the season.

Congratulations! Your Baby's a Klutz!

So we went to the neurologist today. It took forever to find parking in the stupidly small parking lot, and I confess I thought, "Hey, maybe at least we can get a handicapped parking sticker out of this."

We were waiting in a little room next door to his office while some clinician stood in his doorway and whined to him about being overworked. Apparently this guy is physician-in-chief of the hospital too, and so he gets whined to a lot. It was annoying me since it was already half an hour after our appointment time, we were sitting there trying to contain our anxiety and she's whining about how someone overloads her with work. I was about to step out and say, "Excuse me, we're waiting to find out if our son has cerebral palsy, could you shut the f*** up and let the doctor come in and look at him?"

So he finally came in. He played with him a little while Ben sat on my lap, then he grabbed him, swung him around in the air and almost threw him into the sink. I was a little startled and thought, "Gee, he's playing kind of rough." Turns out he was testing his reflexes and Ben should have thrown his arms out in front of him, as you or I would do if a doctor threw us into the sink. He didn't throw his arms out, but he did get upset, which I thought was a perfectly reasonable response to being thrown at the sink.

The bottom line, though, is the neurologist doesn't think Ben shows any signs of CP or other neurological disorder. His coordination and reflexes are delayed for 10 months, so it's not like we're imagining that, but he thinks Ben will work it out on his own. And if he doesn't loosen up by the time he's a year or so, we can try physical therapy. The doctor doesn't think there's anything really wrong other than he's uncoordinated. Looking at us and A., he certainly comes by it honestly. So we're all very relieved.

Tag I'm It

Woah - got tagged last month by Corndog and just realized it. I'm not used to people tagging me so I don't even notice when they do. Duh. But here we go:

Seven things to do before I die:
1. Visit the Alps
2. Research my ancestors in Ireland
3. Get under 29% body fat.
4. See one of my kids get married.
5. Hold a grandchild.
6. Go white-water rafting.
7. Write a book.


Seven things I can (or will) not do:
1. Eat raisins in bulk
2. Go scuba diving
3. Have unproductive friendships
4. Believe that God hates Gays
5. Go bungee jumping or skydiving
6. Wear high heels
7. Turn a cartwheel

Seven things that attract me to my spouse:
1. Sense of humor
2. Playfulness
3. He's a great dad
4. He's a great son
5. Kindness
6. He looks really cute in knee-length denim shorts.
7. He can explain weird football rules to me.

Seven things I say most often:
1. Oh my goodness.
2. Seriously?
3. You know what I'm saying?
4. Be gentle.
5. Leave your brother alone.
6. We're just about out of time for today.
7. You're a poopy boy.

Seven books (or series) I love:
1. Harry Potter
2. Operating Instructions
3. Descent to the Goddess
4. Psychotherapy Grounded in the Feminine Principle
5. Everyday Sacred
6. Mommy Track Mysteries by Ayelet Waldman
7. The Red Tent

Seven movies I watch over and over again:
1. It's a Wonderful Life
2. A Christmas Story
3. Finding Nemo
4. Thomas Helps Out
5. Mickey's Twice Upon a Christmas
6. Wiggly Christmas
7. Airplane

The Day After Yesterday but Before Tomorrow

We have an appointment tomorrow with a pediatric neurologist. There was a cancellation and we grabbed it - but as G. pointed out, it IS Friday the 13th. Good thing we're not superstitious, knock on wood.

Today was a good day (damn, I'm already talking like the mother of a special child). Ben got up on all fours if I braced his feet. I suppose he had no choice as I was shoving his knees under his body. "See? See? He's almost crawling! He can do it!"

I also taught him to hold up his arms when I say, "How big is Ben???" about 10 times. It could be chance, but I'm thinking it proves he's totally normal. No chance of mental retardation, see? I even caught it on video. Poor guy passed out at 7:30pm without fussing at all because he was so exhausted from proving to his mother that he was OK. He was smiling when I put him down. "Thank God. Now maybe she'll leave me alone."

Do all parents awaiting a diagnosis do this? Do they do stuff to prove to themselves how normal their kid is? I mean, what is that? Ben is Ben, diagnosis or no diagnosis. He's the same kid he was last week. And he'll walk when he walks and talk when he talks. I mean, once your child is delayed, "normal" is kind of useless and you just have to take your kid for who he is and what he can do. I want to be all zen and "hey, God will take care of us and what's meant to be will be." But yanno what? I'm not all zen. I'm pretty positive, and I do think we'll figure it all out and I'm just grateful he doesn't have a life-threatening disease. But I also hope he doesn't have CP. I'm sorry to all the people who have it and live fulfilling lives. I know you're there. I'm just not in acceptance mode yet.

I'm hoping like crazy that he will need a bit of physical therapy and we'll all need to do yoga with him and he'll be as good as anyone on the Tiny Tots soccer team. I don't want him to be great - I just want him to be right in the middle. Not the best, not the worst. I was the worst (long story, 'nother post) and it sucked. And I don't have any sort of neurological disorder. I just had an overprotective mother who wouldn't let me do anything. And I was short, which for some reason equaled "uncoordinated" in the minds of all the "captains" who picked teams.

I guess that's true even if he isn't delayed. A. took 15 months to walk because he was quite happy with crawling for a long time. Right now, he's almost 3.5 and he still rides his bike Flinstone-style because he doesn't want to try the pedals. The 1.5-year-old next door can use her pedals. I mean, we're not exactly athletic-scholarship-breeding people.

For the first time today, we faced the question of what we tell people. Our neighbor babysits two kids - one is the infamous W., and the other is his little sister, S., who was born the same week as Ben. We were playing outside and our neighbor told us that S. was cruising and had taken a couple steps. Normally, I'd say something like, "Yeah, Ben prefers to have us move him. It hasn't occurred to him that he could be the master of his own destiny." I'd cluck my tongue at his sense of entitlement.

Now we have the possibility that he's not normal, and I don't know what to say. It stops me cold. Do we tell her? What's she supposed to say? We don't even know what's going on yet.

OMG - I was just channel surfing, which takes about 10 seconds since we got rid of extended cable, and Fiddler on the Roof is on PBS! One of my all time favorite musicals! There's Starsky! Or is it Hutch? Oh, it's Sunrise, Sunset - tell me that doesn't make you cry. At my sister's wedding, my dad and BIL's dad sang this song, so that my dad would sing, "When did she get to be a beauty?" and his dad would sing, "When did he get to be so tall?" I mean, tell me you wouldn't be bawling. I was 10 years old and you can hear me on the tape bawling throughout the ceremony. I'm 40 years old and they still bring it up.

OK, anyway. What do I say? "Oh, Ben might have CP. We don't know yet." I have no idea how to bring it up casually, but I guess that' s not my biggest concern right now. I don't even know if I will have to say it at all. I'm not worried about it, I'm just noticing it.

On another note, my response to all this was to tell everyone I knew. I wanted to know if my friends knew people who had gone through something similar, what they knew and what happened. My mom's group was awesome - they came through with so much support and care that I cried. My sisters did the getting-tons-of-information thing that we do whenever anything comes up. (Want links on bladder cancer? I still have 'em from when my dad had it). G.'s response was to tell no one and to take the kids to the toy store and let Ben hold on to the train table. He did it, bore his own weight and G. convinced himself everything was fine. I think G. feels like he has to take care of the people he tells, whereas I feel that the people I tell will take care of me.

For the most part, I do think everything will be OK. I so appreciate everyone's concern - it makes me feel like it's OK that I'm freaking out for a few seconds every now and then. But I'm not freaking out that much. And I'll let you know what happens.

BTW, it's National De-Lurking Week. That means you need to leave a comment on the blogs you visit. You don't have to identify yourself, and you don't have to have any words of wisdom. Just say hi, eh?

*Boom* Hello, Other Shoe

So for the past month I've been feeling this weird dread. It's the kind of dread where you're afraid it really means that something is going to happen to one of your children and you'll look back and say, "I knew it. I just had this feeling."

Ben is a very smiley guy. He's also a pretty fussy guy, and sometimes he manages these two moods at once. There's just something about him that makes people comment on him. I've had more than one used-and-haggard-looking person comment, "Wow, he's smiling at me. Babies don't usually smile at me."

Anyway, I've just had this feeling that there's something special about him. But my fear was that that meant something bad. My greatest fear, of course, was losing him. I feared for him in a way that I didn't fear for A.

So I was talking to G. and thinking maybe I should go back and visit my therapist to talk about where this anxiety was coming from. Was it left over from the birth trauma? Was it just my fear of things going well? Why did I have this feeling that something bad was bound to happen soon?

Never made it back to the therapist thanks to our divergent work schedules. Did make it to Ben's 10-month well baby check today, though. I brought up my concerns regarding Ben's lack of pulling to stand, or any horizontal movement whatsoever, and his constant abdomen crunches. He's always been stiff, but we've been assured that everything's fine, up until now.

"He pulls himself up?"
"No."
"He gets himself to sitting from lying down?"
"No. Not even close."
"Hmm. You know, I think we'll go ahead and request a neuro consult. Could be mild CP."

I'm sorry....what? Cerebral Palsy? Like what Karen had in the Marie Kililea books? The braces and wheelchairs?

I've since done enough googling and e-mailing to have a very different view of CP. We don't have a diagnosis yet, but both G. and I believe that he had more injury at birth than we realized.

I think my gut was right - but my gut also tells me that whatever it is, it's mild and more of a challenge than a disability. And if this is the other shoe, OK, I can deal with it. Please just let this be the other shoe. And let there be only two shoes. And let there be only one pair. And I've strangled the hell out of that metaphor but I think you get what I'm saying.

New Year's Resolutions

I've always loved New Year's. I love the whole fresh-start thing, the making of lists and plans and what I'll do when I hit a roadblock and buying a new journal to monitor my progress and posting motivational signs and all that. I used to visualize and do life-maps and all that garbage in my 20's and 30's. I think those are things you do when you have space in your life for more and you feel like you're wasting time.

Here I am at 40 and for the most part, I have everything I've ever really wanted (except an i-pod nano and a really good digital camera).

And I'm at my limit. I can't fit any more in. I don't need more lists of goals. I don't need more "shoulds" and things to do "at least 3 times per week."

What I need is peace. With myself, with my life, with my space. I also need energy and organization, and I think streamling routines (ala "flylady") could help. My boys are going to be tiny and need me for such a short time that I want to really be here now. I want to play with them without feeling guilty that I'm not mopping the floor or repotting the houseplants. I want to not be preoccupied with work and my to d0 list. "To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose, under heaven." And that's your biblical quote for today.

Actually, isn't it the prayer of St. Francis? Maybe it's not in the Bible after all. See? I'm not going to go look it up on the internet because that's not the point! My first test! So far, so good.

Christmas Bits

We (Me, G., A., and Ben) visited my mom's grave in December (it was the 19th anniversary of her death), and it was very hard to explain that we were visiting A.'s grandma, kind of.

"But I don't see her, where is she?" he asked.

Well...she's sort of there and sort of not. I didn't want to say "she's in the ground," because I was afraid that would freak him out. So I said she died, but this is where we go to remember her. He came to his own conclusion and told someone recently, "Sometimes people die in the ground." As we left the cemetary he said, "That was fun!" He's nothing if not positive.

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Everytime we went somewhere Christmas-y, like Major HMO's Work Party, A. wanted to know if Baby Jesus was going to be there. He couldn't figure out why the kid never came to any of his birthday parties.

This happened at least five times during December:
We'd see a nativity set and I'd point and say, "Oh look! There's Baby Jesus!"
He'd repeat, "I don't see him," until I was practically climbing into the display to point him out.
A. looked at me like, "We're celebrating a statue and we go to visit grandmas that aren't there. Great."

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He is very confused about snow and Christmas. How could Christmas Day have come and gone and there still be no snow?

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"I can't go with you to the store, Mama. I have lots of work to do," :::heavy sigh::: "How am I ever going to get all these puzzles done?" Fortunately Grandma was there (the live one) to help.

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Yesterday we went out in between the rains to ride bikes. We came upon something flat in the road in our court. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be a hair net or scrunchy of some sort.

"It's dead. Let's leave it there," suggested A. He gave it quite a wide berth for the rest of the afternoon.

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A. was running around my sister's coffee table, and my nephew grabbed him and tickled him.

"You can't do whatever you want to do!" A scolded. Hey, the kid's actually listening to me.

The next time it happened, A. told him, "That's not a conversation!" We plan to set him up to conduct sandbox seminars on social skills this spring.

More SleepTalking

G (grabbing me as I start to roll over): Heyheyheyheyhey!

Me: What?

G: Stopstopstopstopstop!

Me: WHAT? I'm just rolling over!

G: No no no no no no.

Me: Let go. I'm just rolling over. I won't fall off the bed.

G (leaning up on one elbow): What's the problem?

Me: The problem is that I want to roll over and you won't let me.

G: Oh. Yeah.

(flops over and goes back to sleep)

------------

It was the middle of the night, and I was awakened by the bed shaking. As a native Californian, of course I thought it was an earthquake. When you think you feel an earthquake, the first thing you do is pause to see if it stops. Many times the earth jolts and that's it. But if it continues, you have to act. I knew that if it continued, I needed to run to A's room, grab him and then head to the strongest part of the house. According to G., that's where the most walls join, so that would be at the entrance to our hallway. Anyway, I sat up to see if it was a jolt or a real earthquake.

G. also sat up, grabbed Ben, who was sleeping between us, and yelled, "C'mon c'mon c'mon c'mon!" at me like an order. In a split second, I wondered why he was yelling at ME to get Ben when a) he was already holding him, and b) he was closer to the doorway, therefore closer to the safe spot.

The shaking stopped, and I rolled over and nursed Ben back to sleep as he had been so rudely awakened. Such is the life of a Californian.

I checked the paper the next morning, and found no mention of an earthquake. So I asked G., "Did you feel that earthquake last night?"

"Oh, yeah, that wasn't an earthquake. That was me thinking Ben wasn't breathing."

We've been through this before. When you want to check to see if your child is breathing, there are several options. You can hold your finger under their nose. You can lay your hand on their chest and feel it rise. YOU DO NOT HAVE TO PICK UP THE CHILD AND WAKE HIM UP. Unfortunately, during these times, G. is asleep and not in complete control of his facilities. Something else occurred to me.

Me: "So why were you yelling at me?"

G: "I wanted you to start CPR."

So that was the earthquake. It was G. hallucinating in his sleep.

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(last night; once again I am trying to roll over in the middle of the night)

G (grabbing me): Hey hey hey hey!

Me: I'm just rolling over. Relax.

G: Yeah, but I don't want....I don't want....I don't want something heavy to fall on his head.

Me: I don't either, he's in the pack 'n play, and I'm just rolling over.

G: Well, OK.

Now that I type it out, I wonder, was I the heavy thing that G. was afraid was going to fall on his head? Perhaps I should be insulted AND sleep-deprived.

Merry Day After

Last night in bed (in G's childhood bedroom) I figured out that of the 8 winter holidays (Thanksgiving and Christmas) we've celebrated since A. was born, six have been spent traveling, and two have been spent at home. We've spent two Thanksgivings in AZ, and two Thanksgivings as well as two Christmases in Portland.

It's exhausting, especially with two children, both of whom turn into Demon Spawn when overtired and overstimulated.

So. Anyway. We looked at a house today across the street from G's sister here in Portland. Very nice neighborhood, big ol' house, lots of very dark floral wallpaper and rust shag carpet. It's not exactly for sale, but the guy is a widower who knows the house is too big for him and is thinking about moving out, eventually. His son showed us the house, and gave us a price that the guy would move out tomorrow for (for which the guy would move out tomorrow?). A bit of a stretch for us, but a pretty good price considering the size of the house, the lot, and the considerable resale value if we updated it. And it's not THAT much more than our house in CA would sell for.

Sigh. I'm all for relocating as long as it's hypothetical. But as soon as it moves into the realm of the possible, I freak out. On the whole, I'm opposed to change. When we returned from looking at this house, G. dove into real estate and job listings. I busied myself collecting recipes and happiness tips from several years of my mother-in-law's Family Circle magazines, ignoring any large decisions that might need to be made.

It rains here. A lot. It can get really cold and there's ice storms, too. I do not know how to drive in snow. You have to put a coat on when you go outside. And yet, everyone has detached garages. Go figure.

Driving in California, you have to get the hell out of the way to avoid accidents. Driving in Oregon, you have to stop. In the middle of the street, sometimes, because that's what everyone else expects you to do.

The idea of getting a driver's license from another state is freaky to me - I feel like such a wimp but I've literally never been more than an hour from SF. Can I hack Northwest Life? Do I want to leave all my friends and my sister down here? Well, no, of course not. But I don't think they'll all come with me.

A. has a cousin just 7 months older than him nearby in CA, and in OR, Ben would have a cousin 7 months younger. I guess that's how we'll decide - which son do we love more? (just kidding).

I have a feeling that when we return to CA, this will move back into the hypothetical arena and we'll occasionally bring it up as a possibility sometime in the future and I won't really have to make any decisions. Just how I like it.

Just Call Him Addie

Anyone who grew up in the 70's probably saw the heartwarming TV movie, "The House Without a Christmas Tree." That was our house until tonight, minus Jason Robards.

I didn't think we should have a tree because we weren't going to be here over the holiday and it would just turn into a super tall fire hazard in our absence, or we'd have to haul it outside before we left, and who wants to get rid of their tree before Christmas?

But G. really thought A. should have a Christmas tree, so he went and bought one today. He called from the car to tell us that he'd bought an "A.-sized" Christmas tree. When he told A. it was "A-sized," A. responded, "How 'bout we get one you-sized?" Too late - G'd already bought it.

A. could not contain his excitement. He wanted the tree right in the middle of the floor in the family room. He tried to help with the lights, so they all ended up on clustered on the bottom left-hand quadrant of the tree. G. spread them out a bit, and then it was time for ornaments.

Because it was an A.-sized tree, we couldn't fit all our ornaments on it. So I picked out the best ones, and A. dug in and picked out random ones, and they all made it onto the tree. Here's a photo of four ornaments on one branch:

The Polls are In

OK, so not counting my sister since we're from the same house, we've got 5 wrapping Santas and 7 Santas too busy to wrap. Hah. Not exactly the 95% blowout G predicted, eh? Although it's not a landslide, I'm feeling quite validated.

Still not sure what we should do, though. It's not going to make sense that Santa wraps the gifts he leaves at Grandma's but not the ones at our house. Yeah, and the rest of the story - a big guy fitting down all the chimneys in the world on one night - is so logical.

We visited Santa at the biggest mall around here on Saturday night. We coached A. well, and when the elf approached us in line to ask which overpriced picture package we wanted, he blurted out, "I want James and Edward!" I told him he was supposed to tell Santa what he wanted, not the elf.

I did lots of, "Oh, look at those cute girls on Santa's lap! I think he just gave them a candy cane! Doesn't he look nice? Do you want to walk yourself or do you want me to carry you? This is going to be fun!"

He said he wanted to walk, but as we approached the big guy, A. freaked and bolted. He's not fast enough, though, and I caught him and wrestled him up to the Santa throne. Santa said, "Oh, I could tell this was going to be trouble." Thanks, Santa, aren't you just a jolly old elf.

A. calmed down if I was holding him, though, so he did manage to tell Santa that he wanted James and Edward (key players in Thomas the Tank Engine's world), and showed visible relief when that part was done. And he wanted his candy cane. But we still needed our photo, so I sat on one knee holding A., and G sat on Santa's other knee holding Ben. I felt sorry for Santa.

Then the camera got stuck or something, so we all had to wait several minutes. Ben kept looking backward over his shoulder at Santa like, "what the hell....." but he did smile at the appointed time. A. opened his mouth and said, "aaahhhh!" and I look like I haven't had any sleep in a week, but G and Ben look cute. And now we have our 2005 keepsake of the yearly torture we subject our children to.

Does Santa Wrap His Gifts or Not?

Does he or doesn't he? This is a yearly debate between G and I. At his house, Santa's presents were always wrapped and tagged (written in handwriting eerily smiliar to G's mom's...and G still believed until about 25 years old). At my house, Santa came in and dumped his bag of unwrapped gifts around the tree. It was understood that Santa was way too busy to wrap all his gifts, and that's how we could tell what was from Santa and what was from Mom and Dad. It saved a lot of time, both Mom's and everyone else's who didn't have to wait for the kids to unwrap every goddamn thing.

So at your house, did/does Santa wrap his gifts to you or not? (G predicts that Santa wraps his gifts 95% of the time - will he be right?).

In other Santa news: I love that we have kids to believe in Santa Claus. I love the whole Santa thing. I remember I figured it out pretty young but pretended for a long time, because I was afraid that if I let on that I knew, the loot would diminish. But c'mon - if Santa has a workshop, why do all the toys come labeled by Mattel? And how come he wraps presents at some houses and not others?

But I digress...my point is that we're expending quite a bit of effort preparing Aidan to meet and talk to Santa Claus without screaming. Not for his benefit, of course, but because we have photos of three previous Santa visits, and I don't intend to miss this one. So we're talking it up big time.

He doesn't watch commercials on TV, so he doesn't know about the tons of toys out there he could ask for. All he wants are James and Edward to add to his Thomas engines. I asked if that would be enough, and he looked at the family room, waved his arm and said, "We have lots of toys." So I suggested maybe Santa could bring some clothes, and he agreed. How cool is that?

I love this age.

Today's Rant

I heard on the radio that the American Family Association is recommending a boycott of Target. I'd noticed a bit of uproar here and there accusing retailers of "banning" Christmas and forgetting "the reason for the season." And I thought, Who the hell do you people think you are???

From the website: "They (Target) are fearful they may offend a small minority who oppose Christmas, but they aren't concerned about offending Christians who celebrate the birth of Christ as the Reason for the season. Therefore, they banned the use of Christmas."

OK, deep breath.

I don't understand why the AFA would be offended by Target calling this the "holiday season." No one wants Christians to stop celebrating Christmas, and I can guarantee you Target doesn't want Christmas to go away. In fact, although they're calling it a holiday season to be all inclusive and such, I saw a huge department of Christmas trees and nary a menorah on my last visit there (maybe I was in the wrong section).

They're not saying Christmas is BAD, they're saying, "Gee, not all of our customers celebrate Christmas, and if there's a chance to take money from those that aren't Christian as well this December, hey, we're there."

No one is offended by Christians celebrating Christmas (well, I guess I can't say no one, but not the majority, anyway). What's offensive is the assumption that everyone celebrates Christmas, or at least should celebrate Christmas, you know, if they want to go to heaven and all. I completely understand why my Jewish friends roll their eyes at the Christmas excess and take off for Mexico over the holiday. I'd do the same thing if the roles were reversed.

If you want to put a nativity on your lawn, go for it. We've been teaching A. that the reason we celebrate Christmas is to say a big ol' "Happy Birthday" to Jesus. I can't wait until he's old enough to play a sheep in the nativity play at church. But don't you dare erect one in my government buildings and don't tell me I have to have one on my lawn. And don't tell me that Christmas is the only holiday worth celebrating. Oh, yeah, and while we're at it, don't try to convince me that everything started with Christmas. I'll go "Christ-was-probably-born-in-the-summer-and-you're-actually-celebrating-an-ancient-pagan-rite" so fast on your ass you won't see straight.

Deep breath.

I just think it's very sad. And so not in the holiday spirit.

"But that's just my opinion. I could be wrong." (~Dennis Miller)

Let's Conversate

I dated this guy once who used "conversate" as a verb. Drove me crazy, but I'd had really long dry spell and was desperate for any guy who wanted to be with me. He also wore a plaid blazer and was a Republican, which was OK until he kept telling me over and over how he hosted a group of inner-city kids at his college and told them what ivy-league life was like. "See! I'm helping the needy! " That little romance didn't last long.

Now A. is heavily into "conversation." Whenever we're sitting down, he'll say, "Let's have a conversation!"

I say, "OK, what should we have a conversation about?"

He usually has something in mind. Over Thanksgiving, he wanted to have a conversation about sinks. So we did. Later that afternoon, he climbed up on the sofa where I was hanging out with my sisters and decided he'd like to talk a bit more about sinks. I muttered that I really thought we'd already said all we could say about sinks that morning, but he was undeterred. Fortunately, my sisters and niece hadn't been in on our previous conversation, so they had some fresh ideas about sinks, although my niece felt a bit put on the spot when A. decided we should go around and say what our favorite thing about sinks was. They rallied and we all gave sinks a thumbs-up.

Today he wanted to have a conversation about potatoes. Apparently you can turn potatoes into chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese. They're good to eat. And you peel them. Into the sink.

Needy Lunasea

Got this off Kynoord's blog. You google your name with the word need in quotes, and list the first 10 responses. Like, "Lunasea needs"...(don't forget the quotes). I used my real name, though, because "Lunasea needs" doesn't come up with anything.

So let's just say Lunasea needs....

1. US!! (this off the "drinking liberally" forum)

2. to come back and hook up with Scott.

3. support to do some of her schoolwork.

4. a new computer.

5. to provide details re; the in-line, in situ filtration.

6. specialized service for a patient who is psychotic and has a personality disorder...

7. a Job

8. a hotel liaison for Capclave '07.

9. to work on her:. •. computer skills and speed. •. timing. (ed. note: and, perhaps, punctuation)

10. to know what your priorities are.



Very weird how well it knows me. Wish everyone would just get off my back regarding the in situ filtration thing, though.

Maybe Mr. Nose Could Get Me a New One

Our local mall's Santa display has been taken over by Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer with lots of tie-in merchandise. Poor Santa looks a little lost. And you know the song Burl Ives sings, "Holly Jolly Christmas?" The line, "Oh, ho, the mistletoe, hung where you can see..."?

A. was singing it tonight as, "Oh, ho, Mister Nose, la la la la la..."

Don't Read This If You're Vomit-Phobic

A. has got to be the most stoic vomiter I've ever seen. The other night we were returning home from a b-day party with both kids in the back seat, and I turned around to look at A. I'm not sure why I turned at that time - I don't know if I heard something or was just turning around to see if he was asleep. A's mouth was wide open, his eyes were a tiny bit surprised, and out of his mouth was pouring liquid. It wasn't quite projectile, but it streamed nicely from his mouth to his pants, mostly skipping his shirt. No noise, although later G. said he heard something that sounded like cellophane but more liquidy.

A. wasn't leaning forward, clutching his stomach or coughing. Instead, it was like we had a faucet in the backseat that looked like him. It reminded me of "The Exorcist," and was just a bit spooky. I said, "Oh my goodness! He's throwing up!" It just kept coming, and all the while A. was staring at me with a, "do you think could you do something about this?" kind of look. I had no idea what to do. I couldn't believe he'd eaten or drunk that much. We're talking gallons. Or quarts, at least.

I looked around for a towel, or maybe a receptacle of some sort, but of course we didn't have one. A.'s thrown up maybe once since he was one year old, so we're not really prepared for this sort of event.

So we have about 20 miles to drive home, and all A. said was, "I'm not feeling so good." He was very quiet the rest of the way home, and G. and I kept opening the windows because the car was not smelling so good, either. We kept asking him how he felt and he responded, "I'm still not feeling so good."

We got him out of his clothes and I carried him to his bedroom, and all he said about it was, "I didn't like that." I was trying to figure out if he was done throwing up, so I asked him if his tummy felt empty, and he said, "I'm not throw-upping anymore." And true to his word, he didn't. I realized I really have no idea how to handle upset tummies because he never gets them, or if he does, he doesn't tell us.

When I was about 9 years old, I got carsick on the way to Tahoe and threw up all over myself in the car. We were about 10 minutes from our destination, and I remember riding the 10 minutes just disgusted and annoyed that they were making me ride in the car all vomit-y. Now that it's happened to my kid, though, I realize, what the hell else were they supposed to do?

By the way, they need to make vomit-resistant car seat straps. Those things will hold a scent forever. So far, Oxyclean has worked best.

Office Golf

A. made up a new game today. My dad has a putting green in his backyard, and A. loves to swing at the balls. So his game is that you hit a ball and then yell, "Office!" My son the doctah - we can only hope.

And check out how hip we are - we saw "Rent" today while the rest of the family watched the little guys. It was fantastic, but I already was a Renthead. G. wanted to see Harry Potter, but I talked him into Rent instead. During one of the best scenes, the memorial service where Tom Collins sings the reprise of "I'll Cover You," the older couple in front of us walked out. This movie doesn't seem terribly popular here in this red state. I've never wanted a DVD before, but this one's a keeper.

I Hate My Nose

So we're spending Thanksgiving in Arizona. Last year I wrote about how Thanksgiving has never been my favorite holiday. All it means to me is a whole lot of dishes. Turkey and stuffing is fine, but I'd be just as happy with a pot of spaghetti and meatballs. But this year we're spending it with my family at my dad's house in AZ. There are two new babies in the family and lots of arms to hold them, and two three-year-olds who amuse each other, so it's all good. My dad also turns his little backyard pool way up to nice-warm-bath temperature, so that's relaxing since we don't all fit in the hot tub.

Except that I am having the World's Worst Allergy Attack. I don't know what to - this is the desert, for God's sake. I think it all started with my friend's cat, who sent me over the edge last weekend. I went to her goodbye party on Friday (thank God she's taking the cat with her), and started sneezing all over again. Once I am reacting to something, anything else I'm allergic to (which is pretty much everything), even at a level which wouldn't normally make me react, makes me go nuts. So there's a yippy little Bichon Frise here who normally doesn't bother me too much, but that could be just too much for my little histamine sensors. And our bed is very comfortable with a featherbed and feather pillows, which probably don't help.

Still awake? I know talking about allergies is b-o-r-i-n-g, but man, you haven't seen these allergies. I want my nose amputated. I can't breathe, I can't sleep, I can't smell anything - we made what was apparently a delicious dinner tonight but I WOULDN'T KNOW. They have possessed me and I can do nothing. Tonight I'm breaking out the Benadryl, so tomorrow I'll be doped up but hopefully breathing. G tells me that he doesn't even know what an itchy roof-of-the-mouth feels like! I bought three boxes of lotion-enhanced kleenex today and it might not be enough.

So. My dad lives in a retirement community outside of Phoenix. It's very quiet here, except for the air force base a few miles down where I guess our military practices bombing techniques because every once in a while you get these break-the-sound-barrier booms. There's a lot of old people and not very many playgrounds. On his computer, a little pop-up screen comes on every time he gets a new message. These people are prolific. Right now there are a lot of people chiming in on "Re: plumber." And my dad has a big sign over his desk saying, "VA - Ear Wax. 2/7/06 9:15." Just so you know. I think that's a long time to wait for ear wax, but what do I know?

Fashion is Passing; Style is Eternal

Guess where we went today? I don't know if you can tell - the hat is upside down.

Three-Year-Olds Love Nonsense Words.

A: Hey Mama!
Me: Mmmhmm?
A: gobbledy-gobbledy brrrrrr
Me: Oh, are you making up your own language?
A: Yeah! It's Smanish!

More Things A. Said

Pretending to read the sign at the playground: "Thank you for the California seals. Goodbye."

When I got home from work tonight: "So how's your clients doing?"
Me: "Well, some are sad and some are OK."
A: "Hmmm." :::pause::: "Well, sometimes people can feel much better."
Me: "True, but then Mama and Papa wouldn't make any money."

Wonderful Radio, Marvelous Radio

I really wanted to dislike the whole "random radio" phenomenon. "We play 70's, 80's, whatever we feel like." Supposedly it started when someone realized that everyone's got their iPods on shuffle, and decided to do a "non-format" formatted radio station.

Well, I don't shuffle. I don't have an iPod. But if I did, I wouldn't have it on shuffle. I would have carefully arranged playlists to match any mood. That's what I have set up on iTunes on my PC. Sorry, but I'm not going to mix the Wiggles with Eric Clapton, or Warren Zevon with Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan (on the other hand...huh. Maybe that would work).

I have made so many carefully mixed tapes in my life that it seems a travesty to use the shuffle button. I've thought long and hard about why I'm making a certain mix, which songs would fit on it and what order they should go in.

OK, so I thought I'd hate random radio, and here I am listening to it all the time. For one thing, the first time I tuned in, our local station was playing "Dancing in the Moonlight" by King Harvest which is one of my all time favorite feel-good songs that doesn't get enough play anywhere else. And you can't turn off "Brandy, you're a fine girl, what a good wife you would be," right in the middle of the song, cheesy as it is, and then what are you supposed to do when it leads into "Funky Cold Medina?"

And I'm a little embarrassed to admit that tonight was the very first time I actually listened to the lyrics of "Funky Cold Medina." So that's what it's about. I thought Medina was a funky, cold girl.

And, I love running spell check on my blog. It wants to replace "iPod" with "aphid," and "Nusrat" with "muskrat." That could keep me entertained all night.

My Pumpkin Boys

Believe it or not, A. is not mimicking Ben. When he was a baby, he smiled exactly the same way Ben smiles, with the big open grin. He's seen so many pictures of himself making that grin, that he continues to think that's what one does when one is told to "smile!" Our best attempts at getting an actual smile continue to be thwarted. And Ben, of course, is just the smiliest dimpled guy around.

Have You Seen My Wallet?

Last weekend we went to SF, and it was great (except at the beginning when G couldn't get into the room and thought I'd been murdered by the concierge, but that was resolved quickly enough). We had wonderful weather, and I got to ride a cable car for the very first time, despite having lived here all my life. We saw the new DeYoung Museum, and G didn't like it and I was surprised that I kind of did, since I don't usually like modern architecture.

So in going to SF, I put my cash and some cards in a wallet. I don't usually carry a wallet - I have a small bag with a long strap that I can wear across my body so I don't lose it, and everything else is in a diaper bag or a backpack. But in SF, I actually carried a purse. And when I got back, I continued to carry the purse.

Big mistake.

Day 1: I go to the grocery store with both boys. Ben stays in the car seat and I put him in the main part of the cart, while A. rides in the front. It leaves little room for groceries, which is why I only take them when it's a small emergency trip. Like if I'm out of Diet Coke. So I park, and there's a cart right there by where I park. Cool. Except, as I find out when I'm in the Diet Coke aisle, there's no bottom rack to it. Well, I can't pile Diet Coke boxes on Ben, now, can I? (Can I?) So I go back and get another freakin' cart and move both boys into it. Except I don't have my little across-my-body bag, I'm carrying a purse which I put in the front with A. and which he doesn't have the presence of mind to remind me to take with me when I switch carts. Darn three-year-old.

Fortunately, I discovered it very quickly (well, in the checkout line) and it was morning, the store was slow and a bagger had picked it up. Phew.

Day 4: I am still carrying a regular wallet, except now I actually carry it in my hands or it goes in my back pocket. I go to pick up photos at Longs. I have to pick up photos at Longs because our digital camera broke again (OK, it was dropped, unless you're from Kodak Repair, in which case I don't know what happened). I'm excited to see them because they're the Halloween photos. I pay for them, and crouch down in the aisle, carrying Ben's car seat, to show them to A. I guess I must have set my wallet down, probably on top of the blank VCR tapes. I get up, go out to the car, put Ben's car seat in, and say, "Hey! Where's my wallet?" We run back and forth from the store to the car several times looking, but it's already gone. It was fairly quiet in the store, but the woman behind me in line looked shifty, so I blame her. There wasn't that much in it, just my BRAND NEW driver's license, my debit card and my library card, and some cash.

A. was annoyed with me because I didn't bring snacks for him (it was supposed to be a 10-minute outing). So there I was outside Long's Drugs, searching through the garbage cans in case someone took the cash and dumped the wallet, with an infant in a car seat and a toddler whining, "Maaammmmaaa, I'm veeeeewwwy hungry!" And still no one gave me a dime. Sheesh.

Day 5: I dutifully put the leftovers in the plastic container, and then put the container, full of leftovers, back on the shelf. G. found it this morning. I have, however, switched back to my handy little bag. I had to, since I lost the damn wallet.

I blame the time change - Ben is still getting up between 5 and 6am. I'm fried. He's a bed hog and we don't have a room to move him into. So I'm basically up all night and then up early. Sometimes G takes him in the morning and I can at least get an hour of uninterrupted sleep. I just try to remember that there will come a day when he doesn't want anything to do with me, so I'm relishing this time, when he just wants to sleep next to Mama. And I think I've stopped losing wallets. Putting leftovers back in the pantry, though - no promises there.

B-day Quote of the Week

I'm awfully happy the tumor my mother thought she had turned out to have red hair, dimples and a killer smile.

Yeah, right back atcha, sis. 'Cept for the tumor, you know.

Backstory: My mother was 42 when she had me. She hadn't had a cycle in a long time and had been told by doctors that she had gone through early menopause. So you can imagine the surprise (especially my father's) when what they thought must be a uterine tumor turned out to have a heartbeat in one of the pre-op appointments. My father was stationed in Germany at the time and returning to the U.S. She said they weren't going to let her come back before having the tumor removed. I don't know how far along she was at the time, but one would imagine it was rather far along since they didn't do ultrasounds back then. So here I am...the tumor with the expensive education, as my father probably calls me when I'm not around.

In Other News:

Ladybug Boy loved trick-or-treating. I wasn't sure if he'd go for it because the trick-or-treaters scared the heck out of him last year. But once he figured it out, he was all for going up to strangers in unfamiliar houses and getting candy.

"Candy is sooo delicious!" he informed me.

He did a great job, for a kind-of-shy kid. I had to remind him to wait until the door opened to say "Trick or treat!" but he did it nice and loud, said "thank you" appropriately and "Happy Halloween!" when prompted. He was so cute that people gave him extra candy so thanks, everyone - he is cute but you don't have to live with him on a sugar high. And then he got extra candy on top of that when people saw Ben all done up in his Pooh Bear sleeper. Ben's not gonna appreciate that Laffy Taffy, people, so you don't have to give Mr. Ladybug extra stuff for him. Considering that we stayed on our street, his bucket was pretty damn full.

And he was not happy when he found out that you don't get to trick-or-treat whenever you need more candy. He thought it would be a good idea to go again tonight, and it's hard to explain a yearly holiday to a 3-year-old.

Should We Be Worried?

Got a hit on this blog today from someone from the "Commonwealth of Kentucky Information Systems" searching Google for "everyday chemistry with embalming fluids." Hmmm.

And, by the way, I am number five on that search, thankyouverymuch. Not a lot of everyday chemistry you can do with embalming fluids, apparently.

Sip Bacardi, 'Cause It's My Birthday, Yo

So. Here I am at 40. Things get serious now. I know 40 is the new 30 and all, but it's still grown-up.

According to my horoscope, it's going to be a stellar year. Things in my career are really going to pick up. Too bad I only work two days a week.

So what are our plans, you ask? This morning G and the boys frosted a square chocolate cake for me. I'd take a picture but our digital camera is broken AGAIN. Right before Halloween, can you believe the timing? Anyway, there are two presents for me on the table but I have to wait until G comes home for lunch to open. I tried to manipulate A. into telling me what they were, but he's not cracking. He'll only say that there are "presents" inside. The kid's got a will of steel. Or he doesn't know.

This weekend we're taking our first night ever away from the kids together. We'll head to SF and stay in a hotel with a KING SIZE BED ALL FOR ME HA HA HA and no babies in it! I don't know where G's going to sleep.

G made reservations at three restaurants (here, here, and here) so we'll be doing a lot of eating. No, just kidding. I guess we'll have to pick one. Middle Sister will be dealing with the boys. She's says she's excited, but she's never spent a night with Ben the Bed Hog. I may have forgotten to tell her that he's used to sleeping with us in the big bed.

I already got some Omaha steaks from my sisters. Mmmm. See, my dad's wife, who lives in AZ with my dad, always sends out stuff from Omaha for Christmas. The first year we got steak. Mmmm. Then she remembered that G. doesn't eat red meat and it's been fish for us ever since while my sisters dined on steak. The fish is good, don't get me wrong, but why should I be punished because he can't digest red meat? I complain every year (not to her - I dropped some hints and they didn't work, so I gracefully stopped), so this year Big and Middle Sister sent me some Bacon-Wrapped Tenderloin. And free burgers and knife set came with it! Score!

And I got some things from my wish list from Big Niece, who had the presence of mind to order gifts and get a card in the mail on time even with a 1-month-old baby.

And I got a card from Larry Gutierrez, who says one of the best things that happened in 1965 was that I was born. He's got my last name wrong, but it's the thought that counts. I believe he's an Allstate agent and how he got my (wrong) name and birthday, I'll never know. But I vaguely remember thinking "Who the hell is Larry Gutierrez?" last year too.

Didn't get a card from my dentist this year. I think that means it's time for a cleaning.

A Zizzer-Zazzer-Zuff, As You Can Plainly See

Does anyone else look at this picture and say, "Jerry Jordan's Jelly Jar, J J J!"

28 hours until....

I turn 40. I'm just sayin'. You people on the East Coast have even less time.

So Who's the Lady?

Me (walking behind the snack bar counter): Who's next?

Lady: I am.

Me: What can I get you?

Lady: Well, I want you to dial this phone number and find out if these Northern Atlantic birds can swim for this paper I'm doing.

Me: Seriously?

Lady: Yes. I don't know if they can and I need to find out.

Me: Look, there are lots of ways to find out. Why don't you go to the library, use one of their computers and check the internet. I'll bet you find the answer very quickly.

Lady: No, I want you to call this number and find out for me.

Me: Look lady, this is a snack bar. If you want a soda or a snack, I can get it. But I'm not going to call that number for you. Who's next?

That was my dream last night.

How to Melt My Heart

A: I want the family on the family room.
Me: What?
A: (repeats)
Me: (pretend not to understand because I'm in the middle of cooking dinner) What do you mean?
A: C'mon, the whole family in the family room.
Me: Oh, you want the whole family to be in the family room right now?
A :(thinking: Jesus. How dense is she?) Yeah! You gotta come to the family room and get some lovin'.
Me: Awwww. (go to the family room to get some lovin')

Dead Ants

Q: What did the Pink Panther say when he stepped on the anthill?
A: Dead ants, dead ants, dead ants, etc.

Yeah. Well. No matter how many dead ants you have, there are always live ones. G asked me sadly, "Have we lost the war?" Swarming ants. All over the wall. We've got Ant PTSD. Except there's no Post- to it because they keep coming.

You may remember our ant battles. They continue. We live on top of Ant Mecca. There are ant swarms every time we dig in our soil. There's an ant highway across the doorway of our garage and several smaller turnpikes across our patio. I've picked more ants off Ben than I care to think about. When they're outside, we leave them alone. But they continue to think they can come into the kitchen (and the bathroom) and it needs to stop before I blow Ant Mecca up.

Yesterday, I saw a big ant huddle near the window, and I investigated because these are stupid ants and they never find food, even when it's laying right out there on the counter, so what could they be huddling around? They dispersed like high schoolers at a fight when I approached, and in the middle was a BIG ant. It was almost twice the size of the others, with a big ol' rear end. Do you think she was the queen? Well, queenie, you jus' been dethroned! Lunasea in da house!

If she was the queen, and I killed her (not only am I doing better than the U.S. Government in the war on terror), will the other ants go away too?

Books, Softball and Adventure

Books

When I was a kid, I used to tell my parents that I was afraid of the dark and ask them to leave the hall light on. I also made sure to position my bed so that it got most of the light. I wasn't really afraid of the dark - I wanted to read after bedtime. I'd hide under the covers if one of them came near my room, and since my dad went to bed at 11pm and turned all the lights out, that was the latest I could stay up reading. Occasionally they caught me and warned that my eyes would be ruined. I do have horrible eyesight today (400/20 I think), but guess what? Stick some glasses on me or put contacts in my eyes and I'm good as new.

Aidan wants "lots of books" in his crib with him when he goes to bed. He doesn't even want us to read to him anymore. Just pile them up in there and leave the hall light on, thank you very much. I can't believe I'm letting him do this. I had to sneak my after-hours reading for so many years, it's just a slap in the face that he can be so blatant. I don't have the heart to refuse. He sleeps right on top of them, too, and is upset when he wakes up and finds fewer in there than when he went to sleep (sometimes I sneak in there and take some out to make room for his body). I totally understand books being a security blanket. And he can't actually read, so I'm not too worried about his eyesight.

Softball

So sometimes he doesn't get enough sleep. Last night he fell asleep around 9:30, and was up at 6am. He was a pain in the neck for most of the day, but got better after I threatened him. He wanted to go to the park after G got home from work, so we went and found that the adjoining ballfields were hosting 8 adult softball teams.That's a lotta softball. So we stayed, had hot chocolate, sat in the stands and cheered the "Go Dumb" team. Aidan was the best cheerer there - he kept yelling, "OH! LOOK AT THE BIG HIT!" and "OH! THAT WAS A BIG THROW!" It was great. Too bad it tended to be between plays (and innings). And often for the other team.

He gets VERY enthusiastic when he's tired, and it's pretty funny. When we were walking to the car, he yelled, "THAT WAS A NICE TIME, MAMA! THAT WAS PRETTY FUN!" You just can't stay mad at someone that enthusiastic.

Adventure

And while we were at the pumpkin patch yesterday, we were climbing this big pyramid of hay bales. I held his hand, but he's not the most adventurous kid on the block. He kept saying, "I don't know. I'm just not sure," as he climbed (phrases that Sir Topham Hatt uses on Thomas). We were passed by several 18-month-olds. It was like climbing with my grandmother.

Oh, and BTW, G is back at work but not completely better. After our Slice O' Americana evening, he passed out before 8pm.

Live and Fresh: Lunasea!

Who gave this woman* her own show? I first saw her during the Hurricane Katrina coverage, and thought she was losing her voice because she'd been working long hours. Nope, turns out she always sounds like that.

1. To the pilot of a rescue helicopter as they're flying over a house with a guy trapped on the roof: "How important is it, what you're doing?"

2. To the guy they rescued: "How happy are you to be rescued?"

3. To the mayor of a town wiped out by Hurricane Rita, after he pointed out the demolished diner where he ate lunch every day: "Where are you going to eat lunch now?"

It's good for a laugh, but it also annoys me as my dream job is to take over "Fresh Air" on NPR. And I don't sound like I smoke two packs a day.

*The current photo on Rita Cosby's page is Hugh Hefner and some playbunnies. I'd look up a photo of Rita to avoid confusion, but I'm too sleepy.

Spam, Sperm, Whatever

I use HaloScan comments on this site, and somehow the spammers haven't gotten through yet. But I have a "footnotes" blogspot (see 100 Things) and today they found me. In fact, Josh found a lot of useful info about sperm banks on my site. Just wanted to say...glad I could help.

<<Josh said...
Found a lot of useful info on your site about sperm bank - thank you. Haven't finished reading it yet but have bookmarked it so I don't lose it. I've just started a sperm bank blog myself if you'd like to stop by>>

Still Stuck in the Infirmary

It's official: G. is really sick. He's got the pneumonia in his chest, that boy. A-coughin' and a-hackin', he be. Takin' them anti-bi-otics and should be as good as new in no time at all, iffen you believe them docs at that hos-pee-tal.

I remember when I was dating and if I or my boyfriend was sick, we'd do the whole flower-chicken soup-kleenex thing. Now it's like: "Hmm - he appears to be breathing, so he must be OK. Gotta get the kids dinner. Oh, did you want some soup? Here's the can opener."

No, that's not true. I heated the soup for him and even poured it into a bowl. I'm pretty sure I gave him a spoon, too.

Desperate Housewives watchers - I have a question. When did aliens take over Lynette's body? No way would the old Lynette sit there and let Joely Fisher be such a bitch to her, or insinuate that her kid's first day of kindergarten wasn't important. She just wouldn't let herself be caught there. I don't believe it and it's irritating me. I keep thinking, "this was sooo written by men," which isn't fair and I'm not sure why I think that, but I do.

Lost watchers - funniest line I've read all week: on the TWoP recap, about the end of the episode where Jin runs out of the jungle with his hands tied behind his back and all the "Others" are running after him with spears: "Looks like Jin forgot to use his Capital One card." Hah!

Commander in Chief: I'm a West Wing fan, but I checked this show out when there was nothing else on and I was working on the 'puter. It didn't bother me that the level of political conversation compared to WW is like Marcus Welby vs. ER, but it did bother me that the POTUS leans down to her young daughter and admonishes her for reading her sister's journal: "You're not supposed to read big sis's journal," and little sis gets all sorry and apologizes to big sis immediately. Riiiight.

"Hey, Aidan, you're not supposed to sit on Ben's head." Yeah, that'll work.

Stuck in the Infirmary

It's just after 8pm on Friday night and all my guys are out cold. The boys are sleeping, and G. has the flu. He's been completely out of commission since Wednesday night.

"Can you refill the Brita? I don't even have the strength to lift it," he moaned. I took his temperature and found it to be a burning 99.3, so he went off to bed. "Good thing men don't get pregnant," I muttered.

It was quite a switch from A., who last week was sick and steadfastly refused to admit it. After I finally got some medicine down his throat, if he coughed at all, he'd glare at me accusingly and say, "My cough is still there! So you and your fancy cherry-crap flavored syrup can go to hell!" He clearly said the first part; the last part was implied.

Later G. clocked in at 101.3. But then we discovered our fancy temporal thermometer is off and his temperature was actually over 103 as determined by the old-fashioned mercury. Hmph. Guess you really are sick. Stay away from me, and for God's sake, don't get the baby sick.

In other news:

Did I mention I'm turning 40 in a few weeks? It seems like a big deal, if only as a marker of the last 10 years. When I turned 30, I was single, in grad school with no idea if I would ever finish, and living in a small studio. Around that time, I wrote out this little piece of paper that I carried around on which I had written all my biggest goals:

1. Finish the Ph.D.
2. Be in a happy marriage or relationship.
3. Have children (was going to do this with or without #2).
4. Have a house with a garden.
5. Have an organized, clutter-free life.
6. Be able to run 5 miles.

Four months after turning 30, I met G. Four years after that, I married him, and here I am living in a house with a garden (that I don't touch because Goal #2 has control issues) and our two little boys. I had my Ph.D. orals the week I found out I was pregnant with A., so that got finished too. I ran a 5-mile race in 2001 and have been largely pregnant (literally) or nursing since then. I do work on the organization and have gotten much better, although "organized" is probably not an adjective often used to describe me.

So what's left? I still need to learn to drive a stick shift. And see the Alps. But the major things: check, check, and check.

And yet there's more:

A. has begun playing more complex games. They're great because he tells us exactly what to do, even it if results in a strategic paradox. He loves to hide in the closet and yell, "I'm in the coats! You can't find me anywhere!"

He also tells us exactly how to react: "I'm a robot! You can't believe it!"

So much of parenting is by the seat of the pants. It's nice when they give you clear instructions.

The Fun Never Ends

Well, it has just been a barn-burner of a week here at Chez Lunasea. Ben has cut two teeth, which means he bites me in a very tender place and I'm thisclose to weaning him. He thinks it's funny when I yell. G. rejected my suggestion of putting some very tender part of his body in Ben's jaws to see what it felt like. Still, it's kind of cool to have a kid who gets teeth right around the time he's supposed to. Aidan didn't get teeth until he was well over a year.

I'm a great-aunt, now, too, which almost makes me feel older than my upcoming 40th birthday. Big Niece had sweet great-nephew-baby on Tuesday. It's fun when someone else is going through it. I can be all, "Oh, a brand new baby! How sweet! I'm so excited!" without all the raging hormones, pain and thoughts of "oh my god what have I gotten myself into...I've changed my mind..." that ricochet through a new mom's head. He's hella cute, which isn't surprising since Mom and Dad are quite cute, too.

So I'm sorry I've been out of touch. But really, the longest conversation I had today was with Aidan and it involved the laundry. The most excitement we had today was with Ben and it involved my ability to be on this side of his head, and then, just like that! be on the other side of his head. First I'm over here by this ear, then I'm over by this ear! How does that happen? It was hysterical in 6-month-old land. Poor kid was crying he was laughing so hard. And you wonder why I've eaten half a carton of ice cream tonight after they've finally gone to sleep. The ice cream never talks back, it doesn't want another glass of water or to know what every freakin' sound was. It just lets me enjoy it. By the way, it's Dreyer's new Drumstick flavor. Oh yeah. That's what I'm talkin' bout.

As Jung Would Say...

From Trisha - free association:


Crave: Sleep.

Whole package: Of Trader Joe's Milk Chocolate Pecan & Caramel Clouds all to myself.

Roommates: Taught me a lot. About drugs.

5:30: The time Ben wakes up all shiny and happy.

Lesbian: Really wanted to be for a while. Didn't work.

Poignant: Watching A. grow up.

Hurtful: Thinking about A. dealing with playground politics.

You and I: In high school, the song I thought I would play at my wedding. (i.e. "Just You and I")

Grateful: For it all.

Giggle: In my sleep. When it happens.

Helping You Understand the Theory of Relativity, Effectively

According to our State Professional Organization's Magazine, professionals with my (master's level) psychotherapy license are not perceived to be particularly smart, understanding, effective or helpful.

So, in their infinite wisdom, State Professional Organization suggests that I make "more effort to appear helpful, smart, effective, and understanding." I should also consider how the books in my waiting room and my dress reflect on me as "helpful, understanding, or smart."

Well, which is it? Am I supposed to appear as all three at once, or one at a time? What exactly is "helpful, understanding or smart" dress? My Travelsmith dress which requires no ironing and went with me to the best museums in Italy? But it's black, which may not be a very understanding color.

Geez, the pressure.

Small Dogs Can Do Big Things

This is the dog.








This is the light fixture:










And this is A.: "Oh! I broked it!"

Shameless Plug

So I've done three recent digital scrapbook layouts that I'm really happy with. They haven't garnered many comments on the site where I post them, which is why I'm looking to you people to stroke my ego. They're just so much better than what I could do previously, even if they're not publish-worthy.

Remember the theme "What's on Your Refrigerator?" That was my theme for my circle journal, so everyone else in the circle has to do a layout on that subject. And I'm doing layouts for everybody else's themes as well. These three are, respectively, "Color My World," "Words of Inspiration," and "Art Attack." I really like the rainbow one. I didn't want to take pictures of flowers because that seemed too obvious, so I challenged myself to find the rainbow in objects I use everyday. The "RAINBOW" letters are cut out of a photo of Ben's exersaucer liner.

"Words of Inspiration" is supposed to be in shades of red, but hopefully the owner of that journal will forgive me. I tried putting a red overlay on it, but it just didn't work. I love this one. I love the photo of Einstein. And that's me with the wax figure of Einstein at Mme. Tussaud's in London. It was one of the few times I had the courage to ask a stranger to take a picture of me.

The "Art Attack" one was hard for me. The journal originator had a color swatch she wanted us to use, and I wanted to do something that wasn't totally linear and graphic. It still is, kind of, but whatever. I'm not a designer. I just like to play around.

Disaster Alert

We're heading into Day 5 of "No Poops from Ben," and although the danger of hazardous waste from this situation is serious, please be assured that we are taking precautions. We have set aside several changing pads, two cases of wipes, face masks, and are prepared to turn on the tub faucet and the shower should the need arise. There is no need to evacuate at this time, however, it would be prudent for those in the immediate area to prepare for possible evacuation. At the very least, have your disaster kits in easy reach.

As they say about the Big Quake in California, it's not a question of "if," it's a question of "when."

Good News!

I've updated my wish lists over there to the left. Just trying to be helpful, since there's.....



and I know I'm so hard to buy for.