Wednesday, February 29, 2012

just a little blog about diabetes, exercising while pregnant, and lack of obese aliens.

The highlight of my day so far has been a chipmunk running around on my back deck.  I'm not saying that like 'oh wow, look how boring my life is...' I seriously love chipmunks!  I squealed when I saw him (which made him stop and squeal back, and then we had a conversation about the weather, or maybe that's just all in my head...).  I sit at our dining room table on my laptop so I can see our backyard.  I have a perfect view of our bird feeder (our 90 year old hobby, feeding the birds), and I like watching the birds eat, and like watching the cats run into the glass after the birds and smash their face.  Don't feel sorry for them; one of them bites my ankles and the other barfs all over my house.

Anyways...I woke up this morning and could barely move, so I was inspired to write a blog about exercising...while pregnant. 

I have the metabolism of a sloth with mono.  It's basically nonexistant.  And I love food.  This turns out to be a bad combination.  The older I get, the worse it all gets; especially with other medical issues like being 'borderline' diabetic and having 'borderline' thyroid issues.  Basically I interpret 'borderline' as 'just enough to screw you up a bit.'

During college (undergrad) I joined the YMCA and became obsessed with exercise.  I was usually there 6 days a week for 1-2 hours each time.  It's so much fun to go shopping when clothes actually fit correctly!  Then in grad school I had 15 hours each semester plus worked 2 jobs; I barely had time to sleep much less exercise (or eat correctly).  I ended up gaining 70 pounds in 2 years.  7 years later and I'm still working on that weight gain.  Of course having 2 kids doesn't really help...but ya know, that's life.

During my pregnancy with Morgan I gained so much weight.  I didn't feel good at all.  I spent most of my days rotating from one side of the couch to the other.  During pregnancy I retain a lot of water.  I don't have blood pressure issues at all, but I retain water like crazy.  Morgan was 6lb 13oz when she was born and I lost 25 pounds that day...that's how much water I was retaining!!  But then it took me 18 months to lose the other 30 pounds and get back to my pre-pregnancy weight (and once there I needed to lose even more).  It was so hard!!  I was on the treadmill every day.  I joined a zumba class (I LOVE ZUMBA!)  I did yoga (at home).  I dieted.  Weight loss was so slow.  During my pregnancy with Morgan I found out I had gestational diabetes...that never went away after she was born, so my specialist thinks I've actually been borderline for years and it was never detected.  Just because your fasting glucose level is always normal doesn't mean anything!  Get that A1C level checked ya'll! 

And it turns out that being diabetic makes it hard to lose weight, but losing weight helps lower your A1C level (insulin resistance)...which will help you lose weight...but losing weight is hard with a high A1C level...see the problem?

Being 'skinny' is no longer my issue.  I have to be healthy.  I have to keep myself off insulin.  Because I have a horrible fear of needles.

So now I'm 5 months pregnant and I vowed not to let myself gain too much weight.  Before this pregnancy I had actually ended up gaining 30 pounds because a doctor was 'experimenting' with some of my medical issues by giving me Zoloft for fibromyalgia - yes it worked!!  it numbed my senses making all of the aches and pains and headaches go away (and also made me happy all the time...) but I gained 5 pounds each month I was on it, so after 3 months I quit.  Then my doctors realized my thryoid was going wacky, so one of them begged me to try Synthroid.  I hoped for a miracle and what I got in return was more weight gain and a pot belly.  I was working out 4-5 days a week and still gaining weight, so I panicked.  I called my doctor and she told me to stop the Synthroid because apparently my body wasn't ready for a synthetic thryoid hormone replacement.  5 days later I found out I was pregnant.

well snap.

The first few weeks of pregnancy I kept going to the gym as much as possible.  I promised myself I would NOT let myself gain weight during this pregnancy, I would in fact LOSE weight while pregnant.

then my pregnancy slothism set in and I lost all energy to live in addition to becoming extremely queasy all day every day.

at 20 weeks pregnant, it's a LITTLE better.  I try to use my higher energy days to clean house and take a shower.  Michael keeps threatening to cancel our gym membership so I try to drag myself there once a week...mostly because it's so good for Morgan.  She loves going to child care.  She cries when it's time to go home.  I mean seriously, it makes me a little mad, like 'sorry you hate your home so much kid!!'  But she's such a social butterfly and she loves being around other people and kids.  She gets sick of looking at me every single day.  The other day Michael and I stopped by a preschool to find out about registration for fall and I asked Morgan, 'are you ready to leave mommy and go to school?' and she immediately said 'YUP!!' 


But anyway, last night is the first time in 2 weeks I've been to the gym.  I usually walk the indoor track and then get on an exercise bike.  10 minutes into my walk, not only did I already have to pee, but my hip joints were aching and my stomach muscles were cramping.  I slowed down to a waddle and forced myself to walk for 30 minutes.  I realized I had become invisible to everybody, especially men.  I was just the fat pregnant chick in an oversized homemade tie-dye shirt waddling around the track with thin young girls in perfectly matching tank tops and sneakers trotting by me.  Every time I had to cough or sneeze I had to stop and cross my legs so I wouldn't pee my pants.  Then I checked on Morgan who screamed at me to GO AWAY so I waddled my way to the 'wellness center' and settled down on a bike.  I had to adjust the seat so that my knees wouldn't hit my belly as I pedaled, but then it was adjusted too from the pedals for me to reach them, so I had to settle for this awkward sort of pedaling with my knees out to the sides out of the way of my belly.  25 minutes of this and my butt went numb.  So I quit.  After dragging a screaming kid out of child care (she cried all the way home 'I miss my friends' like she had ever seen any of those kids in her life before, but then she ate an entire pizza so I figure she had low blood sugar and really didn't hate me after all), my butt was numb, my hip joints were on fire, and my stomach muscles were all tight and uncomfortable.  When I got up this morning I almost gasped because I was so sore.  I was hunched over and had to scoot my feet like a I was 109 years old.  I'm honestly not THAT out of shape already, it's just this whole pregnancy thing makes my body scream at me.  My hip joints loosen up (apparently they haven't gotten the memo that it's going to be a c-section birth), my lower back hurts, I'm all puffy with water retention (even my normally skinny fingers have fat rolls)...  honestly, if whining burned calories I would weigh 100 pounds. 

I need a Hoveround. 

I need to keep moving....I take diabetic medication twice a day already and it's totally under control thanks to my medication and diet (1 cupcake instead of 2), but I still have 4 months to go and I don't want my insulin level to suddenly go all crazy and end up with needles and a little vial of Humulin in my fridge.  Michael has already told me he's NOT giving me injections as an incentive to keep up the diet and exercise and stay away from the idea of inserting a needle into myself (personally I think he's secretly terrified of needles too) and the idea of Morgan giving me an injection...well I guess that's not the best idea.  She's only 3.  Maybe if she was 4. 

Dieting hasn't been too hard during this pregnancy because basically this baby hates all food.  I'll be starving, stomach growling, blood sugar dropping, but NOTHING sounds good, and I know if I put something in my mouth that baby doesn't approve of, I will end up throwing up.  Yesterday I had Cheerios for breakfast, grilled cheese with tomato for lunch, and Great Grains cereal and a banana for dinner.  That's way too many carbs in a day but that's all that I could eat.  I need a big turkey leg in one hand and a hunk of deer in the other.  But I don't like to eat anything that used to have a face.  It just grosses me out.  At Applebees the other day I tried a bite of chicken and it just felt all wrong in my mouth so I spit it out in a napkin and shoved it all into my soup bowl. 

I'll get through this pregnancy and then really focus on weight loss and being healthy.  It will be hard trying to fit exercise into a life with a 3 year old and a newborn.  Our gym won't take kids in child care until they are 2 so I'll have to check and see if I can walk with Deuce strapped to my chest.  And I'll be hitting my treadmill hard again, whenever Michael is home from his 12 hour shifts to help with the kids. 

And I WILL find the best diet pill in the world.

But then again...the Mayan calendar ends this year on 12-21 and the black hole in the Milky Way lines up with Earth and I'm sure the aliens are going to return, so shouldn't I just eat, drink, and be merry until they come back?  Because honestly, with all that technology, they should have an amazing diet pill.

Best diet pill in the universe.

You never see pictures of obese aliens do you?

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

snakes...snails...puppy dog tails....

Yesterday was Morgan's 3rd birthday and also happened to be the day we found out whether she was getting a brother or sister.  I didn't sleep very well Sunday night.  I was nervous!  And my ear still hurts.  Because my left ear is trying to give me a slow painful death.  Why was I nervous?  Not really sure.  Maybe because I know this is my last baby (I sure as heck am NOT doing this women that are like 'ohhh I just LOOOVE being pregnant' must be on some hormone high that I've never experienced, because I hate every single second).  Part of me really wants another girl...because I'm used to having a girl, and because I have about 54 totes of adorable girls clothing in storage, and because I always wanted a sister and ended up with 2 stinky brothers.  But I felt guilty for wanting a girl.  Just as I felt guilty when I found out I was having a girl when I was pregnant with Morgan, and I was DISAPPOINTED!  Yes I originally wanted a boy, whatever was I thinking?  And miss out on all this drama and moodiness, miss out on all these wonderful temper tantrums?  Miss out on all the hair bows?!  So when we found out we were having a girl, I was disappointed, and then I felt guilty for being disappointed.  But don't worry, God punished me.  Morgan barfed on me for well over a year after she was born.  I had a healthy (barfy) baby girl and I was blessed. 

So this time around...I felt guilty for wanting a girl.

I'm very complicated...I don't make my life easy, can you tell?

So yesterday morning at 10am we had our big ultrasound appointment.  My heart was racing.  Michael had that spark of excitement he usually only gets in his eye when a good ball game is on or when he sees his paycheck after working a ton of overtime.  The ultrasound chick (yeah I can't remember her official title, sorry) drowned me in warm goopy stuff and then the show began.  Up on the big screen was Deuce.  And within about 5 seconds she announced 'oh I think it's a boy' and my heart sort of flipped.  Then all of a sudden on the screen was Deuce displaying all of his boy junk for the world to see.  'Yep, I'm pretty sure that's a boy.'  I think I said something along the lines of 'oh wow' but honestly what I was thinking was 'ewww...there's a BOY in there' because if you really think about it, it's sort of weird.'s a BOY!

We went back to the waiting room because I had an appointment with the doctor, mostly to discuss my last round of blood work.  While we were waiting, our phones were blowing up with texts from family and friends asking if we knew yet.  We spent the next 5 hours texting, calling, emailing.  It was a busy day!!  Oh and by the way, my last round of blood work was fine.  The antibody levels are still low.  *air guitar*

I must say we've got some awesome friends for being interested in our boring lives.  I felt very loved yesterday.  EVERYBODY is excited it's a boy.  My brothers are pumped...a nephew to drag through the woods, hunting and fishing and logging and raising chickens (or so they think).  Michael's family is excited.  A McCumbers heir!  Out of all of the grandkids in his dad's large family, there are only 2 grandsons.  Michael's cousin is thrilled that we took some of that pressure off him to bear a son. 

Honestly, his family would have been happy if it was another girl, but Michael said he could just hear the relief in everyone's voice when he called and told his parents and grandma. 

So we're having a boy, and I'm a little freaked out about it.

When I told my mom, she said 'awww I was hoping Morgan would have a sister to grow up with.' And I an extent, but like I told my mom, I really can't imagine life with 2 daughters, especially if they are both like Morgan.  I think it would be a 70 year long cat fight, possibly to the death.  Morgan is really feisty.  So now she'll have a little brother to boss around and beat up.  I had 2 of them to boss around and beat up...until they grew up and realized they were stronger than me and didn't have to listen to me anymore.  That was a sad day.

I am hoping he will be laid back like Michael and not high strung like Morgan (and me...and the rest of my family).  When I was pregnant with Morgan, her heart rate was always over 170.  Most of her ultrasound pictures consisted of feet where she was kicking away from the ultrasound wand (it took tries to find out if she was a girl...she didn't cooperate the first time so we had to go back after 4 weeks).  In early pregnancy, the doctor had to trap her in the corner to get her heart rate.  She was always moving around, stomping my bladder, rubbing her head on my ribs (she was breech). 

This baby has been much more mellow so far.  His heart rate has never been over 150, and the doctor has never had to trap him to get the reading.  He was so cooperate during the ultrasound...he was basically like 'ta da!!!  here's my junk!  I'm a boy!'  and then he rolled over and yawned.  He does move around A LOT so I wonder when he actually sleeps, but I have hopes this one will be more mellow than Morgan.

Dear Lord PLEASE. 

So now I have to prepare myself for raising a boy.  I'm used to changing girl diapers and giving a girl a bath.  It's going to be weird learning how to clean and take care of a boy.  And I know Morgan will be right beside me asking 'what's that?' every time he's naked.  Sigh. 

And the messes.  I've been blessed with having a very clean little girl.  When she eats, she's pretty OCD about staying clean, and I LOVE IT.  If something falls off her plate she flips out and can't continue eating until all is right in the world, and the food has been cleaned off the table.  If she drops food on her shirt, the shirt has to come off.  She doesn't like messes.  SHE IS MY CHILD 100%.  She scared of bugs and frogs and all gross unfuzzy creatures and I'm okay with that!!!  I have an extreme fear of frogs.  You have no idea.  And lizards.  And snakes.  And worms.  And fish.  And...basically anything that isn't cute and fuzzy and domesticated.  I didn't mean to pass this on to my kid, but if there's a frog in the yard and I run screaming, she tends to pick up on these things.  Why am I terrified of frogs?  When I was about 2, my grandma held me down to a barrell that collected rainwater from her barn, there were frogs all around the rim and one of them jumped on me and scared the holy heck out of me.  That and the fact that my mom (yes my mother) and my 2 stinky brothers used to chase me with frogs until I locked myself in the bathroom, and then they would shove the frog under the door and I would have to climb up on the sink and be locked in the bathroom WITH the frog.  And then they would all laugh while I cried hysterically.

I need therapy for that.

So what if I have a son that drags frogs and lizards into my house?  Not only will I have a panic attack, but I will have to fumigate my house. 

And if he's a messy eater....*eye twitch*

Oh dear.

My only salvation is to dress him in vests and hats and put him in dance lessons when he's 2...because Michael would totally support that ya know....

'snakes and snails and puppy dog tails...that's what little boys are made of' that seriously how that poem goes?

Oh dear.

Thursday, February 23, 2012

The Name Game

It's really hard naming a human being.  It's a big responsibility.  It's stressful. 

And it's annoying.

We find out on Monday whether Morgan is going to have a brother or sister.  We honestly don't care just as long as it's a healthy baby.  We've got all these girl clothes and toys in storage so it would make sense to have another girl.  And I think having a sister would be awesome.  I had 2 stinky brothers so I'll never know. 

But I know that deep down, every guy wants a son.  Plus Michael's whole family is holding their breath to see if this will be the grandson bearing the McCumbers name.  Out of all of the grandkids, there are only 2 grandsons to pass along that name. 

Either way, I don't care.  I just want this pregnancy to be over with.  Today I woke up after 9 hours of sleep, ate breakfast, then took a nap for an hour (while Morgan lined up Little People along my entire body so when I rolled over they all fell off and she screamed).

I'm tired of being sick, and I'm sick of being tired....along with all the other fun pregnancy issues like hip joints that hurt so bad sometimes that I can't even sleep and the amazing increase of stomach gas that makes me burp like Homer Simpson (loud, forceful, lips quivering in the breeze...)

But before baby eviction in about 19 weeks, we have a lot to do, like getting Deuce's room ready and deciding on a name (because even though Deuce is an amazing nickname, it's not very practical if he/she wants to run for president someday).

It's a big responsibility...

You are naming a human being.  That is the name they will have until they die (unless they come up with a nickname or get really brave and chance their name). 

It's stressful...

Babies are born completely bald and nonverbal.  They have no opinion whatsoever about what you name them...until they become unbald and verbal.  Then they might hate you forever for the name you thought sounded perfect. 

It's annoying...

You think of a name that you love...and everybody else hates it.  Everybody else is full of suggestions...some of which make make you want to bang your head against the wall until you're cross eyed. 

During my pregnancy with Morgan, Michael and I made lists of names (okay, *I* made lists of names and he read them and shot the names down).  We knew we were having a girl, and for some reason girl names were harder for us than boy names. 

That's when we unofficially made the rules of the name game.

1.  Check top 50 names for the year.  Avoid top 20 unless you want your child to have the same name as 7 other kids in her classroom.  As for the other 30 names on the top 50, it just depends on how much you love that name; and how often you hear it.  I'm not going to step on any toes and list those top names...the list speaks for itself.  Morgan was #50 in 2008 and has since dropped off the list.  *air guitar victory dance*

2.  Avoid stripper names. 

3.  Keep in mind that your cute little baby is going to grow up someday...and possibly go to college...and might want to be CEO or some top position....and being stuck with a cutesy name like 'Rainbow' is not going to give anybody the confidence to climb the corporate ladder (and also refer back to rule #2).

4.  I adore old fashioned names, but be very careful.  Not many little kids can carry the weight of a name like Opal or Virgil (those are both names of my grandparents and they are wonderful old fashioned names but I couldn't imagine a little boy in Kindergarten with the name of Virgil).

5.  Spelling is so important.  TRUST ME ON THIS ONE!  My name is Jaime.  It has been misspelled my entire life.  My mom thought it would be cute to go with Jaime because J'aime in French means 'I love.'  But then I grew up during the Mexican invasion and Jaime is a boys name in Spanish (pronounced hy-may).  During grad school I worked on a project with a girl from Columbia and she flat out asked me 'why you have a boys name?' (I might have asked to see her Green Card...) Personally I don't mind having a name spelled a little different...or maybe I'm just used to it by now.  When I was little I was sad because I couldn't ever find the little license plate for my bike with my name spelled correctly...or pencils...or stickers... And it's misspelled on most of my trophies and awards.  And all of my doctor charts.  And some credit cards.  But I might be able to use that to my advantage...'ummm that's not me, that's not my name, I'm not paying this bill...'

When we decided on Morgan (which Michael liked because it sounded sporty) we toyed with the idea of Morghan or Morganne but then I realized I couldn't do that to my kid.  I don't hate my parents for my funky name spelling (honestly I'm not even sure my name knows it's spelled differently...) but Morgan might hate us when she's older.

6.  And going along with the name Jaime/Jamie....gender specific names.  My name is butchy.  I always get mail to 'Mr. Jaime Stratton' (and now 'Mr. Jaime McCumbers' which irritates Michael a bit because he doesn't want the mail carrier to think we're 2 dudes raising a kid together).  I know a lot of girls named Jaime/Jamie...and a lot of boys.  Once again, I personally don't care about being Mr. Jaime, but my kid might.  I worried about that a bit with Morgan.  Morgan is an old fashioned name....for boys.  In contemporary American society it's become an accepted girls name...but the true test will be if she starts getting mail to 'Mr. Morgan McCumbers.'  At that point we'll tell her she was named after Morgan Freeman and to just suck it up.

7.  DO NOT be suckered into a name you don't like, just for the sake of pleasing the family.  This is YOUR kid.  You cooked that little grouchy gnome for 9 months and you are going to be the one up all night and day keeping it alive for the first year.  YOU name it.  Unless you're planning to pawn your kid off on your parents so you can go party every night or go on an archaeological dig in Egypt (thought crossed my mind), then you have to consider giving up your right to name the kid.

8.  Nicknames...avoid names that rhyme with curse words, body parts, and body functions.  If you are planning to send your child to public school, be warned that children are evil and can (and will) give your child a horrible nickname (even if they LIKE the kid!).  Michael and I really liked the name Gretchen...and even though everybody else shot it down, it was my BFF Paul that said (in a horribly mean voice) 'Retchin Gretchin' and made me realize I was thinking about naming my daughter something that rhymes with the act of throwing up.  DARN YOU PAUL!!!  And by the way, Gretchen is still in the running for girls names for Deuce.

9.  Names of exes should never be considered...exes from each other's past as well as your parents' past.  Seriously, if somebody named Consuelo broke your dad's heart while fighting in Korea, don't name your daughter Consuelo!  Recently my mother in law accidentally suggested the name of somebody Michael had dated (in her defense, she doesn't know everybody that Michael dated) but I heard that name through the phone call and immediately snarled and hissed and spit like a cat as Michael firmly said 'no that's not an option.'

10.  Research the meaning...most names have a meaning (unless you're naming your son Rope or some other random object).  Michael of course is a very old Hebrew name.  Jaime, as previously explained, means 'I love' in French.  And Morgan is from Morrigan which is an Irish goddess of war...SERIOUSLY?!  I did NOT research that until after my little goddess of war was born and making me want to tear my hair out. 

See?  Naming a human is so hard.  There's so much to consider.  Basically you want to pick a normal but not too popular name that isn't too cutesy or trendy that they will be proud to introduce themselves with someday when they are wearing the black suit interviewing for an important job.

Unless you want them to be a stripper.  Or a starving artist.  If you're open-minded, then totally go for naming your daugther Magentiquana.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012


So I've been fighting this crud for 2 weeks exactly.  Morgan had an ear infection, Michael had a cold, and I ended up with both.  Since I'm pregnant (and really really don't like to take myself to the doctor unless I have Michael to drive me because I drive like a 109 year old when I'm pregnant, all spaced out and not trusting my instincts) and I don't really want to take any medications unless I HAVE to...I was trying to 'wait it out...' which has been miserable.  Normally I pump myself full of any medication I can get my hands on, including 'home remedies' like honey, tea, whiskey, diesel fuel, whatever it takes.  I had sinus pressure trying to pop my eyes out, ear pain (and hearing loss...or at least that's what I claim because Michael swears he's told me certain things that I don't remember), nasal faucet, aches, pains, mild fever.  After about 4 days I actually DID try to go to EZ Care (my favorite place to go for cough and cold) but it was in the middle of a blizzard and they closed early.  We saw a lot of wrecks that afternoon.  Then it was bathroomapocolypse for 4 days, then a 230 mile trip to my parents to celebrate Morgan's birthday, then a 230 mile trip home where I had to unload and unpack and find a new home for Morgan's new toys, plus clean the new bathroom so we could use it, plus clean up after the cat's had a huge party while we were gone (piles of hair all over the carpet, nails that had been pulled out, and random piles of kitty vomit.  One heck of a party).

Today I finally realized it's been 2 weeks, my ear pain is getting more severe, I can't ignore it any more.  When I was in 3rd grade I had a tube in my left ear from so many ear infections.  When I was in 6th grade I had surgery to patch the hole that never healed.  Whenever I go to the doctor they are always like 'whoa you've got some serious scar tissue on your ear drum....HEY HARRIET, come in here and look in her ear!!!' (yes they proceed to bring everybody in the office plus the bum that lives in the dumpster in to the exam room to check out my funky ear scars).  My left ear has been trying to kill me my entire life. 

So today I loaded myself and the kid into the car and went to EZ Care.  Morgan LOVES going to the doctor.  She's beyond remembering how every single time we entered her pediatrician's office she would scream bloody murder because she knew she wouldn't be leaving without getting stabbed in the leg with a needle.  Now she thinks going to the doctor is fascinating.  She's so cooperative it's almost scary.  She lets them look in her ears, nose, throat; lets them listen to her breathe.  I have video from today in the waiting room where she's pulling my hand saying 'c'mon mommy, let's go see the doctor.' 


So the doctor looked in my ear ('wow you've got a lot of scar tissue...') and wrote me a prescription.  And then I couldn't get Morgan to leave.  She stomped her feet.  She ran from me.  She didn't want to leave until the doctor checked her out.  I was able to get her cooperate by lying with 'let's go home and paint!' (and that little booger has an awesome memory; now we are home and she's begging me to paint).  Then I had to go to Kroger to get my prescription filled ('oh, you're going to WAIT on this instead of come back later?') and pick up some groceries.  Morgan was still really irritated over the whole not getting checked by the doctor thing, so she bit my finger.  HARD.  And then she cried because she realized she hurt me (and possibly because I slapped her on the top of the head to make her release my finger before her toddler shark-like teeth sliced through the bone).  And then while I was trying to decide on a salad dressing she grabbed a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos and gnawed her way into the chips.  Sigh.  So I had to add a bag of chips to my hummus, California rolls (LOVE Krogers that have sushi chefs!), rotisserie chicken (ick, that thing still has LEGS attached), salad, strawberries, and tomatoes.  And then I tried to shoplift the chips because the moronic women in front of me at checkout STILL USES CHECKS at the register.  That's SOOO 1995 lady!  Haven't you ever heard of a check/debit card?  (or Visa?)  Morgan chomped on her chips and I patiently waited for about 5 minutes (and impatiently for about 10 more) while she wrote ANOTHER check thinking it would go through the machine, and then they had to call everybody including the CEO of Kroger to get that check approved.  So after all of that I almost forgot to pay for the darn Doritos.  I realized as I was pushing away from the register that my child was shoplifting chips with my help.  Awkward....

So now I'm going to eat my California rolls and take my antibiotic and claim temporary hearing loss every time I hear Morgan say 'paint?'

Sunday, February 19, 2012

jaw harp

My brother Grant came to visit this evening, since he missed Morgan's princess party yesterday, and he brought his jaw harp to show Morgan.  I wish I had video of Morgan's expression when Grant started playing the jaw harp.  And as soon as I thought that, I, that's not something you say everyday...'I totally wish I had video of my kid watching you play the jaw harp!'

What's a jaw harp?  Google it.  Or even better, youtube it. 

from princess party to glow in the dark gummy bears

What a weekend.  Fabulous.  Busy.  Awesome.  Exhausting.  Weekend.

Morgan had a wonderful birthday party yesterday.  The theme was Disney Princesses and she ran full force 109mph with a crazy look in her eye and didn't even slow down for cupcakes or presents.  Michael and I really enjoyed seeing all of our friends from 'back home' (where I grew up), and all of their little ones (also running around full force but not really with the crazed enthusiasm of my child).  The first few arrivals to the party were greeted with a 'welcome to my birthday party!' (which had to be translated from Morganish into English) Morgan was thrilled to see everybody and play with all of the little kids.  She wore a Rapunzel dress (and shoes...and necklace...) and was basically a streak of purple racing around the room.  We were catching whiffs of poopy diaper, so parents starting doing the diaper checks and relieved 'not mine!' statements, when my dad called the attention of the room to sing Happy Birthday to Morgan (who started singing 'Happy Birthday to MEEEE!!' before anybody had a chance to start singing).  I picked her up and held her while she listened to her birthday song...when I realized it was MY kid, the birthday girl, that had the toxic smell seeping out of her princess dress.  I gladly passed that job onto Mimi (my mom) who later told me that we caught it just in time; the loaded contents of Morgan's diaper were about to spill out.  THAT would have been an awesome party trick. 

Despite that stinky little incident, it was a wonderful party and a great day.  Morgan attacked her gifts as soon as we unloaded them into my parents' house.  She was thrilled with everything...kept saying 'oh I love it!' and wanted everything opened right then and there to play with.

Thank you to all of our friends for making it a special day. 

And thank you to my mom who took care of the food and decorations!

After being on my feet so much this weekend...decorating, socializing, undecorating...I realized today the return of the cankles (cue horror movie music)

What are cankles?  Fat ankles.  Usually caused during pregnancy.  Or from being overweight.  Or from falling down a flight of concrete stairs and spraining your ankle (not that that's ever happened to me...)  Swollen, puffy, uncomfortable.  I had cankles a few times during my pregnancy with Morgan, and haven't had them since....but they have returned.  One of those weird pregnancy quirks.  Like the inside of my elbows getting red and itchy.  And craving pineapple.

On a random note...I come from a family of airheads, and being home this weekend for the first time in a long time, and it being a really busy weekend, there have been a lot of crazy conversations which I HAVE to share...because I laugh at myself.  A lot.

Stupid Moment #1

My mom is a kindergarten teacher and she loves that Morgan is getting old enough to do more fun things picking up gummy bears with plastic tweezers.  And the gummy bears lit up!  And I was like 'WHOA!!  Those gummy bears light up!  Do they light up when you chew them?'  And mom stared at me like I was Sasquatch asking for a popcicle.  She was like 'uhh?  no...'  And I was like 'But seriously, they light up with the tweezers squeeze them!  Do they light your mouth up when you eat them?'  So then my loving sweet mother burst into laughter and said 'you dummy, it's the TWEEZERS that light up.'  And then, because she's so sweet, she said 'I'm telling Michael' and I was like 'NOOOO don't tell him!  He already things I'm stupid enough!'  So my sweet little mommy yelled for Michael to come into the room so I could explain to him that I thought there was such a thing as glow in the dark gummy bears that light up when you squeeze them (but how awesome would it be if there WERE such a thing?!) and he just shook his head and went back to watching his basketball game on ESPN.  But he makes sure that all of my friends, and his friends, and strangers we meet at the grocery store, know about my gummy bear story. 

Stupid Moment #2

My mom claimed to be in a carb coma after eating pancakes and insisted she needed steak.  So we decided to do Logan's takeout...and mom decided to call my brother Grant to see if he wanted anything (since he was planning to come visit after missing the princess party due to a logging job) so she tried to dial his number and said 'oh DANG IT I just called you' and I was like 'why?' and she said 'because when I pick up the phone and dial the first 3 digits of your phone number, it automatically dials your number' and I was like 'WHOA!  how did you program the phone to do that?' and she said 'No, I mean after I dial the first 3 digits [which are the same as my brother's] my fingers automatically dial your phone number' and I was like 'ohhhhh' and Michael was sitting with his face in his hands because we were making his brain hurt.

Stupid Moment #3

My brother Grant isn't feeling great today because he had a late night with his buddies, so my mom offered him some ice which Grant said 'oh that sounds good...where is the ice cream?' and I was like 'reaaalllyyyy?'  and mom said 'in the oven.'

Stupid Moment #4

My mom is folding laundry and realizes that she accidentally dried one of her good shirts instead of hanging it up to dry so she said 'oh dang it, I can't believe I dried this shirt.  I thought it was the shirt I was wearing; I can dry this one.'  to which I said 'um, you thought the shirt you are wearing is the one you were throwing into the dryer?' and then we both look at Michael who is looking at us like 'how in the world did I end up married into this family?'

And these are just typical conversations that happen among my family members.  Holidays are amazing, when we are all in the same room together and there are several of these conversations going on at the same time. 

Thursday, February 16, 2012


It's Thursday and I haven't had a shower since Sunday.  Neither has Michael.  Neither has Morgan.  This whole camping at home thing is really starting to get to me; especially since on top of not having a functioning full bathroom, I'm trying to plan Morgan's birthday party for this Saturday, and pack for a trip to my parents.  We were assured that the bathroom would be finished by Wednesday....Wednesday at 5 they finished putting tile down.  When they left, I asked Michael 'can I take a shower?' to which he laughed and replied 'if you can get from here to the tub without touching a single tile!' to which I had a low-blood-sugar-can't-take-having-my-house-torn-up-anymore meltdown complete with donkey kicks and hissing.  Okay I'm just kidding about the donkey kicks.  I really didn't have the energy for those.  But I did have a meltdown.

It looks lovely so far.  The jade green tiles barely hanging on for dear life on our shower walls are gone forever.  The workers said 'wow tile shouldn't come down this easily!'  ummmm YEAH, it took everything we had to keep the tile up on the wall this long!  The jade green tub has been properly fitted and covered with a bright new white tub liner (the contractor said the cast iron tub was in excellent condition and it would be a shame to replace it with modern flimsy tubs and we agreed).  The shower walls are now a bright white with LOTS of storage shelves and a brand new curved curtain rod waiting for my new shower curtain.  The plaster walls have been primed (and the section near the tub that used to crumble every time you touched it has been fixed) and have been painted a light aqua.  All of the old lighting is gone and has been replaced with 'can' (or 'bucket' as I call it) lighting recessed into the new dry wall ceiling.  The off centered ugly green sink with gold glitter counter top is gone forever and will be replaced with a lovely new white sink with granite counter top (centered and not strangely off to the left like the old sink) atop a new vanity.  The cheap medicine cabinet we purchased when we bought the house 2 years ago served it's purpose and will be replaced with a lovely new mirror.  The heated flooring has been installed as well as the beige tile, after 2 layers of old ugly vinyl were pulled up (some of it with a crow bar...that stuff wasn't getting up without a fight...kind of like me in the morning without Red Bull).  The white crown molding has been nailed up and white trim to match should follow sometime in the near future.  I love all the fresh new colors.  It's very 'spa.'

It's going to be so great.


Okay now that my eye has stopped twitching, I can continue to type.

I'm not angry.  I don't want to sound like a spoiled little princess stomping my feet over my bathroom remodel.  I am so excited and grateful that we were able to save up enough money to be able to do this to our modest home.  But we explained that we only have one shower/tub in the house (excluding the weird shower in the basement prison bathroom that is used to store containers of kitty litter) and that we had to go out of town Thursday; we were told that we would probably be without a shower for an entire day total and that everything should be finished by Wednesday.

We are suckers.

Honestly, our contractor is great.  He's our neighbor and he's such a nice guy.  (you like how I do that?  gripe a little bit and then come back with a bit of positivity?)  It's not his fault.  Monday when the workers didn't even show up until 10 and then left at 3, I knew we were in trouble.  The workers are doing a great job, but I feel like they need to, ya know, FINISH so this mama bear can bathe!

Every night at bedtime, Morgan and I have washed up in the sink in our bedroom bathroom.  Morgan loves it.  It's like camping in our house.  I wipe her down with a washcloth.  I *might* even be guilty of sticking her booty under the faucet.  Then I brush her teeth and comb her hair (which is amazingly cute and still smells good) and then it's bedtime (sometime in the following 2 hours...)

For myself....I seriously considered washing my hair in the kitchen sink.  But then I realized it was full of dirty dishes. 

I could have gone to our gym for a shower.  Or to a friend's house.  But I think I'm on strike.  If I can't shower in my house, then I don't wanna shower at all!!!! 

So this morning we got up at 8 to be dressed and ready for when the workers arrived.  Day 4 of Bathroomapocolype.  Morgan has already greeted the workers with her 'good job boys!' and 'be careful!' whenever they are walking up and down the basement stairs and 'they are fixing the bathroom!' for the 500th time.  Shiner (kitty) has been slinking around checking it all out.  Calvin (kitty) is under my feet, scared (and keeping my left foot warm). 

I'm packed up for our trip to my parent's, ready to take a shower as soon as I arrive.  'Hi mom & dad!  Here's your stinky granddaughter!  Okay I'm gonna go shower, cya later!'

My parents bathroom remodel took TWO DAYS.  sigh.

I'll post pictures of our before & after & after bathroom.  The 'before' being how the bathroom looked when we bought the house - it screamed 1969 with a few updates in 2001.  Wallpaper worthy of a Chinese restaurant restroom; reflective foil with some scene all over that I can't remember now.  HUGE unframed mirror over the sink.  Outdated scary lighting.  We took down the mirror.  Two of my friends drove up for the weekend to help us and they had the honor of pulling down that wallpaper.  We painted it Taupe 4, put up a small medicine cabinet and some brushed nickle towel racks (which we are reusing in this remodel), and Michael installed new lighting (as he did all through the house...I was impressed).  The toilet had been replaced about 10 years prior to us purchasing the house, so it was newer...but it was a handicap toilet which means it was really tall.  I'm almost 5'9" so I kind of liked it.  Michael is 2 inches shorter than me and he hated it.  So we are replacing the tall potty with a new potty (the one that has buttons - push 1 for liquids, 2 for solids....hahahahahaha).  The jade green tile and tub, the ugly green sink with glitter counter, the ugly cream vanity....ALL GONE NOW!!!  The original lovely vinyl flooring had been covered with newer lovely vinyl....ALL GONE NOW!!! 

....and now I'm back from a little break I had to take from my computer to clean pee from my couch (leaky diaper) and to dry the cat off twice....  as I was typing, I noticed a cat face peeking in through our sliding glass door and said " that OUR cat?!"  yep.  Shiner had managed to escape out of our basement door...through the open garage door...and ended up on our deck looking back in the house like 'heeeyyy!!  look at meeee!  I'm freeee!'  but he was also all poofed out like a cartoon Halloween cat because A)  he's not used to being outside, and B)  he's not used to being outside in the rain.  We got him back in the house and dried off....and 10 minutes later he was outside.  And just as Michael notices that he's missing again, Morgan starts saying 'ewwww...peepee....'


I finished cleaning the couch just in time to dry off the cat. 

And now the workers are putting up trim in the bathroom in our bedroom (one thing Michael never got around to...we don't really have the equipment for that) and I need to go make sure there are no bras or dirty diapers for them to step on....

Next back to 'normal' PLEASE.  Or invent a vodka that pregnant women can drink.

Monday, February 13, 2012

Meatzilla Burger & Boo Boo Cream

Bathroom remodel, or as one of my friends put it, 'bathroomapocalypse,' begin this morning with 2 workers and our contractor laying down a path of drop cloth (which by the way makes basement stairs very very tricky for klutzy people like me to try to walk down to get a bottle of water from basement dungeon while water is turned off).  As soon as the sound of tiles being smashed from the wall began, the cats scattered and Morgan stood with her face in her hands saying 'uh oh!!  messy messy messy!'  Michael (after working all night) was soon snoring on the couch regardless of the pounding and sawing coming from the hallway; he was however awakened by the sound of our fire alarm going even says (in a very calm reassuring voice) 'fire, fire.'  Good to know that the alarm wakes him up, even though he can sleep through bathroomapocalypse.  The fire alarm went off, by the way, because they were using a flame thrower thingy for new pipes in the tub area.

Morgan was so good during all of this.  We were basically quarantined to one side of our house...the side with the living room, dining room, and kitchen.  She usually spends her day running back and forth from her bedroom to the main section of the house, but today she calmly played in the living room...other than the times we had to drag her out of the bathroom...she seriously is more curious than a cat, and by the way it didn't take long for the kitties to have the courage to investigate, I told Michael to do a kitty head count after the workers left because I don't wake to wake up at 3am to muffled meows coming from the wall (the idea of a cat getting walled in makes me laugh way more than it should).

After the workers left, Morgan had her first catastrophe of the day.  She tried to run (full speed) into the kitchen while holding a yard stick horizontally.  FAIL.  The yard stick was wider than the door and snapped into pieces, which bounced back and hit Morgan in the chest.  Not only did it scare her to death but she got pretty scratched up.  She cried and cried and moaned and cried.  Big tears and lots of snot and garbled 'I got hurt' and 'I need boo boo cream.'  So we went through about 15 minutes of 'boo boo cream' treatments and bandaids and cold paper towels, and even busted out a 'boo boo binky' (keep pacifiers in the fridge, whenever they get hurt, stick one in the mouth to stop the noise).  Even after eating all of the frosting off a cupcake she was still upset and ended up climbing on my lap and fell asleep...I enjoy having her fall asleep on me.  She's so snuggly.  But now she'll probably be up until midnight since she had a nap, and Michael and I are pretty much going to be ready for bed by 9 tonight.

After she 'slept it off' (the boo boo drama) we decided to run to Lowe's for the 134th time this week because I FINALLY decided on a wall color, and we needed a few other things.  Plus we needed to walk around a bit after sitting on our couch all day watching men hard at work (it's exhausting).  After Lowe's we started talking about dinner.  We both decided we needed some beef.  The conversation was a little insane and went a little like this:

me:  I need beef in my belly!

Michael:  You need a triple burger.

me:  ew.

Michael:  I need a....meatzilla burger.

me:  A meatzilla burger?

Michael:  Yes.  No buns.  Just a huge burger in between two steaks.

me:  ew.

Michael:  Yeah, that is sorta gross.  But wouldn't that be awesome to see on the menu?

me:  Maybe you should open a restaurant that serves burgers and you could have the meatzilla.

Michael:  And the meatasaurus rex.

me:  Served with a side of chicken fries.

Michael:  Okay, we're going to Wendy's.

me:  Yeah....a baked potato sounds good.

And now my entire back is covered in princess stickers so I think it's time to wrap this up.  On the bright side, we have no bathtub (or shower) until probably Wednesday, so no battles over who's going to give Morgan a bath today.  Tomorrow shall be one stinky Valentine's Day in our house.  Happy VD to everybody!

Thursday, February 9, 2012

potty pants

I'm typing this with one eye open because the other one is sleeping.  I'm so exhausted.  I'm still fighting a terrible cold, and all of this sneezing, coughing, and nose blowing is exhausting...not to mention the 'sprint to the bathroom for a wad of toilet paper before your nose leaks all over your floor but not too fast because you're pregnant and sudden movement might make you pee your pants.'

Plus last night around 4:30 (okay, technically I suppose that's this morning...) while rotating from my right side to my left side and waiting for the right side of my nose to empty into the left side, I heard Morgan growling in bed.  What the heck?  I never heard another noise so I assumed she was sleep growling, and by 5 I was falling back asleep only to suddenly wake up to Michael saying 'what are you doing baby?' and the next thing I know I open my eyes to an almost-3-year-old standing beside the bed with 2 blankets and a stuffed platypus.  Michael and I both go up and followed her to the living room where she made herself a little nest on the couch and then patted the spot next to her for me to join her. 


I told Michael to go back to bed.  He needed to rest up for his upcoming 4 nights of work.  I tried to snuggle next to Morgan on the couch and eventually she went back to sleep.  I didn't.  I was somewhere in between daydreaming and snoring with my eyes open.  But I never actually went to sleep.  Around 6:20 I tried to sneak Morgan back to her bed but she instantly woke up, grabbed her blankets, and went back to the couch.  Not that I blame her; her crib mattress is hard.  It might be time for a 'big bed.' 

But anyways, last night while Michael and I were watching a Face Off marathon (that show is so cool!) I was catching up on The Bloggess and her latest post was about a conversation between her and her husband it was hilarious.  I read it out loud to Michael.  It was something about inventing robot tigers.  Michael was like 'we have conversations like that, why don't you blog them?' and I agreed, but honestly I can't remember half of what we talk about, just snippets of funny stuff like Michael yelling 'stop throwing your platypus, you keep hitting the lamp!' or Michael flopping down on the couch saying 'you know our cat isn't just a regular cat, he's a kitty bitch.'

I do have a lovely life experience from the other evening to share.  I posted about it on Facebook and had about 30+ comments from friends offering advice, sympathy, and laughter.

The whole potty training experience with Morgan has been frustrating.  She has the speech delay, and trying to potty train a kid that can't communicate very well is like trying to house break a Dachshund.  Her language skills get better every single day.  With potty training we've tried letting her run around naked, reminding her to pee in the potty (which is in the's an awesome addition to the decor).  She has surprised me a couple of times by going to her potty without me reminding her.  But honestly, I think it's sort of gross to have a naked toddler running around my house, climbing all over the couch and sitting on my lap.  So I've been trying 'potty pants' -- that's what we call underwear.  I hate calling them 'panties' on a toddler.  And underwear is hard for her to say, so they are 'potty pants' - which stands for 'panties you wear when you use the potty, not to be mistaken for panties you potty in.'  She LOVES potty pants.  She begs to wear them and she's quite picky; she might be in the mood to wear Belle...or Hello Kitty...or just depends on whom she feels like pottying at that time.  I try to take her to the potty every hour...but she's starting to fight me.  She runs and screams and ends up peeing in her potty pants (and on a peice of furniture or on the carpet...).  I am trying not to make a huge issue out of the potty since she's fighting it, but she begs to wear potty pants.  We have the same conversation over and over:

Me:  Morgan, you can wear potty pants if you pee in the potty.  Okay?

Morgan:  Octonauts!!

Me:  No Octonauts until you listen to mommy.  Do you want a diaper?

Morgan:  No diapy!

Me:  Okay, then listen to me; you can wear potty pants if you pee in the potty.  Okay?

Morgan:  Yes!!  ....Octonauts!


Two evenings ago, Morgan was sitting on Michael's lap with a pile of Baby Animal magazines (her birthday gift from my aunt, Morgan loves them!) and all of a sudden Michael jumped up yelling.  I ran in the room to see what happened and knew it was bad...Michael's eyes had that lightning bolt look he gets when he's angry.  He was holding a crying kid out in front of him and yelling 'BAD MORGAN!' and I still didn't understand what happened until I realized his whole right side was soaked.  I tried not to snicker.  I mean come on, he got PEED's funny!  ...until I realized the couch got peed on as well.  Then I was angry.  Michael hissed and grumbled while he changed his clothes and I cleaned up the kid and busted out the cleaner for the couch.  Michael came stomping back in saying 'no more potty pants until she pees in the potty!' and once again I'm trying not to laugh because a grown man yelling the words 'potty pants' in anger is me anyways.  So then I posted on Facebook about how all of my mommy friends that suggested I just give up the diapers cold turkey and go for underwear could please come help me clean my urine stained furniture and calm my pee drenched husband I would forgive them for that awesome parenting tip.

So anyways, today Morgan found a clean pair of potty pants in the laundry.  I heard Michael saying 'go ask mommy' and she came running in with a pair of Sleeping Beauty potty pants saying 'pweeease mommy?  I lub potty pants!' so I gave in.  The cuteness is just too much for me to fight.  And today we have a new approach...chocolate chips.  She loves them.  So every time she pees in the potty she gets chocolate chips.  Now the only problem is she's trying to pee on the potty as much as possible and she'll be on a chocolate high until 3am.    *high five* to self for awesome parenting skills. 

I appreciate all of the tips and advice from my mommy friends that have 'been there, done that' with the potty training but I think the best advice is 'she will go when she's ready.'  And honestly, if she's still in diapers when she's 16 I won't have to worry about any boys following her around, so there's a bright side to the situation.

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Kool Aid Pie

So last night I knew something was wrong because I was falling asleep on the couch by 10:30 instead of reading in my bed until midnight.  I woke up several times through the night not able to breathe through my nose and wanting to stick a fork down my throat to scratch it because it was so itchy (but hurt too).  I gave Michael the stink-eye (while he was asleep) because he just got over a cold.  He apologized this morning when I sprinted to the bathroom for toilet paper before my nose ran all over my face (I'm too old to work that look).

But today was Michael's first day off work in like 2 years and we are having our bathroom remodeled, completely redone.  Don't be jealous.  The plaster wall is caving in, the tiles are moldy, and there's always a weird smell.  This is why Michael works a ton of overtime...1) for home repairs & 2) because I swear Morgan and I drive him crazy and he would rather be at work (letting Morgan and I drive each other crazy instead).

So we had to go to Lowes to pick out our new bathroom stuff...vanity, sink top, toilet, tile, shower curtain (yes, contrary to what Michael thinks, a shower curtain is VERY important, it determines the new paint and everything!)  And then we decided to go to Kroger.  By this time it's 2:30ish and I haven't eaten since 9:30ish and that english muffin with peanut butter was not holding out any longer.  I'm diabetic and pregnant.  Mama needs food!  Being in Kroger was torture.  But I can't pull off yelling 'chippies!' and ripping into a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos like Morgan can.  By the way, Smart Water was 67 cents a bottle when you buy 15!!!  *happy dance!*

But see...I'm so distracted!!!  This blog is called KOOL AID PIE.

My BFF since 1996 is Paul.  We've been through a lot together...losing friends, losing family, dealing with life struggles and choices (like whether to eat Chinese or Mexican) and honestly there should be a sitcom based on our texts.  I can't remember the last time we actually chatted on the phone.  Sometimes I get a wild hair and call him but it's been a while.  But we text all the time, 99% of the time about the most random stuff ever.

He's been bragging about this Kool Aid Pie that he makes.  My pregnant stomach is tired of hearing about it, so I got the recipe the other day.  Today we were in Kroger and I decided to make that pie.  So I went to the Jello section and texted Paul 'I'm at Kroger and don't have my recipe, what do I need to Jello Pie?' 
He texted back 'LOL Kool Aid Pie?' and I totally disregarded the Kool Aid part of that text and kept looking at Jello.  He texted me back:  condensed milk, cool whip, 1 packet kool aid any flavor, graham cracker crust.. 

So I selected strawberry Jello.

Then in the freezer section I texted him 'where are those pie crusts?' and he answered 'in baking goods.  ya know, flour...sugar...'

oh yeah.

And he added 'condensed milk is there too.'  But I already knew we had some milk stuff at home from making fudge (those of you that actually cook can already name my 2nd mistake).

Paul also noted 'you really can't go wrong though.  it's simple and soooo goooood.'

And I'll skip through a few of the texts that consist of making fun of some people while we are checking out...and then some discussion about stuff we picked out for our new bathroom.  I mean, I'm seriously pumped, we are getting a toilet that has buttons...push 1 for liquids and 2 for solids....hahahahahahaha I'll laugh every time I flush....because I'm like a 3rd grader.

So here is the rest of our texting conversation (I might have to omit some curse words):

me:  gonna try to make that pie.

me:  OMG I bought jello instead of kool aid!  LMAO!!  oops.

me:  I dunno if it's gonna set up.

Paul:  you bought it ever after I sent you the ingredients?  LOL  hmmmm it should set up with the condensed milk but not sure what it will taste like.

Paul:  you don't add anything.  you just sprinkle power in with cool whip and condensed milk.

me:  it's very runny.

me:  I'm a dumb(donkey)!!

Paul:  you didn't add water or anything right?  because at no point should it be runny.  condensed milk and cool whip alone should be almost thick before pouring in the crust.  I just sprinkle in koolaid powder on top of freshly dumped milk and cool whip and stir.

Paul:  I always get Kroger brand of this condensed milk.  fat free.  (sends picture)

me:  (bad word)

me:  yes I used condensed milk , cool whip, jello, and it was very runny.

Paul:  take a pic.  I want to see what it looks like.

(I send a pic...and check my garbage)

me:  (bad word) I used evaporated milk.

Paul  I'm trying not to laugh.  Did you even look at what I sent?  sorry, I know it's frustrating.

Paul:  it reminds me of Rachel on Friends trying to make the trifle for Thanksgiving dinner.  she accidentally made half an English trifle and half a Shepherd's Pie.  LOL

me:  I can't cook!!!!

So I've made my BFF laugh.  and had to admit to my husband that I totally screwed up a recipe with 4 ingredients.  And eventually my mom will read this blog and call me and scold me while laughing. In my defense I had low blood sugar today.  I honestly don't even remember if I took my diabetic meds this morning.  And this bathroom thing is distracting.  And pregnancy makes me stupid.

I don't enjoy cooking.  I do enjoy eating though.  Michael is a great cook.  We just don't usually agree on many of the same foods.  He doesn't enjoy fruit or veggies, I adore them.  I don't enjoy meat, he adores eating anything that used to have a face.

I'm about to go check on my pie in the freezer.  Wish me luck.

Sunday, February 5, 2012

Super Bowl Spa Day

So I was feeling a little bummed out today because it's the Super Bowl.  And all of my friends in WV are going to Super Bowl parties.  It's not that I understand or enjoy football, but I do enjoy friends, alcoholic beverages, and food.  Michael is working until 7 and Morgan and I have been hanging out watching Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs and trying on princess dresses (my house has a layer of glitter right now). 

During pregnancy my skin does some crazy stuff.  It gets dry and itchy and oily and breaks out and turns red and basically is just angry all the time.  So today I decided to treat myself to a little 'home spa.'  I love home remedies.  One of my dreams (along with playing banjo in a bluegrass band and working for NASA in the 1960s) is to open a cutesy little store where I sell my crochet goodies and home remedies like scrubs and lotions.  I especially love scrubs.  I make my own using sea salt, honey, olive oil, and essential oils.

Today I googled 'homemade oatmeal face masks' and browsed at the information.  I dug out my 'ye olde medicine bowle from days of yore' which I also mix up my scrubs in (and sometimes eat popcorn out of) and measured out a bit of oatmeal and squirted a bunch of Kroger brand honey into.  I went to the bathroom and used my hands to mix.


Gloopy honey oatmeal stuck all over my hands and would not come off.  I added a little water and it helped.  I don't know why I didn't think of olive oil, it would have helped the mixture stick so much better than water.  But ya know, baby brain takes over. 

I tried to apply the mixture to my face.  Disaster.  3/4 of whatever I smeared on fell off into the floor.  And then I stepped in it.  And then Morgan came to investigate why mommy was shrieking and started flipping out because mommy's face was falling off into the floor.  With a towel held under my face to catch droppings, I ran to the kitchen and threw some cookies at Morgan and hit 'replay' for Clody with a Chance of Meatballs.  She immediately zoned out and I was able to continue my amazing spa disaster. 

I decided the best thing to do would be to jump in the shower and just use the mixture as a scrub.  I rubbed oatmeal/honey all over my skin and then washed it off...and the bottom of the tub looked like vomit.  Milky water with flakes of half dissolved oatmeal.  I started dry heaving with flashback of Morgan vomiting curdled formula and baby oatmeal into my hair.  I quickly rinsed it all off and finished the shower.

But now I have to clean out the bathtub.  We have one of those covers that stops chunky stuff from going down the drain.  Chunky stuff like homemade oatmeal spa treatments. 

And I have dried oatmeal in my hair.  And my armpit.

Happy Super Bowl day everybody!! 

Friday, February 3, 2012

Little not for cookie.

So the beginning of November I found out I was pregnant with Deuce (baby #2).  Michael was working (because he's ALWAYS working) and I went to Kroger and bought a pregnancy test on my way home from the gym.  The combination of anxiety and a can of Red Bull caused me to graze the side of the garage door while parking, I threw Morgan in the bath tub, took a deep breath, and unwrapped the stick of doom (aka pregnancy test).  Digital letters flashed 'pregnant' and sealed my fate.  I took a picture with my phone and sent it to Michael (at work).  It's amazing how unspecial having baby #2 is...he texted me back something along the lines of 'hmmm' so then I texted my closest friends the picture of the test and immediately received a waterfall of texts like 'OMG!' and 'WHYYY?' and a few 'congrats!' 

Then I called my parents.  I tried to be all cute about it and said 'Morgan is going to be a big sister!' but that just totally confused both of them because it was after 9 which is apparently the time their brains fall asleep for the day.  My mom was like 'how did that happen' and my dad was like 'how do you already know it's a girl?'

*bangs head against wall*

Then I texted both of my brothers who were excited because another grandbaby from me meant less pressure on them to have kids.  Apparently they're smarter than me after all.  Sigh.

At my first doctor visit I got to answer all the lovely questions like 'is your husband the father of this child' (um, one man in my life is more than enough) and 'have you ever tested positive for HIV?' (no but I'm addicted to cupcakes) and 'do you take any street drugs?' (does Red Bull count?)

I don't know why they waste their time asking all of these questions because then they send you down the hall for all of the blood work to check for HIV and STD's and cupcake addictions.

I loathe needles.  That (and the fact that I can't stand smelly gross people) is what kept me out of the medical field.  But I knew that once this blood work was complete, it would be awhile before I would need more done.

I was wrong.

At the next doctor appointment, one of the doctors (whom I had never met, but I told them I wasn't picky and I would see whomever was available) came into the room and said 'have you ever had a blood transfusion?'

say whaaaa?

My first round of blood work showed that I am making an antibody for something called Little C.  I had never heard of it in my life.  But apparently there's something called Little C, Big D, Grouchy E, you get the picture?  This doctor confessed that in 40 years of practice she has never had a case.  Awesome.  She knew the basic information, which is always worst case scenario, and sent me home thinking I was going to die.

Not really, but I was a little scared.

What is Big C?  Well honestly I need my biochemistry husband here to help me explain it, but he's at work (duh).  Basically, my body is creating antibodies for this Little C, and if they get stronger, they can attack the baby's red blood cells causing anemia, and if the anemia is really bad, the baby will need a blood transfusion before birth, or will have to be born early for one.

How's that for a run-on sentence?

Michael and I (and a few of our friends) did some online research and there's not really very much out there; basically just the same stuff my doctor told me. 

I had asked the doctor why it was showing up now, and not during the first pregnancy, and she said that during my pregnancy with Morgan, her blood mixed with mine and caused mine to create these antibodies.  Each pregnancy they will get stronger.

Sheesh Morgan, if you wanted to be an only child, why didn't you just say so?

Michael and I both had to be tested for Little C to see where it came from.  Michael was NOT thrilled at all about having blood work done (mwaahahahahahaha).  We went together to the hospital where I've had blood work done for years (for my diabetes and thyroid issues...that's another blog) and I helped him sign in and showed him where to go.  We took turns watching Morgan run circles in the waiting room of the lab while each of us had blood work done.  The lady looked at our prescriptions and scratched her head.  She'd never seen a test for Little C come through her lab and had no idea what to do.  Apparently certain tests require certain vials to be used (I'm learning so much...) so after a couple of phone calls she figured out what she needed to do and out came the needles.  6 vials of blood from both of us.  I'm really proud that neither of us passed out or threw up.  To celebrate, we went to a fantastic Chinese restaurant for dinner.

At my next appointment, I found out that we both tested positive for Little C, but the odds of us both being carriers was really slim.  Michael's levels were higher than mine so my theory was that is came from Michael and through Morgan, my blood is forever tainted.  My theory was confirmed after our visit to a 'high risk pregnancy specialist' in Pittsburgh.  He was such a nice doctor.  Very patient, answered all of our questions, explained things very well, set our minds at ease.  He said the antibodies were so very low, that the chances of them ever being a threat would be very slim.  And if the levels got higher, that I would have to start going to my appointments there instead of my normal doctors, so they could do ultrasounds to monitor the baby's blood levels.  And even then, the chances of the baby getting anemia to the point of needing a blood transfusion was slim.  It was good news all around.  We celebrated with Chick-Fil-A for lunch.

BUT...I still have to have blood work every 4 weeks to check the antibody levels.  And now that I know this is Michael's fault, maybe I can get a cruise or something out of it...

Every time I have blood work done, the lab tech is totally confused about what to do.  Last night it took half our of me sitting in that chair, fighting off the lightheaded feeling, while the lab tech tried to figure out what to do.  Once she found out, I asked her what I could do to help the next time, and the time after that, and the time after that.  I just need to remember - purple, pink, red.  1 vial of each.

Last night I also had some screening done for Down's Syndrome and other disorders (since I'm 33, a little old to be breeding apparently) so it was 5 vials of blood...and even though I had my head turned away so I couldn't see the blood leaving my body, she laid each one down where I saw it from the corner of my eye.  It's rather disturbing to see all of that blood, knowing it's supposed to be IN me and not in a little vial.  But I didn't throw up or pass out.  I'm getting tough in my old age.

The good news is...Michael and I should never really donate our blood.  It's tainted.  It would transfer Little C to whomever receives it, which really isn't a big deal unless they end up pregnant.  I mean they would still gladly take our O- and B+ but honestly, how can we risk passing this along to anybody?  ....yes, I'm looking for excuses out of donating blood.

So husband and my kid have a pact to try to kill me...physically and mentally.

Thursday, February 2, 2012

water babies

I love astrology.  I can thank my mom for sparking that interest.  Even both of my redneck brothers buy into their signs and what all they mean - I love it.  Nothing funnier than a brother decked out in camouflage throwing a dead deer into the back of his truck while asking 'so am I fighting with this person a lot because our signs aren't compatible?'

I'm a Sagittarius.  I come from a family of 5 people...4 are fire signs.  1 Leo, 3 Sagittarius.  The baby brother is a Capricorn, an earth sign.  And he thinks the rest of us are crazy.

So I ended up marrying a Cancer...a crab.  The archer and the crab.  It's been interesting; Cancer is a water sign.  Water puts out fire.  But most of the time that can be a good thing - I tend to get a little out of control with my temper and blow everything out of proportion, then here comes Michael and quickly puts out that roaring fire. 

Morgan is a Pisces, another water sign.  And now Deuce (baby #2) is going to be a Cancer. 

I'm going to be surrounded by water people?!  2 crabs and a fish baby!  TOO much water to put out my fire isn't a good thing.  My fire makes me who I am. 

Whenever I talk about any of this with Michael, he rolls his eyes.  It's like I just told him I saw a unicorn run through the back yard. 

I can't help it, it's fascinating.

We were watching some special about the universe yesterday, and when they started talking about Jupiter I said 'hey!  that's my ruling planet!  know what yours is?  THE MOON!!  HAHAHAHA' 

Once again I got 'the look' from him.  Like I told him I believe in Big Foot.

He's very rational about everything in life.  That's actually part of being a Cancer.  They are very grounded, they love being at home, they are close to their families.  Sagittarius are feisty, dreamy, want to roam the earth, and get excited about everything.  And we want to learn everything.  I want to learn Irish dancing.  My mom wants to learn how to hunt with a falcon.  My brother (not the Capricorn brother, the Sag brother) wants to learn blacksmithing.

Last year when the experts threatened to mess with the zodiac chart, my mom called me with a 'HAHAHAHAHA you're not a Sag anymore!!  you're the Ophiuchus!' and I was like 'WHAAT!!!' I mean thank God I never got the archer symbol tattooed on my cheek or anything.  I was as devastated as they day the experts claimed Pluto was no longer a planet (Pluto will ALWAYS be a planet to me).  My BFF was like 'wooo zodiac moving party!  bring chips and dip!' and even my anti-astrology husband was like 'I'm not sharing my sign with these new people!  they are nothing like me!'  Then it came out that there's a whole different zodiac in the other hemisphere (um, the one we don't live in) and it's all good.

Astrology is awesome.  I know a lot of people don't buy into it, but it's been around for thousands of years. 

Don't mess with my sign.

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

go the *BLEEP* to SLEEP!

Morgan, my almost-3-year-old, has decided that she's totally over this whole sleeping all night thing.  Naps?  Forget it.  She goes 80mph from the time she gets up until she crashes at night...which means she should sleep pretty hard, right?  Nope.  Not lately.  I rarely stay up 'late' - I'm usually in bed about an hour after Morgan is dumped into her bed.  Lately I will sleep about 2-3 hours and then I hear her little voice and I just want to put my face in my pillow and scream.  Instead, I shake my pregnancy induced carpal tunnel hands back awake (it's usually good to have feeling in your hands when you're dealing with babies) and go to her room where I try the whole soothing routine of patting her on the back saying 'it's okay, go back to sleep.'  But she starts to sigh angrily and kick at her blankets like they are irritating her.  I know she wants to come to our bed, but I can't give in too easily.  I was in her room for half an hour until I accepted failure and said 'come on stinky...' Morgan said 'yippee!' and when I picked her up she gave me an enormous hug and said 'mooommmyyyy' in a tone that says 'I love you so so so much for letting me boss you around.'  So I make her little nest in our bed, texted Michael who was working yet another night shift to warn him that his side of the bed was being invaded once again, and tried to settle back down to sleep when Morgan quietly says 'sippy?'


Yet another thing I'm trying to break her off.  It's bad enough she's waking up, but she won't go back to sleep without a sippy cup of milk.  I know she's only going to be a baby for a little while.  What's that country song by Darius Rucker, 'It Won't Be Like This For Long?'  Yeah, I've listened to the lyrics, and I know it's true.  I'll blink and she's be a teenager trying to sneak out her window (totally different reason for me not to sleep)

But I told her no sippy.  She stuck out that bottom lip (as she's been doing since she was a day old) and started to whimper.  I almost caved in, but I figured she would eventually fall asleep.

I was so wrong.

For an hour she sighed.  She kicked.  She rotated around the bed.  At 4:30am after being up for an hour, I couldn't take it anymore.  I screamed at her (thank goodness don't live in our apartment anymore--it probably would have even scared the old grouchy people that lived next to us awake) and it made her cry.  So then I felt really guilty.  I went to the kitchen and poured some sippy.  She drank part of it and then insisted on snuggling with it.  She does that sometimes, it's really annoying.  I'm always stressed out that milk is going to leak out and I'll wake up covered in roaches that are attracted to the smell of milk in my bed.  But trying to take it from her is like trying to take a toy from a Chihuahua.  I have to wait for her to start falling asleep and then sneak it out of her arms.  Seriously, can't she just have a teddy bear addiction instead?

Finally sometime around 5 we both went to sleep.  I sent more texts to my husband; some not so nice ones like 'I'm tired of being here alone with her every single night!' like he can help having to work night shifts and like he enjoys climbing in bed after the sun comes up.  But that's just how I am...I'm mouthy and I have to vent to somebody before I explode.  My entire family is like that, especially the women.  I've been told that the women in my family have a bite.  One time my dad told my mom that he wished she had a rattle on her tail so he would know when she was going to strike.  I laughed for 2 years after he said that.

But don't feel too sorry for me; we slept in until 10 today.  At least I didn't have to get up at 6 to go to work.  I couldn't imagine dealing with 200 teenagers after a night like last night.  I would be as friendly as a honey badger.  So yes I am very blessed that I don't have a paying job; just this full time job of being a mommy with a 37 inch tall boss that is more demanding than anybody I've ever worked for.

During the 1 & 1/2 hour of sleepless time with Morgan last night, I kept thinking about the book 'Go the F*ck to Sleep.'  If you haven't heard of it, go to YouTube and search for it, and make sure you click the link where Samuel L Jackson reads it aloud.  Yes the language is offensive, but that makes it even more funny (to me anyways).

I woke up this morning hoping that Michael felt sorry enough for me to bring home McDonald's biscuits and gravy...nope.  Had to eat my oatmeal with almonds, blueberries, honey, cinnamon, and almond milk healthy breakfast and now I'm sick.  Go figure.