In Which I Show You How to Get Your Money's Worth

Ry's surgery went swimmingly this morning, from prepping her at home to gasing her to sleep, right up until it was time for her to wake up from the drug-induced coma. That, alas, took not a little kicking and screaming, but we made it out and home and all is well (for the next hour, I mean -- not wanting to jinx myself, God, okay?).

Jax's attack of Fifth's has now developed into something much more violently disgusting, hivish, and all around pissed-off looking. He's also been tugging at the old ear, which is.not.supposed.to.happen.anymore, right, Mr. ENT?, so since we're here and all, can you please just look in his ears and make sure it's not what I think it is? Thanks ever so much.

Ears all clear, now back to the rash. Did I mention how it has grown arms, legs, antennae and all? Well, it has, more or less. Did I also mention that Shawn couldn't get out of his meetings today to be there for Ry's surgery (though he did sneak out for a bit to see her in recovery), so Menana and Big Daddy drove down to lend support. Did I also mention that they are the most bestest Menana and Big Daddy EVER, and were kind enough to run Jax across the city to his pediatrician to have that rash checked out while I waited for Ry to wake up from surgery?

Not surprisingly, the DOCS have (say it with me now), "No idea what it could be", so they just plugged him with Benadryl and sent them on their way. Fine by me. He'll sleep, she'll sleep, I'll pretend to sleep, and we'll all live to see another day (again, not trying to jinx anything Big Guy, don't get your panties in a wad).

Happy Memorial-Father's Day!

In another of my excellent mothering moves, I've managed to move Father's day up a few weeks, and have totally mangled the meaning of Memorial Day for the kids.

A while back, Shawn said he wanted a new golf club for Father's Day, seeing as how he managed to lose his during one of his golfing "expeditions".

Faced with a 3-day weekend alone with the kiddos (aka: desperately searching for "fun and meaningful" activities), I thought I'd be proactive and go ahead and get Shawn's gift early. So there we are, traipsing around the sporting goods store, searching for just the right club. I was so proud -- I'd done my research, I knew just what brand he used, I'd brought my coupon -- I was NOT AT ALL INTIMIDATED.

I let Ryan pick between the 2 identical clubs, and we were off.

Here's where the MOTY part comes: I then explain to Ry that "Daddy is bummed about never being able to spend a holiday weekend with us, so we are gonna give him an early Father's Day surprise, and give him his club today, because although this weekend we celebrate Memorial Day which honors all the war veterans who have fought so hard for our freedom, we're giving him his Father's Day present, so it's not really Father's Day, it's Memorial Day, but when you give him the gift, say 'Happy Early Father's Day!' Okay???"

*vacant stare*

Cut to the delivery of the gift, and Shawn's uuber-surprised response:

Him: "What is this?"
Me: "It's a Driver! It's the one you needed, remember?" *DUH*
Him: "No. I lost my putter. I need a putter." *DUMBASS*
(pause)
Me: "Oh. Whatever."

A Perfect Day: The Recipe

1 Stay-At-Home-Mom
1 Working Daddy
1 4 yr old Goddess
1 1 yr old Fireball
1 Dozen Donuts
1 Set of Grandparents
1 pool (w/waterslide)
2 Naps


Begin by waking up SAHM 30 minutes later than normal with grandparents delivering dozen donuts for kids.
Wake up kids, eat donuts, visit with grandparents.

Send grandparents on their way, send Fireball to bed for morning nap, let sleep 2 hours.

While Fireball sleeps, set Goddess in front of TV to stew while using SAHM to mop the floors and clean children's playroom.

Take Fireball out of bed, stuff Goddess and Fireball with more donuts, dress in swim gear, set aside.

Drive to pool, soak up sun, swim, slide down water slide, cheer multiple times when Goddess does same By HERSELF. Total outdoor play will last 2 hours, during which not even your spotted mystic tan will manage to bum you out.

Pack up car, drive Goddess and Fireball home, re-stuff with donuts, set aside for 2 hour nap until Working Daddy returns to shouts of joy and peals of laughter.

Dessert??

I am now watching Bravo's 100 Funniest Movies, drinking Shiraz on the couch in my soanking-clean living room, surfing the internet in blissful, blissful SILENCE.

Mother's-Of-The-Year Unite

Am I the only person in the world who feels just a little sorry for Britney Spears?

I mean, c'mon, kids, parenting isn't the easiest gig around to begin with, but can you even imagine what it would be like to do it before millions of glaring eyes, on you like a hawk, waiting for you to make one.false.move. (like, you know, giving the baby a swig of beer or something, or putting a little of the Johnny in the bottle for a midnight tottie). What? She hasn't done that yet? heh. Just wait.

Who in their parental mind has never struggled with harnessing your kid in those goddammed baby seats, only to worry that the purple bulges of baby flesh spilling from beneath the safety belts may in fact signal too much tightness, but being too afraid to loosen them, because even as they are, you can kinda fit your pinky under the belt, and that's not supposed to happen, but we'll just cover it with a blanket and not say anything...

Who wouldn't have trouble walking straight while carrying that hideous orange baseball hat hiding a baby; worried that maybe, just maybe, your bra and panties are hanging out for all these photogs to see? Not to mention, her handlers haven't exactly helped by creating that nice little obstacle course for her to follow. PLUS, those jelly-wedge-espadrilles are a bitch to walk in even without all the rigamaroo (see, maybe barefeet wasn't such a bad idea).

And let's not forget the trials of enduring post-partum depression while pregnant and supporting a grease-monkey baby factory. Christ on a cracker, the girl should be a candidate for Sainthood.

That, or I am TOTALLY way more in the running for MOTY than I'd originally thought.

Happy Birthday Day Lea-Lea!!

Where in the World

Is my freakin' digital camera? It's old, silver, and the battery hatch cover-thingy is held on with tape. Should anyone see it, please return. I have several end-of-year celebrations to capture digitally, so as to be able to display for you fine folks, and instead I'm over there clicking away with my $4.00 disposable number. Otherwise, you would now be viewing Ryan's right butt cheek as she ceremoniously walked up to the Olympic-model grandstand to accept her medal in her red and white showgirl spangled leotard, or the before-and-after of Jax's scalping today.

It also doesn't help my ego at all that we are the ONLY parents without a Nikon/Cannon/Sony XLS Series 2647 WITH 10-pound zoom lens attachment. Not that our ghetto-fabulous digital number is all that, but at least it's not plastic.

P.S. An update on the whole health-thing: Ry's CBC was normal, just an unusual case of Fifth's. Not sure what the hard mass in my eye is, but it doesn't hurt that much anymore, although I am seeing a neurologist tomorrow for the burning/tingling/numbness in my left sback/shoulder/arm & hand. As for Shawn, we don't know when the cataract surgery will be, but we are certain it will be this year, because after Ry's $1220 out-of-pocket operation, the goddamn deductable has been met, and we're gonna milk it, baby.

Oh My-Lanta!

Holy Mary Mother of Poo, we have had one CRAPPY weekend! And yes, I am speaking literally. (For those of you new to the site, I enjoy discussing my family's trials and tribulations regarding poo, and I strongly urge the rest of you to do the same -- it's very liberating!)

Right. So, hide your disgust for the time being, sit back and enjoy my shitty stories.

Shitty Story #1: Jax crapped 2 blueberries. WHOLE. Round and juicy and perfectly plump. I.am.astounded. I can barely rinse blueberries off without practically pulverizing them, and here he is, fully digesting the little suckers and they come out perfect. That is one superior pooping machine, folks. Color me PROUD.

Shitty Story #2: Ryan is currently on Augmentin(aka: Aug-makes-her-poo), which, say it with me Moms, CREATES HORRIBLE DIARRHEA, hence the nickname. So there we are at the bookstore, when she suddenly gasps, "Mom! I have to poop!" No stranger to the effects of the evil antibiotic, I rush her to the potty immediately. She does her business, et al, and we walk out to search for more books. Not 30 seconds later, she's dashing for the bathroom again, and because I'm wielding the monster stroller, I don't catch up to her before she makes it to the potty. As I open to bathroom door to check on her, she starts shrieking and I think twice about going in. Seriously, nothing good can come of a pre-schooler shrieking in the bathroom.

Anyway, it turns out our poopy princess was not able to make it to the potty in time, and thus had shat (hee) all over EVERYTHING.The toilet, the floor, her panties, her skirt, her shoes. At this point, she is on the verge of freaking out, so while I'd love nothing better than to freak out myself, I breathe deeply (though not too deeply, you understand), and set out to clean up the mess, assuring her it will all be okay, all the while wondering what the hell I'm gonna do about getting her out of the store. We have no extra clothing, and her shirt comes nowhere close to covering her nether regions. What to do, what to do???? I know! I'll check our traveling toy box/cafeteria/trash can, and maybe there will be something in there. So (here comes the MOTY part) I lock Ry and Jax (in monster stroller, of course) in the handicap stall, and run out to the car. Now don't go freakin' out on me, y'all -- this is Half-Price Books we're talking about, not B&N. The parking lot is practically 2 feet from the bathroom door.

So I'm at the car, searching, searching, sear-- OOOH! I'll check the trunk! Woohoo!!! We have a winner folks, one large Disney Store shopping bag, just large enough to wrap around that cute Tiny Heiny. Thank you, thank you very much. The next challenge would be getting her to actuyally wear the thing, but since it had Mickey on it, there wasn't much struggle. 10 minutes later, we come hobbling vvveeerrrryyyy ssssssllllloooowwwwllllyyyy out of the bathroom, me directly behind her, uh, behind, she looking around fervently, Jax just laughing up a storm. Gives a whole new meaning to "I got your back", which of course was the mantra I was dorkily repeating to Ryan as we walked, causing her to keep turning around to ask, "What?", rendering the whole manuever pointless.

Shitty Story #3: Okay, so this one doesn't have anything to do with poo, it's just a crappy story. Shawn tore his $300 contact Saturday night, which is enough to bring our whole world to a stop, so we got him into the eye doctor Sunday afternoon, and guess what? Cataracts. 28 yrs old, and he'll be swapping surgery stories with my grandfather. Poor baby. So not only do we have Ry's surgery to look forward to next week, we've now got another planned for the summer.

That's okay, I'll just wear my bathing suit to both and get a little hospital flourescent-light tan in while I wait. Like my own personal tanning salon, with sick people!

Because after all, it is all about me, right?

Riddle Me This

Which of the following dates you more?

A.) Attending a concert, spotting a surly teenager dragging along her frumpy mother, and instead of feeling sorry for the kid, your first thought is, "What a good mom!",

OR

B) Same concert, feel a tapping on your shoulder only to turn around to a co-ed asking this:

"Weren't you my Theatre teacher in middle school?"

That one still hurts.

Let's just wrap us in a petri dish and call it a day

Ryan's rash has reached new levels of monstrosity. 4 docs and none of them are sure what the hell she's got, although they were kind enough to point out that the small red spots above her lips could signal a low platelet count. Cause apparently my eye isn't twitching quite fast enough..

That led us to have her blood drawn for a CBC, which I'm thinking was the closest I will ever come to the WWE. 3 nurses and me, and we still weren't entirely able to keep the kid down. They had to shut the door because she was scaring the other (adult) patients in the waiting room. I, of course, was not at all surprised, but you shoulda seen the nurses when we were through, slapping each other on the back, wiping the sweat from their brows...some people are just sooo sissified.

ENT appointment was yesterday, and I'm sure you will all be none too shocked to hear that Ry has an infection in her OTHER ear now, which means (drum roll, please...) NEW TUBES!!!! Mark your calendars, kids. We're having a "Good Luck With That One" party for the surgeons next weekend.

In related news, when they did Jax's follow-up hearing test, the audiologist was a tad baffled.

Her: "It seems like he's hearing better. In fact, his reactions were not only normal, they were supremely normal (I'll take OXYMORON for 1000, Alex). Most kids have huge reactions to the lights and sounds, but while he did react, it was more of a cursory nod of the head, shoulder shrug, slight grin kinda thing. Is he typically so laid back?"

Me: "Have you met his father?"

So now I'm off to check on this small solid mass that has just formed in the corner of my eye, causing me mild-to-severe discomfort, while I await Ryan's CBC results.

I can just see you all turning green with envy.

I knew it was too good to be true

Ha.Ha. Sometimes the joke is better when you let your guard down. Practical Jokester Rule #1, and here I completely forgot and have been running around with my guard around my ankles.

God pulled a quick one (he's a nasty little devil like that), and now we're thinking Ry may have Fifth Disease. Either that or Rubella, Roseola, or the Measles. But we're hoping for Fifth. Didn't know there was a Fifth, but it's sounds the least menacing, so we're going with that one.

Let's journey back about 10 days ago when the kids were at the Lake and Ry developed a rash on her upper arms and legs. No fever that I am aware of, nor any other illness-like syptoms, so dose her with Benadryl and let's get on with it. Few days later, rash is gone, all is right in the world.

Cut to yesterday when she comes back from Ninny's with a red splotch on one cheek and a few tiny red dots on the other. I'm thinking allergic reaction to Nin's pillows or detergent, something mild and pleasant like that. But then I meet the Mommy Brigade at the library and everyone is agog over her bright red, splotchy, prickly cheeks, proclaiming Fifth's Disease and casting furtive looks at one another. Which leaves me sheepishly packing up our gear and getting the hell outta that place before we cause an epidemic.

But wait -- I mentioned the locale, yes? Ye Old Library, home to everybody's favorite Wicked Librarian, who happens to have the pleasure of checking us out this fine day. Yes, this fine day in which I have $5 in overdue fines, a cranky baby, and a splotchy little girl with an attitude that's fixin' to leave her butt splotchy as well. As luck would also have it, this is the trip I choose to check out "Raising Cain", some helpful hooey on boys and their emotions, blah blah blah. It would appear to the average Joe that I am a conscientious mother, proactive in my parenting techniques, and always one step ahead of the game.

But we're not dealing with an average Joe. We're dealing with She-Whose-Name- Must- Not-Be-Spoken. In a classic throwback to what must have been her vaudeville days, she looks at the book, looks at my stomping, screaming, pouting, splotchy daughter, does a double-take, and mutters (yes, mutters), "too bad it's not 'Raising Delilah'." At this point I'm pretty sure I audibly gasped, picked Ryan up, held her over the counter and told her to "please ask the NICE LADY for a stamp -- and make sure you ask loudly so she can hear you (and throw a few coughs in for kicks)!"

Meanwhile, we have an ENT follow-up appt in an hour, and I've yet to get dressed, call the pediatrician, or any of the other things on my to-do list. And now we'll be rushed and late, and it's ALL. YOUR. FAULT.

Kisses! And Think "Fifth"!!!

FYI

Putting my children to bed 2 hours later than normal does not mean they will reciprocate in the morning. Everyone was still up at 6:30 am. Just for future reference.

Family Stew

Okay, I'll admit it. Not every day at the York house is an exciting one. Few are even all that dramatic (unless I've forgotten my Prozac). Not that we are comatose or anything, but sometimes, sometimes, God forgets to punk us for the day and we scoot safely by under the radar.

Today was just such a day, and catching myself lamenting over not having any drama to journal, I came up with the novel idea to just enjoy my offspring and their simple little just-like-every-other-kid-but-better-'cause-they're-mine ways of being.

For instance, in all the recent ho-hum surrounding illnesses and mental breakdowns, I've somehow completely missed Ryan's remarkable talent of finding things of mine that I had no idea were even lost. She comes to me this morning after using the potty in my bathroom, and sing-songingly announces, "Mooommmmyyyyy, guess what IIIIII Foooouuunnnndddd????"

Barely able to contain my excitement, I was stopped short when she then said, "Your Oprah magazzziiiiiinnnneeee!?"

You know, the one from last month that I finished reading last month and has thus been sitting in the magazine rack since last month. I didn't even know I was looking for it, so thank God I've got that kid around.

Speaking of potties, in my quest to find something humorous in an ordinary day, I took Ryan to the potty at the YMCA today. baduhmbum. Anyway, I realized she sooo has a public restroom ritual, one that cannot be altered for fear of certain death.

She of course begins by picking the correct stall, which is usually chosen through the fail-safe method of "bend and peek", and typically always ends up with us choosing the large handicap stall.

Our next move is to lock the door, and then unlock it, lock it again, and then double check that it really is locked. Once satisfied, she moves to the toilet's flushing mechanism. Should the toilet be equipped with an automatic flusher, she must- MUST- try out its sensitivity prior to doing her business, a feat performed by moving back and forth, front and back, round and round, with your right hand in and you left hand out, etc, until toilet flushes.

Once the flush check has been performed, we ALWAYS WIPE THE SEAT OFF. (okay, so that one's mine -- you try squatting when you're only 3 1/2' tall). That, or use a potty-protector, which Mommy used to carry around, but then my diaper bag *cough*suitcase*cough* broke, so we've had to do some downsizing.

Then it's all yada yada yada, wipe/check/wipe, and it's done. We shake our butt or raise the foot to flush, whichever the occasion calls for, but we never ever ever ever use our hands. (My apologies to those who do.) Then we struggle with the door lock for a few seconds before doing the whole hand-washing thing, which is really too much to write about now. Check back tomorrow.

Meanwhile, Shawn's suffering empty nest syndrome, distraught over watching Ryan leave for a slumber party at Ninny's wearing a backpack, carrying a suitcase, and holding her purse. He's all, "God, she'll be leaving so soon. She's getting so old."

Easy, Gramps. She's 4. Let's not age her (or us) prematurely. I'm begging. Begging.

And to top the day off, as Shawn was driving Ryan to Ninny's (college), I was left to manage the man-baby, whose hands are so freakishly large, I tried to post a picture of them the other day and the computer kept shutting down. Too much meat.

This one-on-one time led to an interesting (and a little bit frustrating) discovery: The kid is REMARKABLY easy to please. All this time, I've held up my martyr sign, bearing the pain of having a fickle baby, when lo and behold, all it takes to make the kid laugh is a simple nod or shake of the head. Seriously, people, diaper-time usually requires a straight jacket and chains (for him, not me), but tonight I just laughingly shook my head when he tried to squirm away, saying "Nnnooooooo", and he was gone. I'm talking can't hardly breathe, gasping laughter. Confused (and a wee bit scared), I tried the opposite, nodding my head and saying "Yeeeesssss". Knee-slapping humor for the baby-brigade. Who the hell knew -- and why haven't they freakin' said anything before??

So that's it. That's all I got. You can wake up now.

Perfection is soooo overrated

I've been experiencing the kind of meltdown only had by a Desperate Housewife or one of the fictional peeps pokin' around in James Frey's brain. After weeks of illnesses, lack of sleep, deprived bank accounts, and horrible eating/drinking/etc..., I cracked. Basically, stress has gotten the better of me, culminating in a knock-down, drag-out fisticuffs involving me, myself, and I. Lots of tears, lots of sleep, and lots of gabbing with Menana, and now I'm feeling better, especially since I received these 2 videos:









Sooo me and my kids in future years. Soooo. And I'm okay with it.

The kids appear to be well, Shawn and I are speaking this week, and we just got DVR, which according to my girls, will be a life-changing experience. Speaking of the girls, I must shout-out to them with love and thanks for a great night out, and umm, sorry for the public drunkeness and all. And for making fun of everyone around us. Loudly. Oompa-loompa, doopedy doo...
Kids had a blast with their Ginga, Nana, and Courts. Nothing like leaving your babies alone with their 82 yr old great-grandmother to give you the confidence to go out and behave like a 21 yr old. Thanks, guys!

"When I Grow Up..." by Ryan York

"When I grow up, I'm gonna be big enough to climb a tree and then I'll be able to see all the way to Disney World! It's true. Santa told me."

"His legs flail about as if independent from his body!"

Jax's surgery was successful this morning (according to THE SURGEON -- if that is his real name). He had promised us that once the tubes were inserted in Jaxson's ears, he would be like a whole new baby -- babbling away, mobile to the nth degree, etc. -- all because before the tubes, he had only 10% hearing.

So we're all, "Well, he already babbles with the best of 'em -- much more than any of the average babbling babies, and he's totally got the walking thing down (even if it is uncannily similar to the Cosby Walk), so DAMN, can you imagine what this big new change is going to do? He'll be INVINCIBLE!!! Oh, and there will be that whole thing about no more ear infections and all, but MAN he's gonna be like the superest baby ever!!!"

Which is why I was on pins and needles this morning after he awoke from his post-surgery snooze, awaiting all the greatness of a clear-eared baby. (Gen Xer here -- we are nothing if not impatient)

Waiting, waiting, waiting...

His appetite still intact, his ability to thrash his upper body around in fits of rage still strong, and yes, he's walking, but HELLO! Where is my new and improved Bionic Baby? Where are the complete sentences, full of grammatical correctness and perfect syntax? And why is he not leaping buildings in a single bound? Ho-hum.

I will say, however, that this new 100% hearing sensation-thing has yielded some frightening dance moves that can only be described as a hybrid of early Elvis and that Lord of the Dance dude. Seriously, I was afraid he was actually going to wriggle his way out of his carseat, all without flinching even one upper torso muscle.

Okay, I'll settle for greatest below-the-waist-dancing baby ever...if I have to.

*super-pouty, super-spoiled, super-sized Mom Sigh*

God Bless Runny Noses and Rashes

Hello? Anyone? Bueller? Is this thing on?

I'M BAAAACCCCKKKK!!!!!

This is our official 2nd day back from our mini-vacay, and finally, finally, I feel back to "normal".

Phoenix was wonderfully warm and DRY, and we managed to squeeze just about everything into 3 days, with the exception of a Suns game and hiking, 2 things that would have been cool, but were not really missed, so to speak.

I won't describe the fun, fabulous things we did in much detail, because how much fun can a story without pictures be? Wait? No pictures? Well, there was this one, and that one there (taken solely for Ryan's sake).

No pics of Betty the Bus-Driving River Hag, no pics of the un-freakin-believable view of the mountains as we floated the Salt River, no pics of Mill Ave. and the yummy My Big Fat Greek Restaurant. Nope. Nada.

Oh, wait. Here. Here's a pic of the girls being drunk and disorderly at The Big Bang, courtesy of Cince de Mayo. And yes, we did manage to start a fight amidst most of the crowd -- we asked the kind dueting pianists to please, oh pleaase declare that "Texas Rules". In Arizona. Then, we proceeded to scream and holler, just in case they weren't quite sure who the asshole out-of-towners were, while everyone else just kinda, you know, booed and stuff. Ahhh, memories.

But now I'm back, and OH. AM. I.BACK. Those 3 days in Phoenix were completely trouble-free, and I was LOSING MY MIND. Luckily, the minute I stepped out of the airport and was once again enveloped in the heat and humidity, the universe adjusted: my bottle of rubbing alcohol(you know, to even out the orange mystic-tan spots) exploded in my bag, I had to lug my non-wheeled, ginormous, college-student duffle bag a MILE to the truck (which we FINALLY found 20 minutes later), and then proceeded to toss it blindly into the truck's water-filled bed.

Meanwhile, Jax is still sick, Ry has developed a mysterious rash, and we have an
elective (read: payable up front) operation scheduled tomorrow morning at
7:30 am (read: arrive at 6).


There's no place like home.

Happy Cinco De Mayo

So we took the kids tonight to meet Menana and BigDaddy at our family tradition trade-off spot, Rosie's Tamale House. Ryan had never actually been inside to eat and since we had, like, grown up there, Jen and I were pointing out the decor (still going strong 20 years later, with the exact same Wille Nelson picture I kissed in 6th grade, but that's a different post altogether), when Ryan looked up at one of the hanging birds and announced to the table,

"Look! There's a big 'ole cobweb on the ceiling! Just like at home!!"

That said (and not at all denied) we left her and Jax in the care of the elders and are packing to leave for Arizona in the morning.

If only all of you were as lucky as Lea Ann.

Hang on to your tiaras, it's gonna be a bumpy ride

I'm really not even sure how to start this post. I just don't have it in me to come up with something clever, cute, witty, or (insert adjective here) to set up the double-whammy Ryan unleashed on me today. So, I'm just gonna dive right in.

This morning, around 9am, Ryan started complaining about being hungry. After the requisite banter, Me: "Well, you hardly ate any of your breakfast"/Her: "Because it was sickening", I suggested a few items I would be okay with her digesting, and sent her on her way to the kitchen. As I sat plugged to the computer, balancing checking accounts and trying to figure out how many plasma donations I'll have to make to cover the upcoming surgeries, I heard a loud crash followed by silence.

My acute MOTY instincts kicked into gear and right away I knew that, a)something had fallen and b)no one was hurt. Not really wanting to walk all the way downstairs to see what unique, irreplacable item was now lost to me forever, I kept working away.

Cut to about 7 or 8 minutes later, when I hear Ryan talking to her dolly in a choking/sobbing way, every now and then catching the faint remnants of sentences like, "...be so mad..." and "...i don't want to tell her..."

This being Ryan, I just assumed she was playing "Harry Potter of Narnia and Rapunzel the Pauper in Fairytopia", until I see her creep up to the desk, face streaked with tears. There really was no need to ask what was wrong, seeing as how the moment our eyes locked she gushed,

"I'mreallysorrymommyIloveyouImadeamessand
droppedyourmostyummybananacreampieandI
loveyouandI'mreallyreallySORRY!!!" (aaaannnndddd SCENE)

Come on man! How do you go about getting mad at that? She sooo had my number, because when I asked her why she was getting into the pie in the first place, seeing as how it was not on the list of approved snacks, she was all, "Well, I saw it sitting there, and I just wanted to taste it cause it's so so good!" Well, it was.

So now I'm all acting magnanimous, saying how I'm more mad that she disobeyed than the fact that she dropped the pie *cough*bullshit*cough*, and I would be down in a minute to help her clean it up.

Luckily, she had already taken care of that little part for me, as I discovered when I walked into the kitchen and found 2 kitchen rags covered in bananas, graham cracker crumbs and pudding shoved between the crack next to the fridge and wall. How freakin' awesome is this kid, I ask you?

But wait -- it gets better.

Fast forward to this afternoon, when again on the computer (pattern?), I hear a knock at my bedroom door, and it opens to Emma, who has been playing in her yard with Ryan.

"Umm, I'm really embarrassed to say this, but Ryan kinda took her pants off outside. And peed. On the sidewalk."

Fuckwaaaaa???

I thanked Emma and excused her -- from what, I had no idea -- this was definitely a new one.

As is mandatory of all parents pf pre-schoolers, I took a deep breath and entered the doorway to No Man's Land, otherwise know as "Tell me what happened".

"Well, I really really had to potty, but I didn't want to get my pants all wet, so I just took them off . And then I peed."

There is logic in there somewhere, of this I am certain.

And Richard Pryor Makes 4

Jax, Jax, Jaxedy, Jax,

We just spent the most enjoyable 60 minutes. You, me, the nebulizer, and Richard Pryor.

A great combination, since: a) There is no other time in my life when I would ever be able to watch a Richard Pryor special, b) I'm helping you, ya know, breathe better and all, and 3) You are getting exposure to true comedy without all the cursing (that will come later, my dear).

Anyway, I just finished putting you back in your crib, that is, after I changed your vomit-soaked sheets and pj's, due to the latest round of antibiotics coarsing through your tiny chunky body, "Aug-makes-him-puke". Luckily, I am a genius, and loaded your tummy with yummy maple-flavored oatmeal prior to dosing you with the nasty stuff, so this vomit was no where near as foul as it's earlier counterpart, Vomit with Bananas and Milk. You're welcome.

A Lighter Shade of Pale

Here's why we are about to go even farther into debt to take a vacation we can't afford, OR
"Eat Your Heart Out Mastercard":

3 same-day doctor's visits: $60

Meds to correct 3 ear infections, 1 allergy attack, 1 case of bronchialitis and 1 perforated/bacteria-ridden ear drum: $100

Ear surgeries for 2 ridiculously ill offspring: $3,000

Replacement for car window shattered by Medical Center's landscaping weedeater-attack: $0

Full-on Psycho Mommy Meltdown in middle of Medical Center parking lot: PRICELESS

M-A-R-R-I-A-G-E is a 4-letter word

Ry and I were watching "SuperNanny" tonight (I like to see other people screw up, Ry enjoys learning new methods of rebellion), and it was an episode that featured a divorced couple.

At some point, Ryan asked why the Daddy didn't live with the Mom and kids, and I explained to her that the Mommy and Daddy were not married anymore, so they stopped living in the same house.

"Are you and Daddy still married?" her little voice quavered.

"Yes, Baby. Mommy and Daddy love each other very much and will always be married and live together forever." (shut up, we do -- and God help us, we probably will be together. FOREVER.)

She responded by crossing her arms over her chest, stomping the floor, and grunting,
"Oh, man! No fair!"

Mama Said There'd Be Days Like This

I don't remember anything being said about weeks, months, or years.


I received this message in an email Saturday morning:

"Try to be reasonable in the way you grow, and don't ever think it is too late. It is never too late. Even if you are going to die tomorrow, keep yourself straight and clear and be a happy human being today. If you keep your situation happy day by day, you will eventually reach the greatest happiness of enlightenment."

-Lama Thubten Yeshe, The Bliss of Inner Fire

Now. I'm thinking to myself, "Okay. I could just delete this and go on rolling in the sarcasm, or I could take this little nugget of wisdom for a walk around the block and see what happens." I'm adventurous (or wish I was), so...

Because Ryan insisted the neighbors would LOVE to have her as an extra daughter, we called them and left a message to get back to us on that possibility, STAT.

After waiting 5 whole minutes for them to return the call, we got bored, so I decided to take the kids to see Ice Age: The Meltdown Saturday afternoon, mostly because all 3 of us are snotty (physically -- shut it), but even more so because Shawn was closing the restauraunt and I was facing the rest of the entire evening alone.

So we pile in the car (happy! happy!) and as we make our way to the ticket booth, the just-barely-pubescent cashier tries to let me down easy:

"You might want to know that this showing is pretty crowded, in fact, it's almost sold out."

Genius is telling this to a woman hopped up on allergy/sinus meds, toting a goopy-eyed 4 yr old and a wheeling a watermelon-sized goopy-eyed baby, both of whom are tired, hopped up on allergy meds, and hungry.

"Just sell me the tickets, please." (Happy!Happy!)

$6 later, we were in -- but not for long.

After searching the tiny theatre for at least 2 seats together (preferably aisle, please--what with the enormous stroller and all), I finally score a spot on the second row against the wall. PERFECT. Even better was the fact that Ms. Mormon and her brood taking up the rest of the row were very scary in a "we're all robots" kinda way, so Ryan insisted on gluing herself to my leg during the trip to the front of the room to drop off the stroller, back to our row, and then allllll the way down to our seats. That was neat. (Happy!Happy!)

Okay! So, re-grouping, I get us situated in our seats, open the diaper bag, hand out snax, the movie starts, and we're laughing, we're laughing, we're --

"no, Jax! Sit still! Stop! Shhhh. Please stop screaming! Oh God, don't throw the bin--"

Yep. Threw his binky right into the back of the rather large and menacing woman in front of us. You'd think this wouldn't be such a big deal, since we were there watching a KIDDIE film and all, but I've yet to reveal that we were at the discount theatre.

Discount patrons are serious about their movie-viewing experience. We don't have a lot of the mula to throw around, which is why we're putting up with the non-razed, sticky-floored, old-school-style theatre seating in the first place. Needless to say, the lady wasn't following our Happy!Happy! lead.

Oh-so-sorry smiles and apologies followed, and we settled back into our seats. I'd lost the binky , so I pulled a granola bar out of my bag of tricks in an effort to keep my poor, sick, sleepy baby quiet for you know, 2 hours. The brick-sized piece I broke off apparently wasn't big enough, so I quickly handed over the entire thing which he immediately threw. In front of him. And hit that lady in the head. Again.

So there we were, 10 minutes into the movie, sheepishly gathering our wares, scuffling to the front, crouched over, grabbing our stroller and performing the walk of shame out of the theatre, all set to the pleasing tunes of Jaxson York's greatest hits. (Happy!Happy!)

Luckily, the movie was my idea in the first place (brilliance lurks just beneath the surface -- I swear), so Ry wasn't too crushed, especially when I bought her off with a trip to the bookstore. You know us bookworms -- throw us into a realm of shelves, dust, and binding, and we're good to go. Until it's time to leave, and you realize your mom brought you to the 1/2 priced bookstore for a reason, and won't buy you the 27 Disney Princess books you've so carefully selected.

Fortunately, I had come this far on my Happy!Hapy! trip, that I wasn't going to let a little tantrum slow me down. After a little bartering, we called a truce and left with 3 books, a slightly lighter wallet, and smiles all around. Jax had actually greatly enjoyed himself, throwing his ball on the floor, seemingly just to watch the old suckers perusing the used cd's section bend down to get the ball, hand it to him, and turn around, just to get pelted in the head 2 seconds later. Over and over and over again. Thankfully, they didn't seem to mind, so I didn't mind, either. Happy!Happy!

Once back at the house, Ry raced to see if the neighbors had returned the call, thus allowing her to pack her things and get the hell outta dodge, but unfortunately there were no new messages. We soon discovered why:

That's right. Phone was off the hook for 270 minutes, like 4 hours in real people time.


happy happy happy happy happy...