Nitty and Gritty

Well not really, but here are some updates on my peeps.  In case you were wondering.


My friend, L, who has the spot on her lungs... it's shrunk.  Doc apparently thinks it was bronchitis.  I mostly believe my friend, but her whatever may come attitude has me wondering.  I often wonder unnecessarily, so maybe you can avoid reading too much into her comments about not wanting to know too much.


My sister made it through her surgery.  It was wonderful to be with her.  We did take a walk on the beach and around Imperial Beach on Monday (does that seem as long ago to you as it does to me?).  Weather was gorgeous but chilly.  This was my first time to their home.  Those poor people... their condo has ocean and estuary views from every freaking room in the whole freaking place.  The room I stayed in also had a view of the bullring in Tijuana.  Yeah, I don't want to go there or anything, but seriously... they have a view of the bullring.


My niece works at the estuary.  Strolling with her and my sister was like taking a guided nature walk.  Local birds, plants, history of wooden posts, plans for the area.  I wished my mother-in-law and husband could have joined us.  They would have enjoyed it as much as I did.


My sister, who could not eat anything and had to drink "Go Lightly" (which, as a nurse pointed out the next day made her "go heavy") insisted on making me dinner.  I requested a PB & J, but she offered me all of her favorite foods and made taquitos.  I know, you want her to be your sister, too.  She'd probably adopt you.  She's like that. 


Tuesday morning I drove her to the hospital.  She was very emotional.  Kept talking about her fears of growing a beard.  Of not making it through the surgery and what would happen to her children?  She even wondered if her son was going to turn out like her brother (that'd be a hell no).  The woman who checked her in was very kind, soothing, loving.  Sort of made it sound like, "Welcome to the club.  Just make sure you take care of yourself.  You're going to be fine."  As she walked away from the desk for a minute, Shelly turned around. 


"She's very nice," I said.


"Did you see her mustache?!"  Well now that she mentioned it... *sigh*... yes, there might have been a bit of 10:15 o'clock shadow.


Shelly's husband, Joey, and I spent as much time with her as they'd let us before they were supposed to wheel her off for surgery.  I have no idea why there was a delay of about 90 minutes between us leaving and when she actually went in.  Once she's healed a bit more, I'll ask her about it maybe.  There had been a "Code Green" (unruly patient) called to her area but we're pretty sure it wasn't for Shell.


Fynn spent most of the day in the wrap.  Thus, I spent most of the day walking.  It was a balmy day, maybe 70 degrees or so, clear blue skies and a view of the ocean from the hospital.  It was good to get out, to walk, to feel the sun's heat.  It would have been nice to sit longer than the time it took to nurse Fynn and play with her before she went back into the wrap, but I was glad she was so content.


Joe and I spent parts of the day hanging out.  He's not one of my favorite people, but aside from one incident several years back where I made myself perfectly clear I try not to let it show.  One extra good thing from my time down there is that we were able to appreciate how much each other cares for Shelly.  I bought him lunch.  He bought me a pack of Lifesavers.  After almost 10 hours without my sister between us, I feel like I know him better.  Understand parts of him, maybe.  And the rest I will continue to push back because he is my sister's choice.


When the surgery was finally over, around 6:30, Doc came out and showed us photos.  He pointed out dark spots and light areas and said, "She had a lot of reason to be in pain."  That just kills me.  You would never know Shelly was in pain.  Never.  I think I have a pretty high tolerance for pain, but I'm sure that being nice would go out the window after so many times of hurting because I coughed, walked too far, laughed too hard.


We got to see her around 8:00 that night.  Her room was enormous, with two walls of windows and an ocean view (if only she'd gotten there before dark).  She greeted her husband groggily.  Teased her daughter about not having a pretty smile since her braces were removed earlier that day.  Turned to me and very lucidly said, "Shannon, I know you are away from home and are missing your older daughter.  But it's late and you should stay at our place tonight and go home tomorrow.  I don't want anything to happen to you."  Two minutes later she thanked me for the flowers Joe had brought in that I'd gotten for her.  I don't even know how she'd seen them or how she knew I'd brought them.  They were across the room.  She's like a superhero of kindness.  


She is my Beth; I am her Jo.


I did not stay another night, and thank goodness.  Storms raged in a few hours after Fynn and I returned home.


My dad went down the next day to see her.  She came home this afternoon.  Joe, who travels for work, leaves for Philadelphia on Sunday afternoon.  I wish I could go back down to help out, but I return to work on Monday.  Her daughter has one more week off from school, and she's very helpful and capable.  And Joe's mom will be nearby, probably dropping in often.  She's very nice, too.


There's probably more to tell, but I want this to be my last post of 2010.  Five minutes to go.  Happy New Year to you all.  May 2011 be everything you hope.

Sticking to My Resolution

... to refrain from making New Year's resolutions.  I'm 10 years in and can report 100% success.  I just have too much self-work to wait until the start of another year.


One thing I've officially been working on since a week after Fynn arrived has been regaining my body.  If you read that I only gained 14 pounds while pregnant, or that I've lost 36 pounds since delivery, you might be a bit jealous.  Don't.  I am one pound away from my interim goal (which was supposed to be met by tomorrow).  That's right, there's plenty more where that came from!


I have, however, lost enough to fit into some pants I haven't been able to wear since the pre-Madelyn days.  Even better, I'm outgrowing (in the correct direction... whew!) the pants I got for those not-quite-ready-for-maternity-clothes days three years ago.  My wonderful husb... er... Santa gave me money for new clothing (along with a not-so-subtly veiled warning that I am not to buy anything for the kids or the house or my husband).


Santa... uh, Tom wanted to shop with me.  It sounds lovely on the surface, even if Fynn weren't going through a phase where seeing Mama requires being held by Mama at all times or loud gulping sobs will ensue (next week's gonna be great!).  I'm eking my way out of the fat girl stores, but am not yet down to a size where I'd want my husband helping me pick out clothes with, you know... sizes on them.  The thought makes me queasy.


And really, isn't shopping stressful enough?  Without standardized sizing, it's nearly impossible to know what will fit.  I would have liked a friend along for the journey, but you all live so far away.  Because I love you, especially certain yous, and because we can all use a good laugh on this last day of 2010, here is what you would have seen if you'd been in the fitting room with me.

My actual thighs.  Don't you love the pulling and bunching?  And the rippling?!  And in pants larger ("size-wise") than the pants I left home in.  Yeah, it's okay to laugh.  (That's my ratty old, bleach- and milk-stained shirt that I wore in public.  Nice, huh?)

And here's the other part of my pants shopping dilemma.  It's hard to tell, but the waist of these pants sticks out nearly two inches all the way around.  And yet the thighs are still stuffed like sausage casings.  (You can thank me now for not posting the full frontal belly version of this shot.  It's bad enough that pretty much is my natural skin tone.  *shudder*)

Oh, and one thing I couldn't maneuver well enough to show you (and you know you're dying to hear about this) is that, even in pants labeled "sits at waist" my underwear bunches up and sticks out the back.  Like a voluntary wedgie.  Regardless of whether the pants are too tight or not.

Somehow I did manage to find some clothes.  No, I don't have pictures of those.  But trust me, I wouldn't embarrass you if we were out in public together (because of my clothes anyway).  Two shirts, including one that is not black or white (okay, it's green and black), a charcoal sweater/jacket so I don't have to snag Tom's lightweight coat, some PJ bottoms that I love, a pair of green fuzzy gloves and a pair of black jeans.  In a size that I'm almost not embarrassed by.  Except that I used a little sizing trick to get them. 

At 5'7" I'm on the cusp of being tall according to the clothing industry.  One thing I learned several years back is that the "tall" pants are also slightly fuller.  So it's a little like cheating because I'm pretty sure that the average length pants would put me straight back into school security guard territory.  Whatever.  I'm off to wash (and never dry) those pants.

Deep Cleansing Breath

I said goodbye to Tom and Mad almost an hour ago.  Normally I wouldn't have any problem getting back to sleep.  Heck, normally I don't even wake up.  But in a few hours Fynn and I are heading south of San Diego to visit my sister.  I had envisioned a lovely lunch and a walk on the beach or maybe the Tijuana Slough National Wildlife Refuge, which is adjacent to their home.  Instead, we'll spend the day sharing as much of a clear liquid diet as I can reasonably partake in without affecting my milk supply and watching the movies she has lined up.


We will probably spend a lot of time talking tonight while everyone else is asleep.  She's afraid.  She's afraid of the surgery, of the recovery, of waking up and finding that she's grown a beard.  Of not being a whole woman anymore.  Of sex being different; that she might have a black hole without her uterus.


I am sad.  Pretty sure I'd be feeling the same things if the roles were reversed.  Not quite sure how to help her see that her fears are normal, but that "normal" doesn't make them true.


Surgery is not until tomorrow at 12:30.  That seems like cruelty to me, but maybe she can at least sleep late.  I guess a lot of people don't view 7:15 as sleeping in (I don't either, but Mad does).  She'll be in the hospital several days.  I'll be home tomorrow night.  I wish I could stay longer.

Oh Christmas Tree

Tom's third trip to California to see me was right after Christmas, 2000.  One thing we did was drive out to Santa Monica to visit his uncle, Frendell.  (His name is Frederick Wendell Somethingorother.  He grew up as Fred and then switched to Wendell for the stage; his kids dubbed him Frendell.)  Wendell has a book-lined apartment right behind the main drag.  A few memories stick out from that night.  One was that Wendell had this perfect little Christmas tree on a table, covered in candles and ribbons.  He lit the candles, turned out the lights and we sang "Oh Christmas Tree."


Today we did not sing any Christmas jingles, but we did drive down to a lovely Christmas tree farm where Tom and Mad selected our tree and Tom cut it down.  Fynn and I were nursing in the car (out of the rain) during the selection, but we were there to ooh and ahh over Daddy's quick work at cutting down the tree.  Mad, Fynn and I were very impressed that it took two men to carry away the tree Tom had just cut down by himself.


The tree farm was the last of several stops today.  We'd left home just before 10:00 and headed home around 4:00.  Mad hadn't napped all day.  Tom said, "I'll bet she falls asleep on the way home."


"Okay, what do you want to bet?"

"You don't think she'll fall asleep?"

"It's not that.  I'm up for a wager."


Tom's considered answer was, "An hour of control in the bedroom."


As we arrived home I said, "Prepare to do some serious laundry folding, dude."

Every State Including Canada

Wha- what?!


I saw that on someone's profile on a gaming site.  Now I'm going to just come right out and say that I don't have a solid grasp of which state is where unless A) it's one of the bigguns out here in the west or B) I've been there, especially if we've driven there.  Never been to New England and I am repeatedly shocked at how far east Massachusetts and New York are.  I'm not proud.  It is a clear sign I'm a tactile learner who has not traveled nearly enough.


That being said, here's the full quote:  "Retired from trucking and have been in every state including Canada."


So here are my questions:

• Do you suppose they (the "player" is a couple) had a hard time getting home?
• How successful in the trucking industry could these (admittedly very nice) people have been?
• Do you think it's not a geographical error so much as wishful thinking that we'd take over the frozen nation to our north (Canada is north of us, right?)

Potty Training ~ How Long Until It's Truly Over?

Mad has done a bang up job in the world of potty training.  Perhaps you saw that even Santa noticed.  *We have been diaper free and dry after naps for a little more than a month.  Last week we started going diaper free at night, too.  Candy rewards are not mentioned, but they are given with glee when requested.


So my question is, when do you know you're done potty training and can say she's trained?


***Yes, I say "we."  Really, Mad's the only one who's new to going without a diaper, I swear.  For me it's been at least four months.

And Now For Something Good

Madelyn received a special message from Santa tonight.  You can check it out here. 


While you are viewing it, imagine my Curly Wurly waving shyly at the computer, exclaiming, "Santa has a meshage for me," "I a pwincess" (she's in her so-called princess dress in the first photo), and "I two years old!"


We haven't received one for Fynn, but perhaps we should.  She watched intently all three times.  And yes, technically the "flute" is a recorder.  Mad doesn't even grasp more than the very basics about Christmas, let alone instruments from the dollar section at Toys R Us


If anybody else's child happens to get a meshage from Santa, I'd love to see it.

I'm in the Zone

... the Twilight Zone.


My mom brought Corey over to collect some things today.  Pieces of his heart and pieces of mine were on the floor.  He did not ask to come home.  If he had I don't know what I could have said or done.


Instead, I handed him some toiletries and freshly laundered clothes.  I gave my mom some cash to offset her expenses.  Corey says he will be following up at Job Corps.  By Tuesday we should have a sense of the next step.


Mad was in bed for her nap, but not sleeping when they arrived, so Tom brought her down for Grammy and especially for Brother.  It's hard to say for sure if she refused to go near him at first only out of the fickleness of a two year old's heart.  I rather doubt it.  Corey clearly did, too.  Mad has since birth had what we've called her pre-approved list.  It's four people long, and Corey has always been able to be close to her.  She did warm up as he was walking away, trying to keep the tears in his eyes.


When we went through a similar experience last year, it was right before Tom and I found out we did not have a viable pregnancy.  Corey's meltdown, in comparison to last week, was somewhat milder.  And this time we are not dealing with a chemical pregnancy; we are all simply sick with another (freaking!) nasty cold.  So the accompanying but unrelated pain, if you will, is significantly less, but the problem with Corey is larger.  I'm not asking for trade-offs or any other type of wishful thinking beyond wishing Corey could somehow undo what he's done.  It's just that my mind sees these odd connections.  I see that I'm rambling.


As you may or may not recall, I am not a religious or praying sort of person.  For a long time I called myself "spiritual" because it eased the minds of others more than anything else I could offer.  I'm not entirely sure I'm spiritual either.  I looked into a Unitarian Universalist church up here and was interested in everything but the spiritual aspects.  I mention this because I am not asking for prayers, but I could sure use something...

So Now the Truth Is Out

I have very much appreciated the sweet assumptions that I'm a great and wonderful mother lately.  On my best day I'm not sure how true that is.  These are not my best days.


Most of my blog has a glaring void.  You do not find much of my son on these pages.  Part of that comes from the fact that toddlers and babies are just naturally easier to write about without worrying if they'd like it or not.  Funny thing is, Tom is my only family member who knows about this blog.  Of my almost tens of followers, I know two in real life but see one hardly ever and the other never since his beloved wife, Carol, died.  (I've been thinking a lot about that post of hers, it's worth reading again and again.)  So, Tom knows firsthand all about Corey; my "real" life followers, not so much.  And Corey may realize that I have a blog, but he's never read it that I know.  Still, I don't write a lot about him because it's hard stuff.  It's painful.  There are no cute, tidy little endings.  And it's embarrassing, frankly, the stuff we go through with Corey.


Before we moved, we were on a first name basis with a couple of compassionate police officers in town.  One of them would actually volunteer to take a call when my son's name was mentioned.  We haven't had that type of trouble since moving, but when we have trouble, we still have it with a capitol T.  It has been just over a year since we had problems like this, and it has been a mostly decent year. Granted, my version of decent where Corey's involved would probably not quite be acceptable for a lot of parents. But from where we were, it's been mostly decent. 


Although everything feels so sudden, now that I've had a day to reflect, I can see it's been coming for about a month, maybe six weeks.  Last night's blow up left Madelyn and Maisy shaken (yeah, me, too), a planter in shambles and our outdoor Christmas lights pulled down. 


My son no longer lives with me.  Despite it all, my heart is broken.  I cannot help it.  Of course, it would be bad at any time, but it's Christmas.  I walk by a table and see the Santa puzzle that I bought for Corey when he was four or five, and the Santa calendar that I bought because of him.  We're supposed to get our tree this weekend and I wonder how I do that without him.  What will it be like to put up the decorations without him?


I worry about whether the right decision has been made.  Ultimately, Corey made the decision because he knows very well what the boundaries are.  I am a spell it out kind of mom, especially with the big stuff.  Tom has been supportive, but I know he has to hold back.  Corey's not his kid.  I would be very sensitive to him trying to push Corey out.  Aside from occasionally agreeing that life was going to be a lot easier once Corey was an adult and moved out, he does not say or do anything to push.  Honestly, if the roles were reversed, I cannot say I'd be the same way.  My mother has also been supportive.  Okay, so she won't be winning any mother of the year awards her own self, but she has always viewed Corey as her way of making up for mistakes she made with my brother.  If Mom ever felt I was expecting too much or not handling things the way I could, she has let me know.  Mostly by relating a story of how she wished she'd done something different regarding my brother.  But she's said several times that I'm doing the right thing.  Mom and Tom are the only ones who know besides the collective "you."  I worry about being surrounded by people who will wrongly try to support this if I've overreacted.  What if I'm being unfair?  Expecting too much?  What if years of my sucky mothering has led to this?


*sigh* I know.  Counseling.  Clear expectations.  Behavioral therapy; token reward system; exclusively positive reward system; be a freaking comedian at the end of a good day system.  Special education services.  Extremely focused special ed services.  Independent study.  Medication.  Chiropractic care.  Horse therapy (okay, that went horribly awry when the owner of "his" horse moved away suddenly without telling us).  Going back to a comprehensive education program.  What didn't we try?  Biofeedback.  Why not?  By the time I knew enough about it, he'd been on medication too long for it to be effective.


So where is he now?  Currently he is at my mothers.  His stay there has to be very limited.  I have given her information on Job Corps. and I know he called, but has to wait for someone to contact him.  I don't know what will happen if he does not get in.  He cannot come home right now.  Staying out late or all night, giving me an attitude and being lazy with his chores is one frustrating thing.  Scaring his little sister and destroying our property is another.  Honestly, I could let the property thing go again if it weren't for Madelyn.  I grew up in a home with violence and screaming.  My kids shouldn't have to go through that.  Heck, I shouldn't either, but it's different somehow when it's your kid instead of your parents.


I did speak with him today.  I told him I love him.  I am always his mother.  If there is something he needs to get in to Job Corps., I will be there to provide it.  Once there, he can come home for holidays and special occasions  I am here if he wants to talk.  I'm so far from being ready to cut him out completely.  I just need to have a safe home.  As ever, Corey is stunned by his own behavior.  Sad.  Apologetic.  Probably devastated to know he upset Madelyn.  Since she was born he has prided himself on being a very good big brother.  It's one thing I can always say when people ask about him.  He is an excellent big brother.


I feel like I'm in the Twilight Zone. 


I am worried.  And sad.  And angry.  And so not a wonderful mother.

10 Things You Really Didn't Need to Know About Me

As promised, I'm totally snagging this from my mommy pal over at Wrong Story Short.


1. I am not left handed, but I faked like I was every time I had to write on board in 10th or 11th grade. To answer your questions: Printing only. Kind of bubbly, but clear. Certainly better than the boys. My history of faking runs deep. In second grade I used to make my sister guide me around as though I were a blind person. I'm sure people bought it, too. Why wouldn't they? A blind person would totally walk around with her winter coat on backwards and hanging from her head. No, she never ran me into things. Yes, that's part of why I love her so much.


2. My daughter is currently wearing a size six diaper. Not Mad. Fynn. We went out to buy diapers for Fynn just in time today. I had several left downstairs, but when we got home I brought a screaming infant and an overtired, equally loudly screaming two year old up to my room. I could have gotten a size 3 from downstairs or brought the box in from my car. Instead, Fynn has tapes that are overlapping and a diaper that goes up to about mid-rib.


3. I sort laundry into two piles: Fuzzy and smooth. I used to make six or seven piles based on color and care instructions. It turns out that almost 100% of my clothes are cotton. And old. Same with towels and blankets. My biggest concern for the past few years has been how often I have to use a lint brush.


4. My favorite color was always blue until fourth grade. The gymnastics team I'd just made got new uniforms right as I came on board. They were purple and lavender. I officially changed my favorite color as a symbol of my loyalty. These days I am drawn to any bluish shade of purple. The pink shades make me think of blueberry yogurt, which I find annoying.


5. In conversation I am likely to quote Dr. Seuss and the movies Animal House, History of the World Part I and Blazing Saddles. The movies were family classics when I was growing up. . Dr. Seuss I learned after Corey was born. I was inspired to memorize them by my old Seuss-quoting bookstore manager who had no kids, but after reading anything a few hundred times I was bound to pick it up anyway.


6. I do not have postpartum depression. My insurance sent a questionnaire and I aced it. No joke.


7. Tom bought me a bag of Ghirardelli dark chocolate squares for our anniversary. These are the super dark chocolates with numbers indicating intensity. We both love the 60% and enjoy the 72%. I carried an 86% square around in my pocket today thinking it might be better if it was warm and melty. It did not even approach melty. I didn't eat it.


8. My favorite cup for drinking water was a token of appreciation from the solid waste department for a city I work with. Everyone on the committee got at least one (I got two, both pink). On it is this statement: "Refill this reusable bottle with Ontario's naturally good tap water. I am a water snob. I fill it with mountain spring water. And whenever I see "Ontario's naturally good tap water," I think about their smelly water treatment facility.


9. Any email I receive that starts or ends with wailings about "how many people read their email" automatically goes in the trash. Same for the ones with 10 empty lines followed by "wait for it" or "you're gonna love this." You are probably wrong. I would like to start a clean email movement, where people would delete that nonsense before forwarding. However, I have been 98.5% unsuccessful at getting my own circle of family and close friends to stop sending the same emails to all of us that one of us just sent out to the group 10 minutes ago.  My brother comprises the 1.5% success rate.  However, we also have an agreement to stop sending allegedly funny emails about the other person's political beliefs since we are on opposing sides.  That may account for the drop-off more than anything else.


10. Twice I have been asked, "When are you due?" since having Fynn. The first time I tried to joke about it, the second time was not so easy to be funny. Both times the person asking was my OB's receptionist. Both times she was asking about my physical. I may be more than a little sleep deprived still.

"Now you a pwincess"

Mad said after she placed my wedding tiara on his head.


"Now I'm a princess," her Daddy replied.

Little Sister

I may have explained a bit about my fractured family tree in the past. I'm lucky to get this post up; searching through old posts isn't going to happen. And besides, it's a bit like the start of Genesis, only in addition to all the begetting there would be all the wedding and divorcing and wedding anew. I tried reading Genesis three times. It's not fun.


Suffice to say that I am the oldest girl and second oldest of all the versions of siblings in my family. The second girl is my sister, Rachelle. We always called her Shelly or Shell. Turns out she hates that, but it's a hard habit to break. All three names are my little sister.


We are 28 days apart in age. I was the smart one who took advanced classes. She struggled academically. Shell was held back a grade, but still was mostly in special ed classes.


I was the chubby one with frizzy blonde hair, super pale skin and a fiery temperament. She was the sweet, thin, pretty girl who had long silky chestnut hair and hazel eyes.


I did well in gymnastics. She took piano lessons for a while, and did very well.


Probably the biggest difference between us was how we dealt with our insecurities. She retreated. I was bombastic. She was occasionally the tool I used to make myself feel better. It was an easy thing to do, point out her "flaws" or my so-called strengths. My dad (her dad, really) still talks about her as though she were some lovable clumsy dope who can't get things straight, follow directions or relate information.


He got the lovable part right. Every time we speak, I find some reason to be amazed with who she is as a person. To avoid sounding patronizing, I no longer mention this, but it is no less true. I think about the time, every time we talk, that I made her cry on the soccer field in front of her friends.


Thankfully, I've also been able to stand up for her, even as a kid. I helped put an end to something horrible she endured. Can you believe I had to seek help for her twice before my mom pulled her head out of... the sand... and did something? I cannot fathom that.


Her grandparents never really cared for me so I wasn't close to them. When each of them passed away, I was at her side, crying because she and her dad (my dad, as far as I'm concerned) were hurting.


Today Shelly called me and started off with what a great sister I've always been to her - the best! - and how she has always been able to count on me. I pictured her friends looking at me in contempt as I laughed again about some flub she'd made out there on that cold field.


Somehow we got onto another of our conversations about who did what first. We were competitive about almost everything. I got breasts first and had the first boyfriend. I got married first and had the first child between us. Odd, but I don't recall who got divorced first; that was a tight race.


She remarried first and was the first to have a second child.


She had the first daughter.


She's getting the first hysterectomy later this month.


She may get the first chemo, but I sure hope that is found to be unnecessary.

I'm An Inventor. I Invent.

This morning I came up with the most incredible contraption while my achy body and foggy mind were rising out of the depths of a not-so-deep sleep to find that Fynn had wet so much this morning that it leaked out of her diaper and onto my freshly laundered sheets.


Feature this:  A nursing/cosleeping device that involves a bit of tubing from your breast to baby's mouth.  Lengths could vary depending on the distance between your bed (or toilet... think of the freedom!) and baby's crib, cosleeper or little piece of the carpet.  Mom could wear it and give her little one what he or she wants while getting to sleep in virtually any position at all.  This is my fantasy product, so yes, laying on your stomach is totally feasible.


I'd call it the Boob Tube.


Whaddaya think? 

Smile

I had a dental appointment earlier this week. I sent Mad down to Grandma's and took Fynn with me. With one child I am like SuperMama. I woke up, got us dressed and headed out in no time at all. We arrived early so I could bundle Fynn in the Moby and walk her to sleep in time for her morning nap.

The hygienist was rather pissy about a few things, including Fynn being on my chest, but mellowed out when she realized Fynn is an awesome sleeper. It helped that the woman thought I'd been taking great care of my teeth. So embarrassing, but there were untold days in a row after Fynn was born when I am not sure I even saw my toothbrush or floss, let alone used them. I wasn't able to get Xrays done because of Fynn's location, but that's okay. I'll go back in a few weeks after Corey's out of school. He can manage the girls while I get zapped.

Fynn awoke just as the hygienist was finishing flossing me. Pissy hygienist cooed over her and even held her for a minute. Score one for babywearers!

Speaking of babywearing, I'm incredibly relieved and happy that we were able to get the structured carrier I wanted for Fynn for Christmas. We found an awesome store that let us borrow one for a week to make sure we liked it. I will admit that I tried to find one on Craigslist for a lower price. There was one, but it was far enough away to negate the difference.

Thankful

About a week ago I decided that the dining table Corey and I have struggled to complete for 20 long months is as done as it's going to get. We removed the leaf from our old table and put it in the front room for games. Then we schlepped this giant "new" table in from the garage and tried to put it together. Apparently, sitting in the garage in a climate where the average temperatures range from 25-120 degrees each year can wreak a little havoc on wood. Stupid mofo wouldn't close. We could see some fairly easy remedies, but when those problems were resolved it still wouldn't close. There was about 1/4 of an inch between the ends. Tom came home that night knowing I was frustrated and that we'd need his help. Instead, he jumped into the douche canoe.


"I think I have an idea about how to fix it. If that doesn't work I'll talk with Tomas (a furniture repairman Tom works with) and see what he says. But that stain job is crap!"


Once I was able to pull my jaw off the floor and restrain myself from saying every very nasty thing that came to mind I said, "That was kind of a jackass move, don't you think?"


Shrugging, "It's true. It's awful."


"Coming from someone who hasn't helped aside from sanding the top of each piece last year, and knowing all the trouble we've had but still not helping, don't you think you sound like a jackass?"


"I have been taking care of Madelyn!"


"Uh, Fynn was born in August. Remember how you said you were going to make sure the table got done by my birthday? That was in March."


What really sucks is that he's right. I hate the staining job, too. But I stand by my point. It's like voting. If you're going to sit around and not help, then you just have to shut up while those of us who did what we could try our damnedest to enjoy the outcome.


The good news is that Tom was able to get the table pieces together, but the leaves and main pieces are slightly warped. It's just enough to mess with putting the pieces all together, not visible if you're looking at the table, even if you weren't distracted by the crap staining job.


We're leaving the leaves in until it's adjusted to indoor living. That is one massive table.

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We had a mostly lovely Thanksgiving at one of my sister types. My favorite things at her annual dinner are the canned cranberry sauce with the indentations from the can and the Stove Top stuffing. That is some over-processed crap that I look forward to every freaking year. And Dad's mashed potatoes. The downside was that Corey seemed to have caught a 24-hour bug so we left early.


We also held our own Thanksgiving dinner with my mom on Sunday. I do everything from scratch.  Tom, who seems to help out more and more each year, pointed out that I did not make the graham crackers in my graham cracker pie crust. True. Full disclosure: I also did not condense the milk. Bite me.


Dinner was served on our new table. Our old table could only hold most of the food and we sat in the living room. Imagine this: All the food fit and we were able to use it to eat, too.

Look Ma, Two Hands!

It's been hard to find time and a good typing method.  I do wish my laptop had a lit keyboard.  If I can use both hands, I don't need to see the letters, but mostly I'm typing one handed while leaning over a nursing and/or sleeping Fynnola.  I wonder if my chiropractor hears me calling her name.


***I believe Fynn senses that I've put her down and am typing freely.  At night.  In the dark.  She's beginning to stir.

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I have spent the past two days doing my one day a month at work.  Nance made it as painless as possible.  I thought I'd be stuck in the office for at least one full day, but we did get out to a few places, and I got to check in with several slackers teachers who haven't enrolled their kids yet.


When I arrived at the office Tuesday morning, the only person in my section was the one who flaked out on me and created havoc for my Nancy.  Although I'm no longer angry at her, the whole situation substantially changed my view of her.  My ability to make nice is passable, but I would rate myself "does not work to potential" in this case  My attempt to wave hello, say hi and just focus on my job came off to me more like barking hello while doing my best "talk to the hand."  Oh, and that was after I entered our area, saw she was the only one there, turned around and found people to chat up elsewhere.  And I may have hugged almost everybody else who came into our area.  I'm a fabulous person.  Okay, I suck.


The rest of work was fun and reminded me how much I love my job.  And it wasn't so tough walking around freely or eating lunch with two hands.  As much as I love being home, I will be okay going back to work next month.  On the other hand, I do notice I'm a little tense these past few days.  I just realized yesterday that it's time for Fynn to begin her weekly visits to Grandma's house along with her sister.  I really just want one more day of just Fynn and me, so maybe we'll put it off another week.

*Sigh*