Conversations and Notes From Vacationland

From the road

*Mad calling Fynnie "Baby" incessantly*

*Fynnie fussing every single freaking time*

Tom: Maybe Fynnie doesn’t want to be called Baby anymore, Big Jet.

Mad: *blowing raspberries* Pshht!  She’s still in the Baby Fynnie seat.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Mad: I have to go potty!

Daddy: We’ll stop at the next off-ramp and find a potty.

Mad: *grunting* I pushed myself and got the poop out.

Mama: *silently laughing in the front passenger seat*

Daddy: Don’t push the poop out.  Hold it in.

Mad, proudly and coolly: I’m holding it in my pants.

I'm happy to report it was not a true statement.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Tom: Do you know what she’s doing now when she helps with laundry?

Me: ?

Tom: She’s turning them inside right.

Me: I taught her that.

*high five*

Tom: Mad, when you’re uh…

Mad: I’m not Madelyn.

Tom: Mad… er… Big Jet… I’m sorry.  Big Jet, when you’re six you’re going to take over doing all the laundry for the family.  How does that sound?

Mad: That sounds fine.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Tom, as we passed a slow, beat up motorhome: Can you be an outlaw and drive an RV? I mean, really, c’mon!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

On location

How to stand out in a hip downtown restaurant, the kind that serves cauliflower soup and potato and leek pizzas?  Walk in carrying a potty seat adapter.  Nothing says suave and sophisticated like bright white plastic and a foam cushion with Sesame Street characters.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chris to Matt, pointing at the device that has just done something unexpected less than two feet from me:  Are you printing something?
Matt, looking slightly confused:  Uh, no.  I guess sometimes it just does that.  Like a test page or something.
Me: Um, actually, I just photocopied my butt.  It'll be printing a while.
Judy, laughing (thank god!):  Just like your father.  I assume she was talking to her sons about me being just like my father-in-law, but she could have been talking to me, too.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~


Note to self
Stray eyebrows, no tweezers = bad.

In Case You Didn't Know

Per Mad... Big Jeff... Blue Plane... Big Jet Rocket:

"Twice is two times.  Thrice is three times.  Rice is just for eating."

Itchy, Scratchy, Lumpy, Bumpy

In the beginning of allergy shot therapy, there are weekly shots. Four weeks at each level, with increasing amounts of a person's particular allergens. Have a reaction and you are either "held" at that level for an extended time or dropped back to a previous level.

Five weeks into my shots and I am already back where I started.

Last week's Pets and Grass shot caused a reaction. It was pretty much instant. Nothing dangerous.  I never had problems breathing unless I thought about how I should make sure my airway wasn't closing up.

The doctor and nurses had told me that any welt larger than some coin (quarter? silver dollar?) was cause for concern. Yet when I called to say that half my arm was red, itchy, hot and swollen to the point of being painful and that the swelling was causing my hand and elbow joints to ache?

"It's a localized reaction.  Ice it."

"What about the fact that it's still growing more than 24 hours later? Or that it's raised about half an inch?"

*in a tone that clearly indicated I'm overreacting* "It's a localized reaction. Ice it. Can you take Benadryl?"

"I'm nursing."

"Okay, suck it up and deal ice it."

Do you know what kinds of looks people give you if you're walking around with an ice pack under your shirt sleeve at work? Especially when you are in the midst of an important conversation right when you can no longer take the cold, so you wiggle and pop it out the bottom of your shirt?

I Have Always Said...

Madelyn is smart.  Advanced.  Brilliant.

Now I'm being forced to take that back.

Madelyn... er... Mad-A-Girl... em... Mad... *sigh*... none of those work any more.

Oh no, not for my girl.  Try it and her initial response is a giggling, "Madelyn isn't Madelyn.  Madelyn is Bob Dole Rocket."

Did you know I call my daughter by her wrong name at least 15 times an hour?  Who knew?

Rocket is fairly tolerant about the whole thing.  I mean, it took her four whole days to go from laughingly reminding us to telling us through clenched teeth EACH AND EVERY SINGLE FREAKING TIME we slip up.

It's been a week and a day.  And now?

Now she hangs her head in forlorn dejection, clearly wondering if she was adopted or switched at birth.

She is pitiful and we are pathetic.

MomShare

What have you done with 2011?

I have wasted spent a lot of hours online this year.  Mostly I've chalked it up to being a good way of multitasking while Fynn nurses.  Sometimes I've been able to step away from the computer knowing that I have just done something that will make a difference.

Late last year I became friends with someone who is more driven than I will ever be.  Her name is Bridget and she's from the same birth board I've mentioned before.  She read a post on the board by a young mama who was receiving assistance, but still couldn't keep her child diapered and fed.  The woman's own relative was taking her daughter's diapers and formula.  In desperation, she had resorted to using maxi pads to diaper her daughter.

Can you imagine?

Bridget looked around and saw the diapers her daughter no longer fit, and the formula that didn't work out as expected.  It's not like Bridget was rolling in dough.  Her husband's work in construction was spotty because of the economy, but she could still help.

She gathered a few of us together and we have worked toward a common dream.  It's called MomShare and it's pretty amazing.

Do you have things your baby or child has outgrown that are just taking up space in your home?

Are you in need of clothes, baby gear or just an amazing group of women who understand what it's like to struggle to meet the needs of your family?

Maybe you fit into both of those categories.  Most of us can help and yet still occasionally need help, too.

MomShare was set up to connect moms in need with moms who have.  We come from all over the country and from all levels of education, life experience and income.

Members have shared coupons, clothes, breast pumps, bottles, cloth diapers, books and our lives.  We started out on BabyCenter, but have been steadily making the switch to our own site, MomShare.

That and many hours of Thousand Island Solitaire, online tabloid reading and sarcastic commenting on other people's blogs is what I've done with 2011.  What about you?

Hide and Seek Isn't Scary

Today Mad and I played hide and seek for the first time.  She asked.  I never would have brought it up.  It was fun!  We laughed and hid and sought and laughed some more.

Sounds normal, right?

Did I mention that I was secretly tense the entire time?  Seriously.

No, I'm not afraid of a three and a half year old jumping out at me.  (Not that she did.  She stalks the hider and can barely contain her laughter when it's her turn to be found.)

Let's go back 15 years, shall we?

Corey was the same age as Mad and we played our first ever game of hide and seek.  He was terrorized by the hiding.  By the seeking.   Thought I had left and wasn't coming back.  Freaked out.  It ended with tears and hugs and confusion.

Looking back, it was the very first sign that things were not as wonderful as I thought they'd been.  We never played again.

I know that the game didn't cause Corey's problems.  I get it.  But I guess I was traumatized by that afternoon, too.

Today Mad and Mama played hide and seek.  Then she played with Daddy.  Then with Mama again.  The only thing that upset her was that it had to end.  That little girl is balm for my soul.

Learning Something (Or Two!) Every Day

In case you were wondering...

The way to ensure that guy from Craigslist will show up on time even though he didn't confirm that he was coming?  Take off your bra.

Living in the desert is so dry!  (You know you wanna ask.)  It's so dry that folding toilet paper in a dark restroom in the dark at say, 2:45 in the morning, will allow you to see the toilet paper light up from static sparking.  And then you get to contemplate wiping.

But wait, there's more!

After asking if you can put someone on hold for a minute so you can dash into the restroom and pee, make sure you only hit the mute button on your cell phone once.  Once.  Or, I guess, three times would work.  Twice will just... well, let's just say that I'm glad it was family and not some employer or teacher I work with.

My work here is done.  Carry on.

What It Takes

Know what it takes to get the fridge sold for $150 on Craigslist?

Girl power.  (And maybe invoking the "I transferred everything from the old one to the new one, so maybe you can clean it so I can take pictures" clause.)

Ahem, yes, I was completely willing to just let the delivery guys pick up the old one.  Or sell it to Edison for a $50 rebate.

Know what it takes to get the guys who are coming to buy said fridge to actually show up?

Bra removal.

Women who work outside the home know what I'm talking about.  Taking off one's bra at the end of a long day is a mini rite of passage.  It says, "I'm done.  Clocked out.  Shuffling around until bedtime is my latest pastime."

It's magic, I tell ya!