Okay, Seriously

My feet are healing.  Toe maybe not broken after all, although the word mofo still pops up now and again.  Broken blisters are only sore while I'm wearing shoes.

I did sleep weird the other day and got a kink in my neck.  I guess I pretty much asked for that, though, didn't I?

Instead of adding new body parts to a list of complaints, I'll just say I'm really glad I don't have to.

This morning, while driving the girls to Grandma's house, we had issues.  In case you're new around here and don't know, our morning drive goes from an elevated desert over a mountain range pass and down to the bottom of the other side.

It's not exactly treacherous mountain driving, being that each side of the freeway has three to four lanes.  There's enough of a downhill grade to have emergency ramps should one of the thousands of semis that passes through have a brake failure.

I did not have a brake failure.  Even better, I didn't have any trouble while in the pass.  About 10 miles from Grandma's house I heard that beep.  Saw the red triangle with an exclamation point.  Read the message that said, "Stop safely now."

Felt sick.

The last time this happened was a few years back, and my car had just run out of gas.  Today, I had plenty of fuel.  Last time I was only doing about 35 miles per hour; the car died in about 30 feet, complete with a locked up steering wheel.

Today I was driving closer to 75 miles an hour.  In the fast lane of a very fast freeway.

With my girls in the back.

*deep cleansing breath*

I did not attempt to get to the other side.  I made the equally bad decision to pull onto the center divide. 

A call to roadside assistance had someone on there way.  "They'll be there in 80 minutes or less."

"Eighty minutes?  I'm on the center divide with two small children."

I am not a crier, but I could have been.

A CHP officer pulled up, mentioned three times that I was in a very unsafe spot.  (It wasn't just the center divide, I was up against the start of a bridge, where the shoulder narrows.  Every passing carr rocked us.  I could not move forward or back.  Although my car was still running, it wouldn't go.)

He had dispatch call the tow service to see if they could speed things up.  Apparently not.  He came back and asked for my cell number.  Called my cell phone to make sure it was right and then told me he was going back to run a traffic break.  He would call me to let me know when to go.  I was concerned at how fast I could get the car to go.  He went back to his SUV and came back again.  Said another officer would run the break and he would escort me.

Someone on his walkie-talkie asked if I'd turned the car off and then turned it back on.  I had not. 

I tried it.

The triangle of doom was gone.  Replacing the "stop safely now" message was the same old "miles until E."

I do not understand cars.

Apparently I reset the car's computer.  Not that everything was fine, mind you, but it was good enough to make the traffic break work for us.

It was a little surreal being escorted off the freeway by two CHP officers.  Officer Garcia, my knight in shining black and white... whatever SUVs are made of these days... and the officer who ran the break made sure I got into a parking lot near the off-ramp and waved as they drove away.

My car was running fine, so I called my dad and Nance to update them before heading off again.  Got to Dad and Margaret's place only to hear the unmistakable sound of air leaking from a tire.  I had a moment of desperate hope when I wondered if maybe the flattening tire could have caused my earlier dilemma.

I believe my tires are "run flats," meaning I can go a little way before they show the effects of, say, a roofing nail being jammed clear through.  Despite leaking air for at least 10 minutes, the the tire still looked and felt normal.  So I dropped off the girls and had my dad follow me to the dealership.

The examination of my car revealed several problems.  Maybe the missing air filter case clip could be dealt with another time, but that and the rest are being worked on now and for at least one more day.

Thankfully, the problem that brought us to a (metaphorically) screeching halt this morning is covered under the extended warranty we purchased four years ago.  I am about 10,000 miles from the end of that warranty.  Whew!  With the driving I do, it will likely run out by the middle of winter.

Unfortunately, there are a host of "maintenance" issues that are all going to be handled at the same time.

The only estimate I've received so far is that we're at $550.

Plus two new tires.  No, not the one with the roofing nail; they're going to repair that one. 
Update: 
Tires are a veritable bargain at $330, because it's not just tires.  They're gonna mount, balance and install them.  I may have begun self-medicating with chocolate.

And there may be a deductible for our warranty work. 
Update:
There's no deductible, hooray!

I have a theory on why this happened.  Want to hear it?

Last night I worked out our bills for tomorrow and next Friday.  We pay all of our bills ahead of schedule, but had gotten ourselves up tight against the due dates with all of the activities in July and August.  Last night I mentally patted myself on the back as I thought, "By next Friday we'll only have one bill left for the month of October.  Then we can start on Christmas, Tom's mother's retirement gift and a few other things.  As long as nothing happens."

Stupid thought.

Here's another, much better:  Mad, Fynn and I were only delayed.  We They were not frightened or injured.  Even though I will be driving a rental car home tonight, we will all go home together.

So There's This Woman at Work

She's one of the teachers I work with.  Lovely soul.  As Nance kept mentioning the other day, gorgeous eyes.  Kind of scattered.

A few years ago she had surgery on her foot.  A sort of "won't this be great?!?" deal that has resulted in more surgeries.  I'm not even sure if it's been two years or three that she's been hobbling around in some version of a cast and crutches.

She started school late this year because of another surgery.  A different one.

Now she has a cast, crutches and a full plastic and metal stabilizing neck brace.

We wonder what she'll come back with after the holidays.

Today I feel a little bit like her, only without the accessories.

Yesterday morning I met some random woman off the Internet in a park.  At 4:30 in the morning.  To walk.  We walked for what turned out to be about 90 minutes.  (Time flies when you're in the midst of a good conversation.  And apparently the days are shorter than they were when Fynnie was last nursing all night long, so I misjudged when I should head home to clean up for work.)

When I got in the shower, I realized that what I'd thought were a couple blisters on the backs of my ankles were, in fact, no longer blisters.

Lamaze breathing comes in handy for a lot of things, not just popping out kids.  In case you were wondering.

By the time I arrived at work, my legs were a little stiff, but not too bad.  The bigger problem was that I have to wear grown up shoes at work.  (And I recently got the stink eye for wearing flip flops.  Again.  So I left them at home.)

Did you know it's not at all painful to go up two flights of stairs with popped blisters on the back of your ankles?  It's because the ankles angle away from the shoes.  In fact, if I could have gotten to my desk strictly by going upstairs, I would have done it.

Instead, I hobbled along the upper floor of my building, gradually turning my toes inward.  Did that help?  Not really, but for some reason I kept doing it.

Also, for unknown reasons, I realized I was hunching over.

The only thing that made it even more fun to watch was when I realized I'd drank too much water, coffee and lemonade and needed to dash to the bathroom.  My version of a dash, included pigeon toes, a hunched back and a lot of Kegels.

Have I ever mentioned that I have some sort of muscular connection between the Kegel muscles and my eyelids?  It must be true.  That's the only explanation I can come up with for the fact that my eyes get this surprised look if I'm doing them right.

So, to recap, yesterday I was pigeon toed, hunched over, rhythmically shocked, bloated, itchy, sneezing, dripping (from my nose, people!) and practicing my Lamaze breathing.  What could be better?

Today I accidentally kicked a little wooden wagon that the girls have for their blocks.  It was more like walking into the corner of it, but only with the second to last toe.

I think I broke my toe.  It's swollen, gray and purple and hurts like a mofo if I try to point or flex my foot.  Which is something I apparently do ALL. THE. TIME.  And it's not that shooting pain that stops when you stop.  It lingers.

Between the toe, the broken blisters and the sore muscles from yesterday's long walk, I am not a huge fan of living in a two storey house right now.

Tom and I discussed it this afternoon, and I decided to tape my toes together.  Only, we have no clue where the medical tape is right now, so I used dark gray electrical tape.  Highs and lows, people.  It is easier to walk, but pinches a little and has become covered in white dog hair.

The thought of shoes is enough to make me break out in a sweat.  One of our Chinese girls accidentally left a pair of slip on sandals that are my size.  Sure, they're a sort of neon salmon plastic.  What?  I'll just wear all black tomorrow and have them be my pop of color.

So now that I've got the feet covered, on to the neck!

Oh, No She Di-en't

Oh, yes I did!

Wait, what?  You don't know?  Oh this is big deal stuff, peeps.  Let me lay the foundation for ya.

*I am dealing with an especially bad "girl time" right now.
*I am bloated, cranky and craving butter.
*My allergies are beyond manageable.  (I know, because I've broken down and taken meds the past few days.)
*I am sneezing, dripping, and itching.
*My eyes are swollen (no, not the skin around my eyes... I mean my eyes) and red.
*Eyelids are puffy.
*Head feels like it's going to explode.
*My ears are plugged.
*Sinuses periodically stop dripping long enough make my face hurt with the congestion.

Even better, I was so wiped out yesterday that I went to bed at 8:15 last night.  Naturally, that means I have been up since 3:30 this morning.  When I was finally tired enough to go back to bed, Fynn gave me three solid minutes to get comfy before letting me know she was up.  So I'm also tired.

And my hair is scraped back into a ponytail-ish bun thing.  But with three inches of brown and gray(!!!) frizz poking out everywhere.

On the other hand, my girls are adorable.  Mad has two of those ponytail-ish bun things in a style that we call her Mickey Mouse ears.

Fynnie had a little clip to keep hair out of her face.

Cute clothes for both of them.

And... I took them to breakfast this morning.

Alone.  (Tom has tennis on Sunday mornings.)

In a restaurant.

Mad is always asking if we can go in and eat whenever we pass Farmer Boys.  So today, we did.

I told the cashier that it was my first time bringing them on my own and asked her to please wish me luck.  When she realized I was splitting a plate between the girls, she made a note of it.

They each had a plate with a pancake, a strip of bacon and a cup of fruit.

They ate.

They behaved.

Any spills that happened were not from hopping around and banging into things.

There was no shrieking.

No incessant requests to go use the potty.

Even more impressive, I got to eat.

And we finished at the same time!

I picked a few pieces of food up off the floor and wiped down the area where Fynnie sat and we were out the door.

People smiled as we left.  (And not because they were so relieved that we were finally leaving.)

And the angels sang, "La haaaaa!"

Does It Make You Want to Kiss Me On the Mouth, Too?

Or we could call this, "Reason #675 Why She Shouldn't Be Forced to Endure Meetings That Other People Use In Place of Therapy"

Her:  "Blah blah blah wah wah wah *snort*"

Me:  "Or maybe since you are a full-grown woman, you could actually do it yourself."

(Two people later said they could have kissed me on the mouth for that.  One of them was not my boss, who was sitting right next to me, however.)

Who I Want to Be When I Grow Up

I love these people!

Vacating, part two

More fun from our time away last month.

On our second day, we got to meet up with a the family of a wonderful friend I made through my birth board.  Janette and her husband have twin sons, Charlie and Sam.  Madelyn, who was going through a please let us be a phase of shrieking "Sister!" did not spare Charlie and Sam.  It is now how we refer to them.

Fynnie loved them.  Couldn't get enough!  And if someone happened to, you know, touch her?  Fabulous.

Later that evening we went to a park near the home of my brother-in-law and his fiancee.  It was like the United Nations park.  From what I saw and heard, I think there was a very good chance we were the only people born in America.  A huge group of Africans played soccer, while their children played with Mad.  We saw people dressed in traditional garb from at least three places in Asia.  It was beautiful.

 Fynnie contemplates her earlier meltdowns after seeing children from many nations come together for fun and frivolity.

Oh, wait.  I'm pretty sure these women are originally from here.  They were very patient and tolerant when Madelyn decided to join their game of bocce ball.  They even let her throw the ball.

Sticking with a theme that lasted from the start of our vacation until after our Chinese exchange students (more on them later!) left, Mad melted down when she was forced to realize that we don't actually know these bocce ball playing people do something that was outside her master plan.

The next morning before we left, Uncle Matt made the most amazing banana berry oatmeal.  Mad would have loved it.  If Uncle Matt hadn't given her some of the homemade peach ice cream he and Sarah had made the night before, she might have tried it.

In a pure sign of brotherly love, Matt and Sarah let us crash at their new place.  By new, I mean the movers arrived from Boston with their belongings about 30 hours before we showed up.

Well, There You Have It

From Madelyn:

Daddy is a boy because he lives down low. Girls live up high.

Vacating

This is about 20 minutes from my home.  When I say I live in the middle of nowhere, this is what I mean.

It's a Joshua Tree, in case you were wondering.  They are protected.  If one were to suddenly pop up in our yard, we would have to keep it.  To me, they are straight out of Dr. Seuss.

 These hills and trees are a memory from my childhood.

My parents had a motorhome.  My sister and I got the bunk beds in the back.  Sometimes I would wake up in the morning, look out the window and see these deep green trees and the wheat-colored grass.  It was when I fell in love with the earth.

This is the face of a bribed child.  She did not scream or otherwise cause complete strangers to come to her rescue at any of the restroom breaks.

The same could not be said two days earlier at a potty pit stop (her first time using a public toilet) at my office. 

Making time to meet up with a friend and her family in Monterey?  Freaking brilliant.  (I mean my friend, Bridgie, is brilliant.  I haven't asked if I can post photos of B and her gorgeous family, so you'll have to imagine the cutest baby girl with a round, barely blonde head, deliciously full cheekies and big blue eyes.  Look where she had us meet her!)

Clear and total resemblance.

Fynnie's interpretation of the sign and her sister.   

Or pretend sharing.  You know she doesn't really intend for you to take it, right?  Whew! 

This slide is about two stories high.

 The best way to work off an eight hours car ride.

 Again, Fynnie's version.

The outfit, in case you are wondering, consisted of a sunsuit that was perfect for the 96 degree weather we'd enjoyed earlier in the day.  Completely mismatched pants and sweater?  Mama's last minute "what if" pieces that came in handy for the 64 degree afternoon in Monterey.  Too bad it wasn't "What if Fynnie would like to have stylish photos of her infancy?" 

Somebody get this girl a teddy bear!

Doing her best Sheena Easton (seriously, is that how you remember her?).

Stupid Things I Say

Me:  "I want to be Hasidic and grow those curly things." *making curlicue gestures near the sides of my face*
Tom:  "I could grow a beard."
Me:  "With the change of life coming my way, so could I.  It's gonna be great!"
Tom: *nervous laughter and quick glances between the road and me*

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

Me to me:  "Note to self:  Dipshit, not shithead.  Wait!  Calling your beloved niece either one of those to her mom isn't going to be better, even if there was an ultimately eloquent point you were trying to make."

Have You Been Sitting on the Edge of Your Seat, Too?

Last week Mad had her EEG.  The instructions were clear and simple:  Wake her up no later than 6:00 A.M. and bring her with clean hair.

Madelyn is a morning person.  Six o'clock would be like getting up 15-30 minutes earlier than she does on her own.

We kept her up about 90 minutes later than usual and then woke her up around 3:45 to go with Daddy to Grandma's.  (Hey, it said she had to get up early, not me!)  And right after Tom called to say he would grab Madelyn before her appointment (I was running late... it was a crazier morning with just one than with two!), I called Margaret and asked her to please wash Mad's hair.

Once upon a time, my life was under control.

Only one parent was allowed in for the procedure, which would have been nice to know since Tom took half a day off work to be there.  The tech instructed that it should be the parent who could be the firmest.  I waited for Tom to grandly acknowledge my rightful position, but he just looked at me blankly.  I said, very tactfully (for once), "I think that's probably me."  He nodded.  I went.

The technician, Mary, and her trainee were gentle and friendly, lovely.  I was given a mirror to hold so Madelyn could watch all the scalp cleaning, followed by gooping her up, adding electrodes and covering them with gauze.

Mary praised Mad's ability to follow directions at such a young age and talked soothingly to Mad and me about relaxing.  I wonder how many more times in her life I'll get to watch her fall asleep.  Not many, probably.  It was beautiful and fast and completely unlike trying to get her to nap today.  Within five minutes of the test starting, Mad was out.  Just in time, because my arm was starting to tingle from holding her hands (both a soothing and a don't-touch-that technique).

I watched the screen the same way expectant fathers watch contraction monitors.  I saw the standard brainwaves and I saw some enormous spikes.  Once I saw very low waves.

Mary occasionally made marks on the screen that I couldn't read even with glasses.  Sometimes for the large spikes, but occasionally for what seemed like time intervals.  (There wasn't a clock in the room, so this is just a guess.)  As the 20 minute test was wrapping up, she remarked that our doctor is highly skilled and efficient, and the only person to read ped results.  I was pretty sure it was her secret code for telling me we'd be coming back to see him (instead of getting a call or email).  Not too soon, though, because he was on vacation until the 15th.  She suggested I call or email him to let him know the test had been done anyway.

Not seeing the rush, I waited to send my email until Wednesday morning.

I received a reply a few hours later.  From the doctor.  Who was "stuck in London," but promised to read the report right away upon his return.

Dude, I think tears welled up in my eyes again just from the memory.

This morning I opened my email to find another e-missive.  The results.  Three days before he returns from his vacation.  Yes, I wonder how long it would have taken to get results if we hadn't switched insurance companies, too.

Yes, she had spikes.  If Mad ever does have a seizure, or unprovoked fainting spell we'll need to medicate.

I responded right away to clarify... and yes, the over-excitement and cold ice cream combo counts as a provocation that negates the need for medication at this time.

It's not exactly the clean bill of health we would have loved to get, but it's enough for now.

Tom and I figured these brain spikes could be a factor in Mad's brilliance.  And then we turned relief into ridiculous by arguing about discussing which one of us might have contributed this awesome brain activity.

Happy Birthday, Fynnie Fynn

For the big things and the little

For the laughter and tears

For the love and the heartache

For the long nights and short mornings

For the whole year through

I Love You

~ Mama

Translation, Please!

We have been enjoying the company of two very lovely young ladies from China for the past few days.  They arrived Tuesday evening.  It has been fun, and kind of nerve-wracking, to watch them experience our foods for the first time (nerve-wracking because of the vastly different cultural approaches to eating and to being a guest or host.  I want them to like everything or feel free to say they don't.).  It's not often someone will say to you, "I have never seen anything like this" and be talking about cheddar cheese. 

Wednesday night was their welcome party.  Our girls, as I've taken to calling them, were surprised to find that the party was going to be at a park.  The evening was full of cooler weather and minimal wind (double hooray!), good food and fun games.  During a rare quiet moment, Katrina smiled at me and said words no one wants to hear.  Ever.

"Your husband must have been very handsome when he was much younger."

Okay, I might have giggled a little when I agreed that he was very handsome when he was much younger, but she continued.

"You too. I saw pictures of you on the wall and you were very beautiful when you were younger."

*sigh*
 
At least she recognized that it's me in those photos.  When we pulled them out, Mad looked at them and pointed out her daddy.  I pointed at my own picture and asked her, "Who's that?"
 
"Um, a friend."

I Feel So Popular!

Emms over at 3hearts2hold1love invited me to participate in the 7 Links challenge.

THE GOAL
To unite bloggers (from all sectors) in a joint endeavor to share lessons learned and create a bank of long gone, but not forgotten blog posts that deserve to see the light of day again.

THE RULES
1) Blogger is nominated to take part.

2) Blogger publishes his/her 7 links on his/her blog – 1 link for each category.

3) Blogger nominates up to 5 more bloggers to take part.  (I will just say straight out that Bossy Betty would be on my list of nominees, but she refuses to participate in such frivolity.  I, on the other hand started smiling and waving to the crowd Mad and Fynn as though I just won Miss America as soon as I saw that Emms nominated me.  I would also include Heather at The Baby Sucks, but her blogs is mainly in pictures, not words.)

4) These bloggers publish their 7 links and nominate another 5 more bloggers.

5) And so it goes on!

6) We’ll be sharing the best posts from participating bloggers on our blog and everyday on Facebook and Twitter at #My7Links

Most Beautiful 
Although I'm still slightly irked at how some of the photos look washed out on this post, I love it.  It's my first and still only Christmas Letter.
Most Popular 
Fynn's Birth Story, As Told By Mama   
Most Controversial
This post didn't inspire any negative remarks, but it certainly could have.  It was just over two years later that I really did reach "done."  The eight months since then have been many things, most recently they've been exceedingly painful, sad and aggravating.  So, not exactly onward and upward, but continuing.  
Most Helpful 
I participated in The Mother Letter Project.  This is what I wrote.  Who knows if it was helpful for anyone else, but it helped me to put these things down, and to grieve for the differences between Corey and Madelyn.  
Surprise Success 
This has been hanging around (*sigh*, bad puns suck) my popular posts for quite some time now.  
Not Enough Attention 
This was the second post I made after a five year hiatus from blogging (after the obligatory, "gee, guess I'd better get back to this" drivel... I find those posts annoying, frankly, because so few people stick with it after such an announcement).  So my zero followers never read way too much about my nipples, but now you can.  Yes, I'm a giver.  You're welcome. 
Most Proud 
It's long, but it makes the point I was aiming for, and it inspired the longest single comment in the history of my blog.  I thought maybe I was the only one to write short response novels, but apparently not.
  
I nominate: 

Beth at Anti-Supermom

Noelle at Because Nice Matters  (I figure it may take a moment for her to get to this since she is off having her daughter AS I TYPE.)

Janelle at Renegade Mothering

And Amy Sue at MyHappyCrazyLife

On Sharing

When Madelyn was a wee bebe, I had some difficulties sharing food with her.  It wasn't an issue with Corey.  I don't know why exactly. 

Okay, I have some theories:
*I was extremely stressed by Mad's start in life.  It blindsided me and affected how I made decisions for several months.
*When Corey was a toddler, I gained about 35 pounds on the "toddler diet."  That's the one where Mama makes a meal for herself and the kidlet, eats hers and finishes his.  Brilliant.

I've been much more relaxed about sharing food and drink (I pretty much only drink water when we're together) with Fynnie.  Still not eating hers, but totally fine letting her share mine.

I have this really cute water bottle that is clear with a periwinkle lid.  (Periwinkle was the color at my wedding, people... this stuff is important!)  It is with me almost constantly.

Did you know that light shines through a clear plastic bottle with a periwinkle lid?

Did you also know that letting your nursing daughter sit up and take a sip in of water in a dark room with the computer on before you will illuminate exactly what happens when said nursing daughter lets water flow in and out of her mouth.  In and out of your cup?

Fricken slo-mo science video reel before my very eyes.

Home. Friends.

This is the post I almost believed I'd never write.

Sorry I've been getting so far behind on reading blogs.  I have been busy.  Making friends.  Smiling.  Laughing.  Planning.  Happy.

That mommy group I could never meet up with for activities?

I've been meeting.  I've been active.

In the past three weeks I have:

Learned to make and can jalapeno jelly and strawberry jam.  Turns out it's so much easier than I would have guessed.  And fun.

Ordered tutus from one of mommies for the girls for Fynnie's birthday party.  Mad's will be pink, yellow and purple.  Here's a (blurry) picture of Fynnie's that I snagged.

The blue piece in the center above the bow is a flower for her hair.

Taken a belly dancing class.  There was another one this morning, but I couldn't make it.  I'll catch the next one.  It was fun and a good workout.  Made even better by the fact that I had Fynnie strapped to my body during the whole thing.  Madelyn?  She was busy playing with the other kids or running over to try out our moves.  Oh!  And remember that one miserable trip to the breastfeeding support group when Fynnie was a couple weeks old?  Remember the mama who gave me the blow-by-blow of the last 11 weeks of her pregnancy, labor, delivery, recovery and the status of her relationships with the medical staff at the hospital where all this happened? She was there.  She's been my Facebook friend for a few weeks, but I didn't know until she walked in and started talking.  And talking.  She struck me as nervous (I don't think any of us had met before, except for me and the host... who'd been at the canning party).  I think that 11 months ago she must have really been (understandably) traumatized by the circumstances of her daughter's entree.  And I have to say that I kind of like her.

Supported a mom's endeavors to avoid having her son selling discount cards at the grocery store.  I bought four of them and, along with all the discounts, was thrilled to get a 20 minute photo shoot for my girls.

The girls and I met again with the photographer mama and her girls.  At the mall.  For pretzels and lemonade and to get my CD of photos, but we hung out for almost an hour.  We may start getting together to walk in the mornings.

Applied to host a couple of young women from China for about two and a half weeks.  I think we're in.  They arrive on the second.

Tomorrow I'm hosting a canning "party" of my own.  All I did last time was cut up some strawberries and jalapenos and then fill up and label a few jars.  Neither of the women who are coming tomorrow were at the last event, so I'll be the "knowledgeable" person.  Bahaha!  One of the ladies who is coming is the same one we were able to help out a month or so ago.  The other one is just coming because she's interested.

I've still been going to the gym regularly with my pal, Jennifer.  I did miss two weeks because we were fighting off sinusitis.  Yuck.

And aside from all of the fun and frivolity, there have also been trips with the girls to the local farmer's market and the farmer's market from a neighboring town.  Tom and I took Mad to a cooking class the other night (more on that later).  We're getting out more.  And "out" no longer means just the grocery store or the park.
Tom, Madelyn and I painted that orange wall.  It looks great.  Tom's very happy.  Making such a bold statement started off as just following through on one of our "some day" conversations.  But as the girls and I went to choose the paint, it occurred to me:  Making this dramatic change is akin to transforming our house into a home, something that stalled out a couple of months after we moved in.  (It has also led to a discovery:  If one paints a wall, the first thing one does is stand back and appreciate the new color.  The second is to notice that the other side of the wall really needs to be painted, too.   Still no decisions regarding the niche, but we'll get there.  Maybe I'll ask the ladies tomorrow what they think.)

Oh, what's that?  You want to see pictures from the photo shoot?  Did you think I'd pass up a chance to share my sweet girls?  Feel free to check out the rest of the pictures here.

Mad and Other New Frog

Fynnie Fynn getting ready to crawl away

Could she be any cuter?  No, but does anyone else see that look in her eyes?  The one that says, "Hey, I wonder what your shoulder tastes like!  Mama's tastes great and she makes this awesome sound every time I bite her.  Will you make a sound?

Doesn't she look sweet?  Our photographer friend is amazing.  This shot was taken while Mad was doing the most hilarious slo-mo roll around the floor, arms and legs up in the air.  It reminded me of some old SNL episodes with Molly Shannon.

News of My World

Doesn't involve any hacking, sneaking or listening in on other people's conversations.  But there's a lot to share!

We are feeling increasingly more pleased with our decision to switch to Kaiser.  We met the girls' pediatrician last week and Mad's neurologist today. Every medical professional we've encountered greets us and then tells us why we're there.  Because they've read our file.  Doc walked in this morning and said, "So you're here about the incident in April."

Yes, that was my jaw hitting the floor.

Moreover, he really listened to what we were saying.  We discussed Mad's fall in 2009.  Unlike the neuro we met back then, at no time did our new doc try to insist that Mad had a seizure and then fell.  He listened.  We laid out everything.

Two women in Tom's family have a history of seizures.  Teen onset, lasting through early adulthood.

Mad fell.  Knocked herself out.  Came to.  Went out again.  Had an EEG that showed some minor activity that our old ped, Dr. Present, said could result in a seizure disorder later or could be nothing.

At the birthday party in April, Mad was extremely excited.  By the singing.  Her first candle to blow out.  The frog cupcake.  The ice cream that she was eating way too fast.

She seemed to have a brain freeze followed by a seizure.  But she came to and was her normal self (albeit upset) in a matter of seconds.

What did all of that mean to our new neurologist?

Mad fainted.

Apparently some people are susceptible to vasovagal episodes.  And do you know what can cause them?  I am not joking when I say being excited and eating something cold.

Yes, that was me breathing a huge sigh of relief.

Fortunately, Doc is going to redo the EEG to be on the safe side.  Again unlike the previous neuro, New Doc does not advocate using heavy duty meds to prevent something that may or may not happen.  So if it turns out she is at risk for developing seizures, we will wait to treat them if they show up.

He said Mad seems perfect.  Developmentally appropriate.  Smart.  Pretty (he did say that, but not as part of his diagnosis).

So next up will be an EEG.  Unlike two years ago, Mad isn't likely to fall asleep anywhere we put her (not that she did then), so she'll probably have to be put under for it.  That's our least favorite part of the whole thing, but we'll take it to get the answers we need.

Design Dilemma

I need help.  And yes, I realize there are so many places you could take that.  All the same, I lay myself bare.

Or, I admit that our walls are still mostly bare 28 months after moving in here.

For the past three months or so I've been working my (obviously weak) magic, trying to get Tom in the mood.  To hang stuff.  Because we have plenty of stuff.

Artwork that my mother-in-law got for us.

Scenic photos from vacations past.

Pictures of the kids.

And it turns out we even have frames.  Tons of them.  Or at least one-quarter of a ton based on the four trips down the stairs with my arms full of slipping and sliding framery.

Now that Tom has agreed to join me in my quest to make this house feel more like a home, I have decided that we need to paint one of the walls.

Don't worry, we've got the color mostly under control.  Crazy as this may sound, we have an orange in mind that will go brilliantly with the tan walls and purple cabinets in the kitchen.

No, really.  That's not the part I need help with.

In addition to this one wall, which is in the living room, we're going to paint a niche in the same room.

How would you paint the niche?

Paint it all, back and sides?

Paint just the back?

Paint the back our fabulous orange, but paint the sides a color lighter than the rest of the walls... to sort of frame it like a window?

Something else that you're willing to share with me?

In case you're not sure what the heck I'm talking about, here's our niche.  It's approximately 4' x 2'.

(More) Stupid Things I Say

To the head of a large motor company in the midst of a big business event:  "Thank you (for fixing my collar).  I changed my shirt twice on the way over here tonight."  Like that wasn't enough, I had to expand on it.  "I wore this shirt to work today, but changed as I was heading over here.  Then I realized I'd popped a button off and had to go through it all again."

To a very serious request for suggestions for volunteer activities for foreign exchange students on the local mommy group board:  "I suppose it would be inappropriate to suggest that the students volunteer to put sprinklers in my backyard, right? How 'bout a patio cover? Playing with my kids so I can get something done around here?  Seriously though, I hope you find what you need. I would love to host, but the spare bed we have is a sleeper sofa in the loft. I've already seen my father-in-law in his underwear this year and can't risk any more trauma."

Endings

My emotions have been a little too pendulous these days. The end of this month is bringing some huge changes.
This afternoon Fynnie had her last appointment with Dr. Present. We were hoping to get a vaccination in so she'd be caught up to our schedule before transferring. She'd been too sick with another of her recurrent nasty fevers in May and it threw us off.

Part of me wanted to bring all of the kids. And the camera. Or to leave photos of our kids behind. There is a wall of photos. It's something that had been started by the previous pediatrician, that Dr. Present and his wife continued. There are three photos of Corey up there. Preschool, kindergarten and, I think, second grade. No photos of the girls. They have never had any professional shots done. (*sigh* That's the downside of getting Tom to agree that I needed an expensive camera with a nice lens.) I haven't seen the wall updated in several years.

I forgot the camera this morning and decided not to go back for it because, well, I could see myself letting the emotions take over if I made too big of a deal about it.

Corey did not join us for the appointment, but Mad did. Having gone a couple of times where she didn't get a shot and she did get a sucker, there was none of the drama tension of previous visits.

During the appointment, we had a list of questions we wanted answered. Some of them we know will have to be addressed with the new ped, but it was important to me that we have some way of judging his... worthiness, I guess.

No shot for Fynnie Girl as she, like all of us, is sick. Ear infections are popping up. Doc prescribed antibiotics today because he's closed Thursdays.

After all of our questions were answered and handmade chocolates from a local shop were given, it was time to go.

Dr. Present encouraged us to call him if we ever have any questions or if we need anything. His nurses did the same as we made our way to the door.

This new insurance better be damn good.

It's one thing to change insurance companies. But we are transferring to a completely different insurance model.

I went to get Fynn's prescription filled at our regular pharmacy. It's around the corner from where we used to live. In the store where we used to shop.

The pharmacy tech and the pharmacist and I have known each other since Corey was a baby. Heck, I would have sworn the pharmacy tech was just a baby when I met him (turns out he's almost my age... whatever). These are people who have filled prescription after prescription for Corey. They have a sense of what's gone on with him. They ask about him when he's not with me and they're kind to him when he is.

I was in that store at that pharmacy counter while in early labor with Madelyn.

These people are part of huge stories in my life. And now they are gone. From us. It's not like a meteor struck or something.

We'll have to go to different pharmacies now. Ones that are part of our new network. I'm sure the new people will be great. I'm sure we'll have other huge stories. But I like walking up to the counter and finding people who are happy to see me.

Does it seem like I'm overly emotional about pediatricians and nurses and pharmacy staff? Well wait, there's more.

On Tuesday Corey will be 18.

Every year around this time I have told him little stories about when I was pregnant with him. It's a tradition that he has been unaware of, loved, felt annoyed by but tolerated and then loved again. It's never been a "sit here and let me tell you" sort of deal. Just little thoughts thrown in here and there during general conversations. Since I can't seem to have any general sorts of conversations with him right now, I'm going to have them with you. Pull up a chair and pretend to be a surly teen so the illusion isn't broken.

"On this day in 1993, I woke up from a dream that I'd met you and knew you were a boy. It was kind of a creepy dream, involving a homeless woman and me shopping around for baby clothes. When we couldn't decide whether to buy for a boy or a girl, she removed you (harmlessly) from my belly. We tried on boy clothes and they looked fine. We tried on girl clothes and they looked great! But I still knew you were a boy. I also saw you around age seven, playing at a park (you looked nothing like yourself). I woke up and said out loud, "It's Cameron." Moments later my phone rang and your grammy called to tell me that Auntie Mary also just had a dream that you were a boy.

"Two Fridays before you were due, your great grandparents accompanied me to my appointment. I'm pretty sure it was Great Grandpa's first time at a prenatal appointment. They were loaded with camera equipment. I asked them not to take any pictures of my belly because those fiery stretch marks were embarrassing. I wish I had a recording of their faces and gasps and comments as they heard your heart beating. Even better would be a little clip of your generally stoic Great Grandpa leaning over my belly and firmly instructing you to be born on your Great Grandma's birthday (conveniently your due date), complete with finger pointing, a twinkle in his eye and a "you hear?"

"Exactly one week before your due date, your dad and I spent the day at a chili cook-off in our neighborhood. That afternoon we went out to the water (we lived in San Diego's Ocean Beach) and tossed a Frisbee back and forth. It made people nervous every time I went after the Frisbee. After a while I sat down and read while Stephen went out in the water. There was a 45 minute period where I couldn't find him out there. Mostly I tried to keep reading and acting nonchalant, but I was freaking out. I made a deal with god that I would name you the name you have if only Stephen were safe. You don't look like a Cameron anyway, but the funny thing is, if I hadn't made that deal, you wouldn't have your name. It took serious balls to give you that name. I wasn't even sure I believed in any god, but I wasn't reneging on my end of the bargain just in case.

"That same evening we headed to the hospital to pre-register. I remember looking at the line of cars still flooding our little piece of the peninsula and hoping we wouldn't have to go to the hospital when all the beach goers were usually heading home.

"The night before you were born, the moon was a crescent and it sat high in the sky over a brilliant star. For almost a decade, that continued to be true on your birthday, too."

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