*sigh* Church People

Candyland is frozen over and I've had lots and lots of time over the past few days (four days to be exact; I've not left the house in FOUR days. It's like heaven) to ponder and, um  dwell  on a certain interaction that occurred last Sunday that has left a very bad taste in my mouth.

I love my church. No, seriously. My church is wonderful, and to be more specific, my Sunday School class is just downright amazing. When I hear people talk about how churches are so hypocritical and judgmental and only want perfect people in their buildings, I know that these poor individuals have never been to my church. My Sunday school class has seen me through the end of my miserable marriage, my divorce, a surgery and hospital stay that was beyond terrifying, and countless other crap that comes up in the course of a normal life. They have stepped up to be godly examples to my kids; taking my boys hunting, fishing, to ball games, and to Boy Scout events since their dad (who does his best - not ex bashing here) lives so far away. I've had people from my church step up to fix my plumbing, take care of my yard, drive my kids when I couldn't. Nobody has ever presumed to judge me or make me feel bad about the job I'm doing as a mom. Nobody ever acts like they are better than you. Nobody pretends that because they are on this committee of that council that they are more holy than you are. They recognize that everyone has flaws and that just because they are good at one thing, they aren't good at everything. It takes the whole Body of Christ to really make things work for a church. We all tend to be checking for the plank in our own eyes and leave it to you to find the speck in yours.  Basically, my big, wonderful church is, mostly, full of people that wouldn't fit the most definitions of "church people."

But...(you knew that was coming, right?)

As if to make a liar out of me, I had an encounter last week with a person from my church that made me feel about four inches tall. Then it just started to piss me off. This is a person I've known for a very long time. I've never been particularly close with this person, but I do appreciate what he does for the church. He and his family are some of those people who are there "every time the church doors are open." They really do fill a number of needs that our church has. He works a lot with the youth. And having two children in the youth group, I REALLY appreciate those who give their time to care for the spiritual growth of these kids. HOWEVER...

(small segue for explanation)

If you know me at all or have read much of my blog, you know that I struggle mightily with chronic migraines. A few years ago, the flight surgeon also determined that I have some sort of auto-immune disease that we never did figure out. After several blood tests and other attempts, this flight surgeon got assigned elsewhere and the remaining docs didn't have the time or inclination to play "What the hell is wrong with Buffi" any longer. Suffice to say, I do take care of my kids and try my darndest to get them to all the extra-curricular activities they participate in so that they can grow up to be healthy, well-rounded people. Some days, though, I wake up with a particularly terrible headache that keeps me from driving because I can barely open my eyes. Or when I do open my eyes, everything looks a little, um, wavy or weird and I feel like I can't trust my senses to guide me. On school days, I do my best to power through and at least get the kids to school. The cost of that is that I generally end up back in bed for the rest of the day until I have to get the boys. Although now that SP can drive, I can have her pick them up sometimes or I have had friends who do that for me once or twice.

Add to that: For the past several years, SugarPlum  played on a club soccer team that required us to travel to Metropolis to our south in order to play. So many, many weekends, we missed church because of soccer games. Now that she is a junior in high school, her club team basically disbanded because juniors & seniors would rather spend weekends with their friends and/or working than travelling two hours each way to play soccer. Yes, I'm a soccer mom without a soccer team...but that's another post for another time. The upside of this is that we have been able to go to church much more often and the boys have finally been able to be way more involved in some of the activities at church. Yay! [now that I am thinking about it, these are the same parents who made it a point to tell me that they would never put sports before church...whatever]

Now, there are still some Sundays when I wake up, open my eyes, and the pain that comes shooting from every direction causes me to lie back down and say, "NOPE. Not happening today." So, I take some migraine medicine, drink as much water as my queasy belly will allow and go back to bed, hoping that the pain will pass. Am I proud that I'm missing church and causing my kids to miss? No. I'm very sad about this. Could I get SP to take them to church. Probably. But my brain isn't exactly functioning at capacity and the ridiculous amount of nagging it takes to get those boys ready to go anywhere, much less dressed in a manner acceptable (to me anyway) for church, is usually beyond my brain's paltry abilities at that point. So we all stay home.

Last week was one of those Sundays. However, by Sunday afternoon, I was feeling much better and was able to get Bear to church for Bible Drill followed by a party that the youth group was having. When I went up there to fetch him after the party was over, this man (the one I mentioned waaaaay back there, before you stopped reading, because golly this has turned into a long post!) pulls me aside and says, "I have a bone to pick with you!" I, knowing this man as a fun-loving guy with a good sense of humor, chuckled and said, "Okay, what did they do now?" 

THEN, this man - this self-righteous man - proceeds to SCOLD me, saying that Bear told him I had slept in this morning and that I have a responsibility to get my kids to church every Sunday. He didn't think it was okay for me to just sleep in when these boys wanted to be at church. I was speechless. I smiled, nodded and told him that from now on, I'd be sure to have Bear call him when his mom was too lazy to get the kids to church. Okay, maybe I left out the "when his mom was too lazy to get the kids to church" part, but I was just floored. 

I carry so much guilt over what I cannot do when I'm going through a bad streak of migraines. Not to mention the guilt I feel for my kids having to grow up with divorced parents. I was awfully proud that I'd been getting us to church as often as I had. I was also feeling pretty good that I'd gotten Bear to church that night. I truly felt like somebody punched me in the gut. Now I can hardly look at him or his wife (who has also chastised me in the past for Bug missing Sunday school, but not to that extent) without feeling angry. And I don't like that. 

I wish that people could understand that many of us are doing the best we can and that what we need most is encouragement when we are getting everyone to church. I wasn't feeling God's love at all last Sunday. What I was feeling wasn't coming from God at all. Why can't people see that these kinds of interactions are what KEEP people away from church? If I hadn't been a member of this church for nearly ten years, I don't know what effect it would have had on me. I don't know that I would want take my kids back to a place where it seemed the policy was to make parents feel bad. Thank goodness I have my Sunday School class and other good, loving friends in my church who encourage and support me and never once make me feel bad for missing when I can't help it. I feel sad for those people who haven't had time to meet the friends I have and whose early encounters are with stereotypical "church people." Our church is a great place filled with the most amazing people. If you are active in your church, please consider how your words sound to others. No one person is more "holy" than another. Nobody gets to pass judgment on anyone else but God. So stop casting those stones already.

I'll get over this. But I just pray that I'm the only one that caught this man's judgment and not a new person who is struggling with their faith and feelings. It would be sad for something like this to drive someone away entirely.

(and if you made it all the way through, thanks for listening to my rant!)

*ahem* Is this thing on???

Evidently, I'm moving toward blogging YEARLY now. I'm quite certain everyone has given up on me now, so I imagine I'm just blogging for my own entertainment. There's a great deal of freedom in that, I suppose. Though I've noticed, every once in a while, someone drops by to see if I'm still alive -- or just accidentally clicks on the wrong link in their google search for their own actual sugar mommy. At least that what it looks like in the analytics. (Sorry to disappoint you accidental visitor. I'm broke and not interested in desperate strangers from foreign countries; you can move along now.) I considered posting another Q&A meme, but that was getting out of hand, so I'll refrain for now.

I suppose what spurred my desire to post again was looking at the old blog here while I was at my mom's house, trying to find my cranberry sauce recipe that I'd forgotten to print. On the same page with the recipe  were posts that had pictures and sweet stories about my babies. My Bug was TWO years old & freaking adorable. Well, to be fair, they were all three adorable. And I'm really regretting not documenting the last few years better. But, it is what it is.

I hope that you, dear reader, had a wonderful Thanksgiving. My Thanksgiving this year was okay. Made pies. Made cranberry sauce. Left said cranberry sauce at home. Saw most of the family, except for my sweet cousin who had the audacity to go and get married. Not cool, man. I was able to spend time with my precious, perfect, amazing two-year-old genius nephew, (who on a whim, I've decided to call Sparky here on the blog, for no reason other than that's the first thing that popped into my head). He lights up my life and makes me feel so happy! There's nothing like hearing "Aunt Buffi! You're here!!" We headed home today, ostensibly so that I could write the four papers I have due Tuesday. You see how well that's going.

Speaking of writing papers...I graduate in May! (Nice segue, right?) Yes, I will have a Master's degree in counseling. Yay! And then, I will need to find a job. Piece of cake in this economy, right? Ummm...yeah. Anywhoo...I'm doing my practicum right now & will start my internship in January (which is exactly the same as the prac, only I need more hours). I'm loving what I'm doing now & hope I can find something similar after graduation.

Holy smokes this is the most boring post EVER. I apologize. Clearly, I'm out of practice. I'll try harder. But so far those promises have not panned out well. If it's your first time here, read my older posts. I was full of all kinds of funny. Though I'm still bitter that all of my comments have disappeared since Haloscan bit the dust. Regardless, I'm awfully proud of my little blog here. Maybe I can revive it now that I'm almost done with all of that sill school crap. *fingers crossed* My kids are still the absolute funniest people in the universe, so I really should keep documenting their stuff, though they get a little pissy about the embarrassing stuff, so you might have to ask nicely. :)

The "C" Word ( among others)

So much - too much - has happened over the past year or so. Much that I cannot (or rather choose not) to make too terribly public. Although there are people in my life *ahem* who would beg to differ about that last point, but I won't go into that either. Suffice to say, I have no desire to make this into another navel-gazing post about why I haven't posted. Or maybe that's exactly what I'm about to do. Who can tell?

It's funny when you have a blog that was at one time very frequently updated because then as your life gets to a point where you aren't blogging for whatever reason, you feel that you must explain why it is you've been absent. Only, you really don't want to explain, so you put off writing for even longer and it turns into a vicious cycle and suddenly, you find that you are blogging seasonally at best.** So, I'll leave it at this: We are all good. I hope that you both all had a lovely Thanksgiving, a fabulously blessed & joyful Christmas and that the New Year brings all the happiness in the world.

That should hold me till at least March, right? (Also, SugarPlum turns 15 next week. FIFTEEN. Oh. Em. Gee. Who let that happen?)


Now, I shall share a little story that sums up my life quite nicely these days. It takes place in the van yesterday after we dropped SP off at a friend's house. The boys were doing their "annoy the crap out of Mommy" thing and coming very close to making my head explode. I said something about them needing to take it down a notch or there would be unpleasant consequences. In the spirit of throwing your brother under the bus, this exchange took place:


Bug: "Bear said the "c" word today."
Me: "You know tattling is not o....WAIT, he said wha?? What "c" word did you say?"
Bear: .....
Me: "WHAT DID YOU SAY?"
Bear: (hesitantly) "um, 'crap'...."
Me: (small sigh of relief) "Well. Hm. That's not nice for kids to say. So, uh, don't say that."
Bug: "What? 'Crap'?"

And this is why I only have two kids now....

**Also? You find yourself writing ridiculous run-on sentences that will probably make you cringe once you take the time to actually LOOK at what you've written. AND THEN, you begin to wonder why you are writing in second-person since that seems awfully affected but you can't seem to find a way to stop, so you just keep typing until you decide that perhaps you should just hit "PUBLISH" already and get your butt to bed. Or not.

Of birthdays, and deuling, and other very BOY things

Shamefully, I let the entire month of May and half of June pass without mention of the fact that BOTH boys had another birthday. While I have tried to strongly discourage any further growing or maturing or aging, these children stubbornly insist on growing up. *sigh* So disobedient. See? Right there? Hoodlums. ------->>

First, my Buggy Boy turned eight. He was truly looking forward to his birthday this year even though he knew it was going to be was very low key. Somehow, eight was a really big deal to him. It's hard having one of the last birthdays of the school year. But as Bear and I can both attest, it still beats having your birthday after school is out. His Daddy called from Overthereistan and I think he got to webcam with Daddy as well. Daddy got Bug the DSI xl (or some device with a similar acronym, I can't keep it all straight) that he wanted. Very exciting. Gram and GrayGray came for the weekend. A close friend brought his daughter over to celebrate - both of whom the boys think are pretty awesome. All the kids (Bear & Bug, SugarPlum, Little Miss & her Daddy) had a huge water gun fight in the back yard which was, in the words of the birthday boy "AWESOME." Bug got to pick where to eat supper - Buffalo Wild Wings, in case you were wondering...he thinks WINGS are the greatest food in the world right now. (I don't get it. Maybe it's a guy thing) Then back to the house for presents and his ARMY GUY cake.

Somehow, it has become kind of a tradition that the boys' cakes include some sort of action figures. This was actually born out of laziness and lack of skill on my part in making any sort of cool theme cake and now they look forward to the toys on the cake and I can include that as one of their gifts. Pretty much a win/win if you ask me. Anyway, after cake he opened presents, was slightly disappointed to discover that he did NOT get Big Game Hunter (or something like that) for the Wii, but he was pretty happy with all of his gifts.

Ten days later, we were in Candyland West (also known as Gram & GrayGray's house) for Bear's birthday. He turned 10. TEN. T.E.N. Double digits, folks. Oh. Em. Gee. But it hasn't done a thing to detract from his sweet nature. He was happy because he got to meet his precious new baby cousin (and my beautiful, precious new nephew! I'm FINALLY Aunt Buffi for real!) (we'll call the baby [my brother's] Tadpole for now....maybe Tad for short) and my Bear loooooves babies. And this is one of the sweetest, most laid back babies in the history of EVER. We got to go swimming at the home of one of my bestest friends from high school and then Bear got to choose where we went to dinner (a wonderful Italian place that has the absolute best calzones on the entire planet - including Italy) and we were joined by Gray, Gram, my two precious beautiful (and now-entirely-grown-up-adults-because-they-won't-listen-to-me-either) cousins, and our close friend. After supper, we had cake (Bear really wanted a Harry Potter cake but we could not find Harry Potter action figures - which is weird, right? BUT he was delighted to get a Phineus and Ferb cake - no pictures though because I cannot find my damn camera). Bear also got a special phone call from his Daddy, which ALWAYS makes him happy and got to open his gift from Daddy (same as Bug's) before we left Candyland. He liked ALL of his presents - especially the Banzai Samurai Dueling Sticks because now he and his brother can beat the crap out of each other with fewer drastic consequences.** I also have decided that any arguments are going to be resolved by going outside with the sticks and not coming in until they have reached an agreement. SugarPlum is not too keen on this idea.

So, now I have these older children. They are pretty fantastic when they aren't conspiring to make my head explode.....which, honestly is a good part of every day, I am quite certain. But they are funny and smart and well-behaved (when they aren't acting like meth-addled monkeys) and loving and cuddly and just imperfect enough to make them perfect.

**The "rules" on the box for the Banzai Samurai Dueling Sticks state that there are no "points" awarded for hits to the head, face or groin and a couple of other areas. I read through the rules carefully with them before and asked if they understood. They nodded enthusiastically, indicating that YES they did understand fully and could they please just go out and begin beating one another already. I also included a "Mommy Rule Addendum" that stated that any hits to the head, groin or face would result in a 24 hour suspension of Banzai Samurai Dueling Sticks privileges and the offender would have to clean the bathroom for a week. More enthusiastic nodding, accompanied by eye-rolling. I then asked if they knew what the "groin" was. And no, neither of them did, of course. And since it was the middle of the night in Overthereistan, it fell to me to explain. Good times, people. Good times. It took less than five minutes before someone came in crying. And I sent them right back out. No blood, no bones sticking out, no sympathy....

All Hell Breaking Loose....

Okay I know I said "next weekend" or something like that. But I've been a little busy. You know. Life and kids and stuff. But I'll make like Paul Harvey and give you the rest of the story now....(I'm sure that this is full of all sorts of mistakes and grammatical errors that I will compulsively go back & fix later, but I'm going to bed now...) PART 1 click here

So, yes my instructions when I left the hospital after having the baby factory removed and almost bleeding to death were simply to rest and to go to the ER if I started running a fever. Well, I wasn't sure how long those instructions were for. Because, I went home on Sunday. On Tuesday or Wednesday (it's all a little fuzzy), I started running a very low grade fever. I SO did not want to go to the ER. But after some prodding and close to downright shouting from my mom & FB friends, I did phone the GYN on call and she said to take some Tylenol, that I probably had a UTI and to call my regular dr in the morning, which I did. He sent me to pee in a cup & put me on antibiotic which did NOT agree with my digestive system. I kept having the fever but just took Tylenol. The lab results came back I and I did NOT have a UTI and since the antibiotics were making me sick and unable to eat, the dr said I could stop taking them. This was Friday, I think.

The weekend was fairly uneventful. Like I said before the kids got to spend time with their dad. My uncle and cousin came by for a visit, I got out and walked a bit (per doctor's orders)....things were okay. Mom was even contemplating going home. My tummy was still a little upset, so Mom thought she'd stay at least one more night & get the kids off to school. Sunday evening, my stomach was really bothering me. ***Here's where you need to stop reading if you have a delicate constitution*** I felt really gassy & couldn't seem to go to the bathroom. I went for a walk and the stomach cramps about overtook me. I made it back into the house and to the bathroom in time to toss everything I had eaten that evening. And then everything I had eaten that week. I was doubled over and couldn't stop throwing up. Finally I was just throwing up bile. Mom called the clinic since I could barely speak and the doc on call said to take me to the ER. So, a wonderful friend came over to stay at the house with the kids since they were all asleep - and help me walk to the car (Mom seriously considered calling an ambulance, but I didn't want to freak out the kids or the rest of the neighborhood).

We got to the ER and Mom ran in and asked for a wheelchair since I couldn't walk. Evidently I was moaning pretty loudly and got triaged right back to a little ER room (there was a 3-4 hour wait otherwise). I kept calling for my "Mommy." (Amazing how we revert back when we are at our most vulnerable, isn't it?) And she just held me as best she could and yelled at those people to take care of me. Seriously, you don't want to get crosswise my mom over one of her kids. She will make you wish you were dead. They gave me lots of drugs and I finally stopped puking. Of course I also stopped being lucid at all. They took me for an x-ray. Then they wanted to do a CAT scan - can I just say that there are few things nastier than barium, especially when you've been throwing your guts up. I do remember trying to choke that crap down. I guess I didn't have any bleeds anywhere, but my fever had spiked to over 104, so they thought it might be a good idea to admit me. I have very little memory of being moved to my room. One of the nurses who was there said that they had to lift me because I was barely conscious enough to slide over. Evidently, I was in serious condition and there was talk of putting me in the ICU. Yeah. As it was I was on IV fluids, three different IV antibiotics and lots of pain and anti-nausea meds. And I was bloated up like a balloon in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade.

EVIDENTLY, I had developed an infection at the site of the repairs made in the second surgery. One of the abscesses was big enough that it was blocking off my bowel, essentially trapping all of the gas and *ahem* everything else from coming out of my body. That was making me a little queasy...and nearly septic. Because it was cellulitis. Which is really bad from what they tell me and to have it INSIDE is extremely rare. The doctor was a little freaked out.

My mom was keeping my friends & family updated on my condition and let them all know that I had cellulitis of the vaginal cuff. One of my friends later called to tell me "Um, your mom sent me a text about your vagina." NICE.

I stayed knocked out on pain killers and nausea meds for the first few days. By Wednesday, the first offending abscess had gone down enough for my bowel to be able to, um, deflate. Yeah, that was pleasant. Especially for the housekeeping staff. There are some great stories that could go with that day, but they are better left untold. In the meantime, doc came in every day and did a pelvic - oh, yes, just as awesome as you can imagine it would be. I also got to go for another x-ray, an ultrasound - both external and internal. I was wheeled to the sonographer by a lady who was very insistent that I wear those lovely hospital socks with the grippy things on them. She told me all kinds of stories about why this was important. Evidently it is crucial. Whatever.

Every few hours, they came to take blood, take my vitals, change one thing or another on my IV, give me medicine or something or just aggravate me. The good nurses (read: the ones I liked) would turn on the least intrusive light possible. All the hullabaloo and they changes in my meds had given me one doozy of a migraine & I wanted it as dark & quiet in there as possible. There were some terribly cheerful nurses who would burst in in the mornings and turn on all the lights and open the curtains - I had a corner room so I had two windows. I hated those nurses. The nurse I had the biggest problem with was a night nurse who kept insisting that I should take a shower, it would make me feel better. I had already taken one shower and learned that those were the worst showers in the history of ever. There was barely any water pressure and you had to rotate yourself to get completely wet. I was cold the whole entire time. One of the GOOD nurses had brought me some of those cleansing cloths to use so that I didn't smell like a lumberjack and I really didn't care what my hair looked like. Nurse Ratchet tried to blackmail me and tell me that she would take my blanket away if I started to run the slightest fever. I asked for the charge nurse and never saw Miss Smarty-Pants again. I may have been known as a pain in the ass but I just really don't give a flying flip.

My friend came to visit Wednesday night and as he left he told me I was hot. I laughed and said "Oh yeah, I'm hot. I look fantastic after laying in this bed for three days." He cracked up and said, "No, you are burning up, I'm going to go tell the nurses before I leave." Yeah, my temp was back up over 102. Super.

By Thursday afternoon, I was still running a pretty good fever most of the day. (Though I was no longer bloated so that was good) All of my blood cultures had come back clean. Nobody knew exactly what was making me sick. But I still felt like shit. I had another CT & it was decided that I was going to have a drain put in me to try to remove the infection from my vaginal cuff (I know, sorry). I thought I had a vague idea how this particular procedure might go. I was very, very mistaken.

The next day, they wheeled me off to CT and had me lay on my belly and zipped me in and out of the CT scanner dealio while the radiologist, Dr DeSade, inserted a tube from my right butt cheek through my lower abdomen to my (close your eyes) vaginal cuff to drain the infection.** BUT WAIT THERE'S MORE...while he was in there he took samples of the fluid to send to the lab to see if they could identify the bacteria that was trying to kill me. For the record, they could not. The little collection bag just kind of hung out there off the skinny little tube which was about 12 inches long or so. Surprisingly, once the tube was in, it really didn't bother me at all except that it was a little awkward trying to find a place to hold it when I went to the potty. It was good for freaking out visitors, though.

**Yes, I was awake thru all of this, but I did have some pretty good drugs on board to make me relax. Plus I did that breathing that they teach you in the childbirth classes. Nice that THAT finally came in handy!

The drain seemed to do the trick. By the next day, I was off all IV antibiotics (still taking two oral antibiotics, though. One for colitis which I developed at some point in there and made things even more fun.Good exercise though!) It was good that I was off the IV since most of my veins had been blown - all of them in both lower arms - and my last IV was in my upper arm near my left shoulder. Actually that was the only one that didn't leave any lasting marks AND it was the easiest to manage. You can still feel the knots in my lower arms where the veins have scarred. It's super-creepy. One of the nurses told me that one of the reasons that I blew so many veins was because of all the Phenergan they gave me for the nausea for all those days. And you know what? TOTALLY worth it. I hate feeling nauseated. SugarPlum says I was pretty funny on phenergan, too. Mom & I evidently had whole long conversations of which I have absolutely no memory. Same goes for phone conversations & actual in-room visits with several friends. So if you called or came by & I don't remember it, sorry. And, if you DIDN'T call but want credit for calling, you can say you did and I will have no way of knowing you are lying.

Mom brought they kids up to see me nearly every single day. I did let them open the window shades because there were pigeons nesting on the window sills and occasionally they would have eggs. They named one set on the birds "Coco & Loco" and one of their eggs was "Yoko" (get it? Yolk-o....they thought it was hilarious). Sadly, we never saw an egg hatch.

By Saturday I was SO READY to bust out of there. The doctor seemed inclined to send me home, too. Except that I still had that damn drain in and he wanted to leave it for at least 24 more hours. He actually was going to send me home with the drain. I was somewhat opposed to bringing a bag of bacteria home to my three children. He let me stay another day. Sunday, he came in to remove the drain. He had the little kit and as he got started, he honest to Doogie said "I think the radiologist said to cut right here...." The nurse and I both had the same look of shock and dismay on our faces. Then, with absolutely no warning, he just pulled that sucker right out of me. HO.LY. CRAP. He asked me if I wanted any pain meds for home. Uh, yeah. So he wrote me a few scrips for that and for antibiotics and I don't know what else and shortly after I signed all those papers, my Mommy took me home.

Oh, and they never did figure out what was making me sick. Every single culture came back clear. All of them. I had some mystery bug that tried to kill me. I am either Dr House's dream patient or his biggest nightmare.

All in all, I was in the hospital the second time for eight days, not counting the night in the ER before they admitted me. I lost about 20 lbs. Nothing at all tasted good. I read about four books. Thank goodness for having Kindle on my phone. I updated my Facebook statuses in the moments that I had the energy & could see straight. And I never did wash my hair. I know. EW. Shut up. The first thing I did when I got home was take a shower and climb into MY bed. That bed never felt so good.

Little by little I have been getting my strength back. I am still amazed at how tired I am and how much I MUST nap. I mean, it's been two months. But the doc keeps telling me to give it six months before I even approach being my old self again. I have gained back all the weight - I really didn't have much that I could lose - thanks to Girl Scout cookies and Haagen-Dacz. I managed to pull an 'A' in the class I was taking last semester in spite of my prof sending me home my first week back because I "looked frail" and I was "making her nervous." I sported the whole "heroin chic" look for quite some time - skin & bones, sunken eyes, tracks & bruises all up & down my arms. I looked terrific.

Bear still tells me almost every day that he is glad I'm all better and home. I hug my babies a little tighter and try to fit in some extra snuggles every day. Bless their hearts. In one week, their Dad deployed to SW Asia and their mom was suddenly back in the hospital at death's door (although they don't really know just HOW sick I was). SugarPlum has been amazing, as always. She is an astounding caretaker, especially for a 14 year old, and she is fiercely protective of me. And I have discovered some truly wonderful people in my life. I am honestly blessed beyond measure. I have realized who and what really matters.

God is good, all the time. And all the time, God is good.

You may want to grab a bucket because here is where I go on and on (and on and on and on) about my amazing daughter. Really, it's nauseating....

Okay, yeah, I know I promised to tell all about my extended stay at Club Med. But now that I've been out of the hospital for a month, I've grown weary of talking about it. I was too tired and then too busy to write. And now, it just annoys the crap out of me that it happened at all. I'm sure I'll finish that post sometime soon. It WAS a pretty significant event in my life. I think I'm just trying to process it all. I mean, I nearly died. TWICE. Yeesh.

What has had me preoccupied the past couple of weeks is the very act of counting my blessings. I have the most amazing children on the planet. I look at them and wonder how I got THREE great kids. It's like hitting the jackpot on the slots. They are truly miraculous. Those boys....oh, they are such boys. They do everything with such a ferocity and intensity. Loving, playing, beating the holy hell out of each other. Even the intensity of their apathy is impressive -- if that makes any sense at all.

But my sweet girl. My SugarPlum. She is what has me baffled and filled with joy and pride and anxiety and dread. She is 14. FOURTEEN. And she is just the best teenager in the history of ever. She is such a little bundle of contradictions. She has a wisdom and a maturity beyond her years. She carries herself with such confidence and self-assuredness and she really doesn't care what people think about her. When I was fourteen ALL I cared about was what people thought of me. I remember being so horrified that my mother wouldn't buy me Calvin Klein jeans. FIFTY DOLLAR JEANS! In 1984!! I won't even spend $50 on jeans now. Heaven forbid something came from KMart or some other discount store. Oh, the horror. My poor mother. But all I cared about was what the popular girls were wearing. And I swore then that I would do everything in my power to make sure my kids had what was "in style." But my girl just really couldn't care less where the clothes come from or what the label says. As long as it's comfortable and it fits her style, she's happy. I have actually offered to take her shopping and she says "no, I have enough clothes and shoes, I'm good." WHUCK? I got her a Vera Bradley purse last summer (which she does love because it's got her school colors) and now she finally carries a purse. But recently, when I asked if she wanted to look at some purses, she looked at me like I was crazy & said "I have a purse."

She has the coolest group of friends who are like her. They are all great girls, good girls, who are sure of themselves and don't feel the need to put anyone down to make themselves feel good. They are funny and smart and high-achievers like SP. They each have a wicked sense of humor, which I love. They don't feel the need to act out in any major way or use coarse language (like one of their moms who has a potty mouth that makes sailors blush at times....ahem). In fact, at any given time, I can open SugarPlum's email and if one of the girls has a reaction to anything they simply reply "STRONG WORDS!" instead of cursing. When they see the acronym WTF, while they do know what it actually stands for, they say "Wow! That's Fantastic!" (Try it. It's even better than saying What the F^*k!), and when they see BS, they choose to interpret it as "Bacon Strips" or "Bible Study."

Which leads to one of my favorite things about my sweet girl. She is so mature that she actually actively tries to maintain her innocence about the world. And I don't mean in a sexual way (although that too), but just in everything about the world. It's like she knows that there are situations and scenarios out there that once revealed will change her forever, and she tries to avoid them. Sort of an "ignorance is bliss" attitude, only in a healthy way. There are certain TV shows that I don't let her watch. And she's okay with that. She told me that she appreciates that I look out for her that way. This has led to me loosening the reins a bit and previewing some episodes of House and Big Bang Theory for instance that can sometimes have quite a bit of sex and adult situations, but also sometimes are very good TV and okay for her to watch. We talk a lot about what is on the episodes she doesn't get to watch and she is good with not seeing them. I know that many of her peers get to watch whatever they want on TV, but she is happy to work within the boundaries I've set.

She is also VERY athletic. Something she certainly didn't get from me. I mean, I did ballet and modern dance until I was a junior in college and I loved it. And I played soccer for a few years as a kid, but I did not love it. This girl LOVES sports. This year, she played volleyball, basketball and did track & field. All the while she played on her competitive soccer team. And she is GOOD. She is a goalkeeper - you have to have a lot of self-esteem and a pretty thick skin to play goal keeper. (And an even thicker skin to be the keeper's mom!) She is planning on limiting herself to soccer next year in high school. (HIGH SCHOOL!!! Oh. Em. GEE.)

She is also a big choir geek like her mom. She LOVES choir. She was in the honor choir and the show choir this year. She has been blessed the past three years with an amazing choir teacher who has instilled in her a love of music and vocal skills and just the artistry of it all. So, she is planning to pursue that next year as well.

In addition to all of that, she is ridiculously smart and is an officer in the Nat'l Jr Honor Society and the Fellowship of Christian Athletes. PLUS she was asked by one of her coaches to start and lead, along with her best friend, a girls' Bible study on Wednesday mornings. I can go in her room at night, after she should have turned out the light and she is reading. Her Bible. For real. I walk in unannounced and there she is, deep in the Word.

When I was in the hospital all that time and after I got home, she looked after me and her brothers. She is the best big sister in the history of ever. She loves those boys without reservation. Oh, yes, they make her insane. But she still loves on them and makes up games for them and will remember to tell me all the funny, crazy things they say & do while I am gone. I was never, ever that good of a big sister. When I have been out of energy and laying in bed (because this whole recovery thing has been much more taxing than I ever imagined), she will make supper for the boys and has even on occasion put them to bed. And that doesn't count all the hundreds of nights she's spent babysitting.

Why am I telling you all of this? I have no idea. I've just been overcome with how remarkable this sweet, amazing girl is. Through all of the turmoil of the past couple of years, she has kept her composure better than I. And she has been an amazing example to all of us. Is she going to therapy? Oh, yes. Nobody, especially someone 14, can deal with all she has dealt with and not need an outlet. But she's fine with that too, and acknowledges how much it's been helping her. And she talks to me. That is so amazing to me. She talks to me and she likes me. She tells me so, unsolicited. And her friends do too. Because they are awesome. Also, she does do the moody, eye-rolling, heavy sigh, slamming of the door thing. But when I step back, I am so grateful because it just reassures me that she is a REAL teenager and not some teen-bot.

So, I'm sorry for gushing. It's not even her birthday. But I am so thankful to God for this perfect child. There will never be enough words to thank Him for my Angel Girl. I wouldn't want to navigate this world without her. She's fantastic. For real. Please don't let me screw her up!

Arrr arrrrr

(If you begin to feel offended by this post at any point, please see the note at the end.)

Due to the big (ish) move and the big changes and the slight bullying issue, my boys have been attending a private Christian school here in Candyland. It's ironic because I have spent the past eight years singing the praises of the Candyland Independent School District. Because honestly, the public schools here are fan-freakin-tastic. My kids have all been blessed with wonderful teachers almost every year and have learned so much. In fact, SugarPlum has remained at the junior high she's been attending since the sixth grade and next year she will go to one of the three fantastic high schools that CISD has to offer. (Heaven help me) Really, you can't go wrong when it comes to high schools here, especially.

But...(you knew that was coming, right?)

Bear needed a fresh start. A place where he felt safe and could count on some spiritual guidance as well as an almost zero tolerance for any kind of bullying. And Bug...well, my little Buggy is one smart kid. And he was getting bored and failing to see the point of doing the work at school last year. Oh, he was making good grades but he was also making his teacher (who was amazing) and his mommy insane. He really likes having attention. And since the State of Texas has mandated that there can be up to 22 students to a class in the lower grades, it makes it hard for a smart guy to get attention when the teacher is having to devote time to the kids who don't get it. It's not the teacher's fault. I've been in her shoes. 22 Kindergarteners. One me. Not good. So, in order to get attention, Bug was acting out and getting in trouble. More and more often. I feared for what second grade held for him.

I decided that, for these and a host of other reasons, my boys needed the guidance and supervision on a private, Christian school. They have really flourished there. They both love that they get to study the Bible and that they have chapel weekly. Bear comments often about how he has friends and how he doesn't feel so sad and picked on. Bug's teachers have recognized how smart he is and also how easily distracted and bored he can get. And since there are only ten (yes TEN) kids in each class, they are able to keep closer tabs on him and change their tactics with him to keep him challenged and engaged. I LOVE it.

Here's the thing. Since the classes are so small, they are able to do little plays and presentations that the parents are invited - nay, encouraged - to attend. These little things only last a few minutes, but they require a huge chunk out of my day to plan around them. They usually fall at just about the time I need to go pick up SugarPlum. Also? They are mind-numbingly boring.

Maybe it's because this is my third kid, but honestly, the ten minute vignette Willie the Walrus is something I feel like I can go the rest of my life without seeing. Just like the Johnny Appleseed "play" they did in the Fall. Problem? All the other mommies show up, video camera in hand, to see their little angels and Bug is left feeling like his mommy doesn't care. No, really, he said that. For reals. And so, I will trudge myself up there in the middle of a busy Wednesday afternoon, the day after MY school starts to watch Bug go "Arrr arrr" in his three second role as a sea lion (I KID YOU NOT). I will take care to be ON TIME this time because I was a few minutes late to the Johnny Appleseed play and they were already finished. So they performed it again. Just for me. Oh, yes they did. And all the other, good mommies looked at me with their "tsk tsk" faces the whole entire time. Which meant that I had to applaud like the entire Barrymore family had assembled to perform Macbeth for my sole benefit.

My only plea...is there any way that perhaps we could find a way to serve cocktails at these little theatrical events? Just a small cordial would really go a long way in helping motivate me to get there. A small glass of wine, a mini-martini....something? It doesn't have to be huge. Just enough to get me through the tedium. Just consider it, Candyland Christian School. I know I'm not the only mom who feels this way.

Also, the Family Night/Silent Auction? Would raise a LOT more money if you had an open bar. Just sayin.

***Please recognize how very tongue-in-cheek this post is. I LOVE seeing Bug and all the kids perform and wouldn't miss it for the world. I love and adore each and every teacher at CCS and wouldn't change one single thing about it.****

***Also, I am not advocating drinking at school events and would never, ever even consider drinking and driving my children anywhere. Or anyone. Or even just me. Oh, for crying out loud, you get what I am saying, right?!!***

When to worry.....

Boys in the bathroom, with the door closed, sounding entirely too mirthful....

ME: What's going on in there?

Boy: We're...oh....um.....nothing!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You know that this won't end well.



*********************UPDATE************************************

So.....Once I go into the bathroom I find out that the boys have discovered, "if you press your fingers up against the faucet and THEN turn the water on? You can make it spray the ceiling!!" As if this were a GOOD thing.

And, I suppose that in the mind of a 4-and 6- year old, it is one of the coolest things EVER.

However, here in Mommy-land, not. so. much.

Because, not only does it spray the ceiling, it also get on ALL the walls, the floor, the mirror, totally soaks an entire roll of toilet paper., gets INTO the medicine cabinet (I have no idea HOW because that thing is practically hermetically sealed when it's closed - and it WAS closed). I also discovered the next day, that water somehow got into the cabinets under the sinks and dampened all of the towels and washcloths stored there. That smelled nice. ONE WHOLE LOAD OF LAUNDRY, thankyouverymuch.

Oh, yes. There was some shouting. And they cleaned that bathroom but good. I felt sort of bad because, until I asked what they were doing, I really don't think that they thought that there was anything reason that spraying water all over the bathroom might be a bad idea. But not sorry enough to drive home the point that this had better never happen again. But I'm not holding my breath. Except when carrying out moldy towels.

The tubes come in & the tubes come out....

Tomorrow morning (okay....later this morning), my SugarBear goes to the Surgi-Center to have very minor surgery to have the tubes removed from his ears**. I know that it is no big deal. I know that he will most likely be fine and running around driving me crazy by noon. But there is still that little part of me that is panicking. THAT is the part that is keeping me awake. Even though I have to be up in less than six hours. To take him in to have this done. So I can sit in a lobby and wait and worry for the...oh, 20 minutes that it is probably going to take. Being a mommy is tough sometimes.

I will update as soon as I can. I suppose I should try to get some sleep now. TRY being the operative word here. Prayers are gladly accepted if you are so inclined....

**Yes, they should have fallen out by themselves by now. Two years after the trauma of putting them in....along with taking out his tonsils and adenoids. Maybe that is what has me freaked out. The tonsil & adenoids part was tough to recover from! But he'll be fine. Right?


******UPDATE***********

10:30

We are home from the surgi-center. The pre-op took longer than the actual procedure. I'm pretty sure that the worst part for Bear was the atropine shot. He woke up all calm and mellow. He was drinking a Sprite when I got back there. Followed by two ice pops and some Lorna Doone cookies. He's thinking that this whole surgery thing worked out pretty well!

One tube was just lying in the ear canal. He has a patch on the other ear drum because the tube was still totally in there. So no water in the ear & no blowing his nose for a few weeks. I'm thinking maybe the height of allergy season AND one week before the water park opens wasn't the best timing on this. Oh well.

Now he is laying on the couch for a MythBusters marathon. He's a little pissy because he can't go out & ride his bike. I'm so mean. Must dash. Jamie & Adam are busting MacGyver myths. COOL!

Happy Mothers Day! You all ROCK!

Because I can't say this to my children in real life

Just shut the fuck up and stop whining already!!!!!!!!!! The television is staying OFF until all homework is done and all toys put away! When have you known me to waver on this? For crying out loud........

sorry for all of the bloggy-shouting lately. it's either here or actually at the children & I figure you all can handle it better than they can. plus you won't tell your teacher that I cussed at you. I don't need any more visits from CPS.*

*just kidding

How many little boys does it take to change a light bulb?

Ha HA! That title is a trick question! You see, because the answer should be ZERO! Little boys should not be changing light bulbs at all. Not even if they can easily reach the light on the ceiling fan simply by sitting in their loft bed. Never EVER should a little boy (in this house, anyway) be touching a light bulb. Only grown-ups change light bulbs.

At least that is the message I tried to get across to Bear this weekend after he came into the kitchen carrying a light bulb and telling me, "This burned-ed out. I need a new one." Meanwhile, I'm on the verge of a stroke, imagining the possible electrocution or the shards of glass embedded in my son's hands.

I may have gone a little overboard in my admonishment. I say this because after about the seventeenth "never! Do you understand?" his eyes began to glaze over. I'm certain that he was thinking to himself, "Geez, lady, see if I ever try to help YOU again!"

Other actions we learned this weekend that little boys should never do:

• administer punishment (spanking, scratching, throwing to the floor) because, "He wasn't picking up!"
• pour cinnamon-sugar directly into their mouths from the container.
• anything involving power tools.
• taking hammer to glass. (oh, yes, indeed!)
• fix their own waffles.
• get up before 5:30. *yawn*
• put stickers on my walls, doors and/or furniture.
• climb over the fence to play in the front yard without permission.

Yes, it was a looooong weekend. Some people dread Mondays. In some ways, it's my favorite day of the week. Until school is out, anyway.....

What's happening in Candyland? Not much, as it turns out...

Nothing eventful enough to merit a whole post, so I will bore you to death with a quick bullet list of the minutia of our lives:

• SD's new job is now requiring a lot from me. Actually, I kind of like it, but it is cutting into my internet time. Worth it, though.
• SugarPlum played her last soccer game of the season Saturday. All that's left is a tournament in a few weeks and we will be done with soccer for a while. WHEE!
• However, she is ALSO playing volleyball....which goes to the end of May.
• Junior High registration went well. SP is taking choir AND drama. Good times.
• I totally flaked on an ENT appointment for Bear last week. He still has one tube in his ear and the Dr is somewhat concerned about it. If it isn't out by now, he may have to have it removed. I'm not sure how that works...
• Bug has figured out how to read and spell. There goes the last one that we could "spell" around. "Think we should go for i-c-e c-r-e-a-m?" D-a-m-m-i-t.
• Bug also has his first big crush. On a little red headed girl in his class named Lisa. She is a sweetie. MAN he is head over heels! "Mommy, I love Lisa. I want to ma-wy her!" I guess I should start planning the rehearsal dinner!
• BIG NEWS! I have given up Diet Coke! I know, right? I was having waaaaay too many migraines and though that maybe my copious consumption of aspartame might have exacerbated the situation. It hasn't been too hard. Though now, I am addicted to AnTEAdote Organic tea. I get it from my favorite tea site, Adagio. My favorites are the white, black and oolong. Much healthier!
• SP has a mystery rash on her torso that was bothering her enough to go to the nurse and even come home. I'm taking her to the dr tomorrow. If she's willing to miss school for it, it must be something.
• I am totally procrastinating because I really need to fold my 384th load of laundry of the day AND clean the kitchen. *sigh* Some days the glamour of this whole job doesn't quite live up to the brochure.

PSSSSSST! You can wake up! It's over now!

Say it isn't so!

Tonight, I take my daughter - my BABY GIRL - to get registered and pick her schedule for JUNIOR HIGH.

How the hell did that happen?

Day before yesterday, she started Kindergarten. Now? Jr. High. I suppose that now, you'll be telling me that in two more days, she'll be getting married.

And I say, NO. No, she will not be getting married, because she will not be dating BOYS. Do you hear me. She will be 11 for the rest of her life. Yes-indeed-ee-doodle.

I ask you - does THIS look like a girl who is in junior high?

*sigh* I know. Yes it does. It only gets harder from here, doesn't it?

Prepare to see this again next month when I register Bug for Kindergarten....

Just so you know...

There are many things that get on my nerves as a mom. Loud noises. Repetitive noises. Loud, repetitive noises. Whining. Loud, repetitive whining. Asking for candy every. single. blessed. day. after school. You get the picture.

But one of the biggest banes to my maternal tranquility is TATTLING. Lord have mercy, that drives me nuts. If someone isn't causing damage to person or property then just keep it to yourself already! Unless someone or something is on fire or bleeding from his or her eyeballs, I don't want to hear about it!

• "Bug isn't picking up the toys!"
• "Bear said a potty word. You wanna know what he said? Do you? He said POOP. And, also? He said BOOTIE."
• "The boys are just playing in their closet instead of getting dressed!"
• "SugarPlum is calling me names! Plus, also, she won't let me play with that ball I like!"

It never ends. The other problem is that the tattling almost always results in the bickering (I did not! Did too!), but that is another post entirely. No matter how many times or how many different ways I tell them to CEASE WITH THE TATTLING, they still seem to feel the need to come and report to me every minute action of their siblings. WHY? WHY? WHY?
Occasionally, I have sort of, um. spontaneously combusted and maybe, a little bit yelled at them for tattling. Usually this is in the car when I am right there bearing ACTUAL WITNESS to the acts about which the tattler is tattling. I have come close, but have so far avoided screaming "What the fuck is wrong with you people?!?!" But, oh, it's there my friends. On the inside, just under the surface, it's there.
The one who really gets me is SugarPlum. She's ELEVEN YEARS OLD for crying out loud. She knows better. Yet she can't help herself. She does, however think that she has found a loophole in the whole "No-Tattling" clause of the Parent/Child Contract for Peaceful Living(tm). It seems that, in Eleven-Year-Old-Land if you preface any reporting of any kind with the phrase, "Just so you know..." it is no longer tattling. Just simply a relaying of information. As in

• Just so you know, the boys are playing in their room instead of going to sleep
• Just so you know, the boys are playing in the mud and are both reeeeaaaalllly covered.
• Just so you know, the boys have gotten themselves some chocolate pudding for a snack even though you told them they could only have fruit or cheese.

See? She isn't tattling. She is just giving me information to act upon as I see fit. If her brothers get into trouble for it, more's the better. But she isn't tattling. No siree Bob. Not her. She just wanted me to know.
Note to SugarPlum: Just so you know, I may ka-splode the very next time I hear that phrase. There could be collateral damage. You act upon this information as you see fit.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.....

If there is anything that I would call an absolute MUST in parenting - something no mommy or daddy should be without -it's a sense of humor. With humor, you can enjoy your kids and the ridiculous things that they do and say. Without humor, you are nothing but another Joan Crawford just waiting to blow up all over your children. (No! More! wire! hangers!) As such, I believe that any parenting manual worth its salt should contain a healthy dose of humor. Or, maybe because I'm just ADD enough that I need some humor to keep me focused.

Well, I found a book that is just CHOCK FULL of humor and wonderful advice on raising these little monkeys who occupy two of my bedrooms and most of my heart. The Gay Uncle's Guide to Parenting...candid counsel from the depths of the daycare trenches by Brett Berk is a parenting book like no other. The title alone makes me giggle. And since my children have gay uncles of their own (Hi Uncle Matt! Hi Nana Andy!) (not blood related, but even better - we got to CHOOSE them!), I HAD to read this. "Uncle" Brett reminds me so much of my dear friend Andy that I read this with Andy's voice in my head. Andy is ALWAYS giving me parenting advice.

What Bret has over Andy is credentials: BRETT BERK, M.S., Ed., worked as a classroom teacher and a preschool director, and now acts as a research consultant to some of the world’s biggest producers of kids’ media, toys, and consumer products. He and his partner of eighteen years divide their time between New York City and a house in upstate New York.

Is he a parent? No. But this actually can be a good thing. Brett is able to give advice as an outside observer, without the emotion that can cloud a parent. His advice and recommendations are common-sense, logical and dead-on right. Plus, the stories that he uses to illustrate his points are HILARIOUS.

“When your toddler’s bowel movements seem more important than world peace, mealtimes require strategic negotiations, and you haven’t had a night out in
eight months, it’s time to admit something needs to change."

I love this book. My friends are sick of it because I keep calling to read them portions of it. It could be the smug attitude I have when reading the excerpts that may or may not have a bit of an "I told you so-ness" to it that is making them weary. I can't be sure. You'd have to ask them. Except don't.

Making me feel like a FANTASTIC mom

I recently had the privilege to read The Sky Isn't Visible From Here by Felicia Sullivan. This is no typical, lighthearted chic-lit. No Bridget Jones. This is real - far more reality than I have ever imagined. Books like this make me need to call my mom and thank her for being so...normal. For taking god care of me and making sure I always had everything I needed. And if you are one of my IRL friends reading this you are saying, "DAY-UM!"

Felicia grew up with a mother who was addicted to cocaine, alcohol and eventually, crack. She and Felicia lived with a series of me who encouraged her mother's addiction and abused both of them. Her mother began calling her "Lisa" at a young age because her lover couldn't pronounce "Felicia." Thereby, essentially taking away the girl's identity at a very young age.

In spite of all these obvious obstacles, Felicia managed to graduate from high school and go to an Ivy League college. There, she was determined to become a different person. She wanted to become the opposite of her mother - a smart, elegant, successful WASP who came from a good family. And she managed to pull it off for a while. Unfortunately, the demons came back to haunt her and Felicia fell into a drug and alcohol addiction of her own.

By the end of the book, Felicia, with the love and support of her step-father among other things, is overcoming those demons once again. She doesn't wrap it all up in a pretty package. She still has such conflicted feelings about her mother. She ends the book with a chapter titled "Before Cocaine" where she describes a trip to Coney Island as a young girl with her mom . It recalls a happy time where the day is all about just the two of them. Where Felicia feels her mother's love and protection. Even there though, she is afraid to tell her mom how much she loves her, for fear of ruining the moment. It concludes with Mom telling Felicia "You're mine" and Felicia chanting "I'm yours. I'm yours."

Bittersweet? Yes. But real? Absolutely.

I can highly recommend The Sky Isn't Visible From Here. With one caveat. You won't be able to put it down. Sullivan's heartbreaking story pulls you in and makes you long to hold that little girl AND to take the woman and shake her and ask what the hell is wrong with her. It's a world that makes me angry and sad and indignant. It makes me thankful for what I have and who I've had the chance to become. And it amazes me that anyone could convey such a life with the clarity and eloquence that Felicia has. I would like to thank her for sharing her story of pain and strength.

You can also read Felicia's blog where she continues to share herself and her life with us. You won't be sorry.

Happy *#$^*% Valentines Day!

Okay. As we prepare to send our little ones to school tomorrow to receive another shitload of sugar in the form of Valentines candy (which of course can't be consumed AT THE SCHOOL. Because the teachers aren't crazy! They send all of that crap HOME so that your little monsterssweethearts can bounce off your walls instead) I want to ask you a question (and do a fair amount of bitching - what? you're surprised?!) :

Are you the parent who helps her child prepare Valentines with little candies or Valentine-y doo-dads attached? Or are you more of the here's-your-box-of-32-cards-for-a-buck-fifty-Sign-your-name-and-put-them-in the-impossibly-small-envelopes-and-then-try-JUST-TRY!-to-get-them-closed variety of mom? I'm certain that you have guessed by now that I am more of the latter. My lazy really takes over on this holiday and, while I don't want to send the kids to school empty handed, I also don't feel like putting that much work or money into this.

But then, the kids get home from school and pour out their little Valentine holders and I see the Kisses that Suzie gave everyone (no, not THOSE kind of kisses and not THAT Suzie- she's the slut at the Junior High now), and the pencils that Dylan brought, and the handmade picture frame/Valentines that Hannah's mom sent (You know her right? Damn overachiever makes all of us look bad), and I feel like a cheap, horrible Mommy. And I resent that. I also resent that I have to give every kid in those classes a gift. Because really, the last people I want to give a gift to are the kids who give my children shit everysingleday at school and sent my sweet babies home in tears. (I'm looking at YOU Bailee and Carlos!) Of course I can't send something for some kids and not for others, so I choose to send just cards.

My children, however, are humiliated by the bare Valentines they are forced to hand out. Oh, the humanity. How can they face their peers on February 15th, having given nothing but a paltry card with a Bible verse on it. How dorky. (The Bible verse Valentines are my pathetic attempt at being subversive)

However, I have found a way to counter the whining. I ask them who gave candy last year. Obviously the initial answer is "EVERYBODY!" But when pushed to elaborate because honestly not everyone did, neither one of them can remember who did or didn't attach a special something to the Valentine. I go on to ask if anyone was ridiculed or shunned for giving a bare card. "Well...no...I don't think so."

See? Because all of that sugar after school creates temporary amnesia, thereby remedying the situation immediately AND getting me off the hook. In theory, anyway. Until next February.

So, your opinion please....does this make me a terrible mom or do you feel the pressure, too and resent it as much as I do? And, do you cave or do you stand your ground (she asks, eyeing the bag of Hershey's miniatures that may or may not be going to Candyland Elementary tomorrow)?

Just for the record, I am also against this whole "party favor bag" business at birthday parties. Why do I have to give you a present on MY birthday? I don't remember that. I always figured that cake and a satisfying round of "Pin the Tail on the Donkey" was treat enough. But I'll put my soapbox away for now.....

I need me one of these

and mine aren't even teenagers yet...

This is when Noggin looks good to me

Dear Discovery Channel,

First, I would like to thank you for all that my children have learned by watching your programs. My boys now have an incredible store of knowledge in physics, chemistry, biology, and many other scientific principles. I credit MythBusters, and How it's Made with this incredible and vast education that they have received at the tender ages of six and four.

They have also gained an appreciation of the hard work and sacrifice involved in many of the jobs that are overlooked though incredibly vital to our daily lives. All this through Mike Rowe's antics on Dirty Jobs. Thanks to Mike, my children are more motivated than ever to stay in school and go to college, lest they end up cleaning sewers or tanning leather. (Let me pause for a moment and tell you though, that the episode about horse insemination perhaps was more graphic than I would preferred.. I do realize that there are parental guidance warnings on the show, however, so, I'll take the blame for not taking heed. Still. Ew.)

Now you have your new show Smash Lab. Heaven help me. A show about, essentially, blowing stuff up. It's a little boy's dream come true. All I hear all day now, are "kasplosion" sounds coming out of my boys: "psshhhkkkkkwweeeeerrrrr!!!!!" "BAAAAAMMMMM!!!" "ssshhhhpppkkkooowwwwwwrrrrrrr!"

These children are all day, jumping off the top of the swing-set, rolling things down the slide, launching objects from the tree house. OR worse....mixing things up IN MY KITCHEN to "see what happens." I cringe when I hear one of them say, "Okay, I'll be Adam and you be Jamie!" Or, like Saturday, when Bear came into the kitchen as I was cleaning the oven and said, "Mommy. What if there was FOAM all in the oven?!" If felt it my duty to make it clear that if there was foam "all in the oven" that there would also very likely be a little boy who wouldn't be able to sit down for a week. Hmmmmmm.

SO while I do appreciate the humor and especially the educational value of your programming, I also live in fear for my life and property every day. I am asking to to PLEASE take it down a notch?

Might I suggest a program where some really cool, tough looking guys clean their rooms? Or maybe investigate the chemistry of, say, bathroom cleaner and HOW IT WORKS? Or maybe the physics of the vacuum cleaner and show how very, very exciting it is to sweep the rugs? OOOH! Or the science behind Swiffer and how all the cool guys like to dust. Maybe a show called "Real Men MOP!" Or perhaps, "Cool Guys Clean Gutters!"

Thank you for your time and patience, Discovery Channel People. Keep up the good work. Oh, and please know that if anything does happen to me as the result of a crash or "kasplosion", my attorneys have been instructed to sue you first.

Affectionately,
SugarMommy


PS I haven't even mentioned SurvivorMan or Man vs. Wild. Suffice to say, I fear for my children (and our pets) once summer is here and they have time to put these shows into practice. Expect another letter from me say around, July.