Phineas and Ferb Changed My Life

Last summer, I had a bad attitude, or maybe I was actually clinically depressed?  It was the heat.  I can handle it being hot in the summer.  I cannot, however, handle it being hot in the spring and fall as well.  If the triple digits would mind their manners and stay in their own season, we wouldn't be so much at odds.

Anyway, things started unraveling fast about September.  I remember one specific day, I was in my car, waiting at a light to turn onto the freeway, and the theme song from Phineas and Ferb came on.  This was the extended, album-release by Bowling for Soup and it's actually called "Today Is Gonna Be A Great Day"

There's a part where they sing:

This could possibly be the best day ever
And the forecast says that tomorrow will likely be a million and six times better.
So make every minute count: jump up, jump in and seize the day.
And let's make sure that in every single possible way...
Today is gonna be a great day.

This was the opposite of what I was doing.  My days were not the best days ever.  I was laying down quietly, waiting to be burned to a crisp by the blinding Arizona sun.  (Seriously, though, there is no cloud cover ever, so the sun is always in my eyes... even if it's cold outside.)  I needed to do something to make sure that in every single possible way my summers would be great.

I sort of snapped that day and announced to Tyler that I was leaving next summer.

"So... we're getting a divorce...?" he asked.
"No no no, I love you.  I'm just not going to live here."
"You're moving forever...?"
"I don't know."
"Where are you going?"
"I don't know.  All I know is that I won't be here."

My first plan was that I would get a job as a summer camp nurse and take my children with me.  Tyler said he could come with us and work remotely during those weeks and watch the kids during the day.  I applied with several camps and got accepted at a camp in Maine.

I didn't end up doing this because it seemed likely that Tyler would get a job in California AND HE DID!  We leave in a few weeks and I am beyond excited and grateful once again to Phineas and Ferb for making the world a better place.

It's happened again

Yesterday, my book vanished.  Vanishing things are different than lost things.  Lost things are like when we went on a hike and at the start of the hike, the baby had two mittens, and then by the end, she only had one.  I know what happened to that mitten and if I really cared about it, I could probably back-track and find it on the trail somewhere.

No, this is when you had it, and now it's just gone.

1. 2007.  My watch goes missing.  I look everywhere, which, in our small 2-bedroom apartment, doesn't take long.  In the looking, I find several other lost things, but no watch.  It is assumed that a then-toddler Lillian threw it out somehow.
2. 2008.  Tyler's watch. It was one of those "he had it this morning, we haven't left the house, and now he can't find it" things. We again look everywhere and this time, we look through the trash.  Not in the trash.  Not anywhere.  Just gone.  We moved shortly after this and assumed it would show up with the packing.  Nope.
3. 2010.  The shapes to the shape-sorter toy.  In the toy one day, gone the next.
4. 2012. Library book.  We were going on vacation and I went around and found all the books and stacked them by the door.  Took them to the library on the way out of town.  A few days later, got an email that one of them was late.  I assumed that one of the kids had messed with my pile and that it would be in the house somewhere.  No.  It was nowhere and I had to pay for it.
5. 2014- yesterday.  ANOTHER library book.  The Fourth Bear, by Jasper Fforde.  I was reading it in the bathroom while Ethan and Evie were taking a bath.  I almost dropped it in the tub when I lunged to save Evie from drowning when Ethan pushed her over.  Now, it's gone.  It was just getting to an exciting part and I can't find it anywhere.  Not under the beds, in the changing table, in the piano bench, by my nursing chair, in the bathroom, under the couches or between the cushions.  Not on the kitchen counter, in the car (for some reason), or stuck in the kids craft stuff.  Not in the fridge or cabinets or under the dressers.

Where are these things?

Uphill battle

I think about motherhood pretty much all day, every day, because that's what I do all day, every day.  Yesterday, I was considering the fact that children really are sociopaths.  They are the most important person in their universe, the only person in their universe, really.

In church, you learn that you should be like a little child, but this makes no sense- children are the greediest, meanest, least sensitive, little megalomaniacs out there.

My day sounds like this:



except times 4 and all day long.

One of my children made their bed yesterday without being asked and I was shocked.  SHOCKED.  This particular child has only ever made their bed without multiple requests, threats, taking away of marbles (we use marbles as a sort of point system, which they can earn and then "spend" on privileges like frozen yogurt and stuff), and being locked in their room until it is made.  It made me realize that my kids rarely do anything positive on their own.  They are programmed to be little chaos machines and fight tooth and nail when you try to get them to do anything non-destructive.

So, why did I have four kids?

It doesn't make sense.  I hate staying home all day.  I get resentful over the fact that I really can't work because paying for child care for 4 kids is pretty much equal to what I make.  I still could go, because I'd be getting out of the house and building my career, but it's a lot of work to balance all that child care and carpooling and who is going to make Lillian practice the piano?  As Liz Lemon says, "Murphy Brown LIED to us!"  For me personally, I can't have it all.  So, I grudgingly accept that this is the bed I made and now I'm sleeping in it, but I hate it.

So, I've come up with some theories about why I had so many kids.

1. There are 7 kids in my family and I LOVE having so many siblings.  I loved it growing up, and I love it now that I'm an adult.  I miss my brothers and sisters dearly and wish wish wish I lived closer to them.  I wanted to recreate that for my kids, and I hope that they grow up and are friends like us.  And I need at least one of them to take care of me when I'm old.

2. They do satisfy a biological need.  There is something deep down inside of me that gets immense pleasure from my children.  Deep inside.  Watching them sleep, you forget every crappy thing they did during the day, and the fact that you called your mother when you were on the verge of losing it and cried "I SWEAR THEY'RE DOING IT ON PURPOSE," and the fact that you swore you were done after that last kid and you whisper, "I want more kids."
     2.1 I read in Do Chocolate Lovers Have Sweeter Babies that baby smiles are evolutionarily engineered             to get us to fall in love with our babies, and I tell you- it works.

3.  I can't discount the social pressure of being Mormon.  Formally, there is nothing specifically taught about how many children you should have, just that you should have some because families are important.  Very important.  But, culturally, big families are the norm.  I do not regret marrying young and having Lillian at a young age, but that really wouldn't have happened if I wasn't Mormon where everyone marries young and has babies at a young age.  If I wasn't Mormon, I can't say for sure that I'd have 4 kids.

4.  For all their sociopathic tendencies, they really are hilarious.  They say funny stuff and their emotions are so real and pure.  There is no feeling like seeing them scream with pure joy when they unwrap that perfect gift on Christmas morning.

So for all the times when I despise staying at home, I remind myself that this too shall pass, and one day, I'll be surrounded by my warm, caring, happy, well-adjusted, loving children and grandchildren.  Right?  RIGHT?

Hold my hair, I'm going to blog.

Remember when I used to blog?  And read blogs?  Why don't I do that anymore?  

I was considering this issue while I was up with the baby last night, and I don't know is the answer.  Maybe because my IQ has plunged dramatically with the addition of this 4th child, such that I'm having trouble coming up with complete sentences.

What would I write?

Well, I'm tired of people telling me "Calories IN=Calories OUT"

because I think it's not true, especially when breastfeeding.

In an informal survey of a few moms at the park, 100% of them told me that they had TROUBLE getting weight off while breastfeeding (which, supposedly burns 500 calories a day) and that when they quit the weight just came off.  So bodies are sometimes miserly and hoard calories, which has nothing to do with this calories in=calories out mantra that somehow is supposed to make me feel better.

Science agrees with me.  In the book "Do Chocolate Lovers Have Sweeter Babies," the author cites studies on the children of the Dutch famine during WWII, and how they are all mostly overweight today because their bodies were programmed to be really efficient with their calories.

I'm not trying to lose weight in order to be thin and pretty.  My clothes don't fit; it's an economical issue.  I don't want to have to buy a whole new wardrobe when I have a closet full of clothes that are just fine... just a little on the small side.  Plus, I hate shopping.

For one minute

So, I accepted a long time ago that I wasn't ever going to have an A+-all-the-time-clean house.  In order to do this, you need to either have no children or really like cleaning.  I am the opposite of both those things.  One time, I asked my neighbor, who, at the time, had 4 children and a SPOTLESS-ALL-THE-TIME house how she kept it clean.  She told me she found cleaning relaxing and really enjoyed it.  This does not compute.

When my kids go to bed, I don't want to spend an hour cleaning up and putting my house aright.  I don't want to spend 10 minutes doing it.  I want to sit down and and read a book and not have to answer any more demands or have anyone touch me for like 2 hours.  And then I want to go to sleep.

During the day, I can think of about 50,000 things that I'd rather do than clean.  I got used to the idea that I would have a B- house that I'd clean up for company.  Maybe.

I went to a kid-free (except I brought my baby) get-together last night at a friend's house and her house was spotless.  She also has 4 kids and her husband is in medical school, so probably he's not doing a whole lot of cleaning.  SPOT. LESS.

I thought, "I wonder if I could get my whole entire house clean at one time.  Even for just one minute."

The house was pretty bad because I spent all day yesterday doing this:

and generally ignoring my children while they trashed my house, but I decided that I didn't care how long it took, I was going to get my entire house clean for one minute.

I cleaned all morning and got the whole upstairs in pristine order.  I took a break to watch the afternoon session of conference and then went upstairs for something and saw that my kids had attacked.  I almost cried.  Instead, I freaked out at the kids and then called my mom.

Two hours later, my whole house is clean.  Except the floors, I didn't sweep or mop... but they're mostly clean.  Mostly.

So, if I can keep the kids outside for the rest of the evening and then put them to bed, we might set a record for at least 10 hours.

Birth Story

So, I was getting ready to leave church on Sunday.  I stopped in the hall and chatted with a friend who had said he wanted to swing by sometime in the week.  "Oh sure! I don't have ANY plans this week... unless, you know, I go into labor..."

And at that very second, my water broke.

No kidding.

It started out as a slow trickle so it wasn't as embarrassing as it could have been, and I went outside and waited by the car while my friend went and found Tyler and the kids.  Estimated time: 4:10 pm.

I wasn't in labor so we headed home, changed, I ate a little dinner, took the kids over to a neighbor's house and then headed up to the hospital.

The decision was made that if I didn't "convert" into labor on my own (spoiler: I didn't), we would start pitocin.  Yeah, I'm getting an epidural for that.  I was 3 cm.

We got into our room and the anesthesiologist came so quickly, I didn't even have an IV in yet, so he started one, got called away to the emergency room for a bit, then came back and put in the epidural.  Estimated time 9 pm.

Pitocin was started and it took about 45 minutes for the contractions to start coming... and I could feel them. And they hurt.  A lot.

I told the nurse and she got the anesthesiologist to come back lickedy split.  He decided to change around the medications in my epidural and if that didn't work, he'd put in a new one.  I agreed to give it about 20 minutes to see if it would work.  Estimated time: 9:45.

I think I gave him about 5.  Not working.  He came back with his attending and when he pulled out the first epidural, he saw that it was kinked.  He put a new one in and I could immediately feel it start to work.  Sweet.  Well, I had a small spot on my left side, probably the size of a 50-cent piece, that I could still feel.  The doc said that it was probably because I had some scar tissue from my previous epidurals and he probably couldn't fix it.  I thought it was annoying but if that's how it is, that's how it is.  The nurse checked me and I was still 3 cm.  Estimated time: 11 pm.

Very soon, I realized that the small spot on my left was getting bigger and bigger.  Then it was my whole left side.  Then, I started to wonder if the epidural was working anywhere.  My legs, however, were numb and paralyzed so I couldn't move to writhe around with the pain, which was very claustrophobic-inducing.

The pain was off the chart.  Sometimes the contractions came every 3 minutes, but sometimes they came faster and I yelled and cursed the universe when this happened.  I said, "I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE," and my nurse would calmly reply, "honey, you don't have a choice."  I didn't feel an urge to push, but the pain was different.  Not less, just different so the nurse checked and I was 10 cm.  Estimated time: 12:15 am.

The doctor was called, the bed converted and the pushing started.  I cannot believe how painful it was.  I pushed through 2 contractions and her head was out.  Then, at the start of the next contraction, through a white wall of pain, the nurse's face swam up next to mine and yelled for me to stop pushing.  Then, all of a sudden, there was a pop and an explosion of pain.  I had been yelling up to that point.  Yelling loudly, but I think it was just yelling.  However, with that pop, I screamed in pain.  The baby's shoulder had gotten stuck behind my pelvis and the doctor had popped it out.

Two or three more pushes and the baby was out.  Exact time: 12:31.  You can see because she came so fast, her head is really round.

I was having an after-contraction when Tyler told me to smile for this picture.

She didn't like that bright light in her face.

I stayed awake for approximately 20 minutes, enough time for everyone to finish up their fussing over me, and then I passed out.

Not my favorite birth experience, and I don't feel any stronger or better for doing it somewhat naturally.  I'm just glad she's here and perfect.

Welcome to our family Evelyn Claire.  You'll like it here.

Same old, same old

38 weeks 1 day

Here's a list of things that have not worked in starting labor:

1. Measuring at full term (for those who have not had children, the doctor measures your belly and how many cm it is roughly corresponds to how many weeks pregnant you are.  Thus, my belly is 2 cm too big).  I feel like measuring 40 cm should give you a free pass to labor and delivery.  It doesn't.
2. Walking.  I've walked and walked and walked.  I read in "Do Chocolate Lovers Have Sweeter Babies?" that walking does not speed the onset of labor, but I thought it might at least serve to wedge the baby down into my pelvis... or something.  It would appear that this is not so.  Also, it's like 95 degrees outside at 7:30 in the morning, when I go for walks sometimes, and upwards of 108 during the day, so I've also been doing a lot of sweating.  Which brings us to number 3:
3. Dehydration.  In the afore mentioned book, the author mentions that a dangerous way to start labor is to dehydrate yourself which would concentrate the oxytocin in your blood, theoretically starting labor. Although I'm not doing it on purpose, I'm probably perpetually dehydrated given the amount of sweating I've been doing and the fact that I can drink and drink and drink and not pee any more than usual.
4. Drinking raspberry leaf tea.  This, on it's own, is not supposed to induce labor, but it's supposed to tone your uterus, making your contractions more efficient.  Since I've been in labor for 4 months, I thought it might help move things along and then I could do like I did with Ethan and just show up at the hospital 4 cm dilated and having contractions and convince them that I was in labor.  However, I am not dilating like I did with Ethan and, at last check, was only a piddly 2 cm.  I may have started crying, or yelling, or both when they told me that.
5. Drinking black cohosh.  This did give me more forceful contractions with a higher frequency... for about two hours, then I fell asleep watching TV.
6. Having Tyler massage my feet with some supposed labor-inducing essential oils given to me by my neighbor.  Perhaps one needs to have more faith in accupressure for this to work.  But, hey, I got a nice foot rub out of it.
7. Heavy lifting.  I've been telling my kids for the past 8.75 months that I can't carry them up the stairs because I have a max carrying capacity of one child.  No more- I've been carrying them with reckless abandon for the past week or so.  Nothing.
8. Uh... the thing that got us into this situation in the first place.  Nope.
9. Making and eating a spicy curry.  It actually wasn't that spicy.  This only served to cause my children to cry tears of joy because it was so delicious and they wanted to eat thirds, but I wouldn't let them.  (That's a lie. They hated it.  Nora told me that she didn't want to eat it because it had worms(?) in it.)

I don't want any other suggestions, AND DON'T TELL ME TO TAKE CASTOR OIL, I WON'T DO IT. I just want to have this kid and be done with pregnancy forever.

In Lillian's nighttime prayer the other day, she prayed that "mom can have the baby so that she can be in a good mood."

Mostly miserable

My mom is letting me borrow these little reader books for Nora.  I learned how to read from these things and I remember them very fondly.  My mom was, at first, very hesitant to let me have them because they are out of print and IRREPLACEABLE, but I pulled out the sucker-punch "it's for your grandkids!" line and she relented.

Nora loves them as well, which warms my heart.  The books have an adult page and a child page, and sometimes Lillian will sit with her and read "little words" (as in small type) and Nora will read the "big words."  It's super cute... for like 10 seconds until they start arguing because Nora isn't reading the words exactly right or Lillian isn't singing the songs or doing the voices the way I do.

Other than that, I mostly just sit around, being in labor but not actual labor which makes me very cranky.  I try to tell myself that every contraction (which I have all day long every day) brings me closer to delivery; like every pregnancy has a finite number of contractions needed to push the baby out, and instead of being in labor for 3 days like I was with Lillian (which was the only kid of mine where I didn't have this 4-month long labor thing), I can just be in regular labor for 8 or so hours.

At least that's what I tell myself to keep me from going insane.  Oh, did I mention that I am still nauseated?  Yeah, so there's that, too.

 Also, I'm bigger now than I was with any of the other kids, as evidenced by the fact that I have grown out of all but ONE pair of shorts and most of my shirts.  Also, it's a million degrees here.  Unless I have to leave the house, I can be found wearing one of Tyler's t-shirts and just underwear.  I went to book club last night and Lillian advised me that I better put pants on before leaving, "because THAT would be embarrassing" if I went in my standard pants-less uniform.

Things are going better

I went to Tyler's soccer game last night and a friend on the team came up with a concerned face to ask me if I was doing OK.  "I saw your last blog entry," she said with a grimace.

So yeah, that was bad, but it's better now.  Aside from some lingering runny noses, most of the sickness is gone.  I no longer want to put Ethan up for adoption, which is a major improvement.  It must have mostly been the sickness because I swear, it was like he wanted me to beat him.  Then a few days ago, I was playing with him and he was being so cute and I remembered that I actually liked him.

In other news, Lillian's teacher sent home a note asking the kids to EACH bring in 3 DOZEN cookies.  What the what?  My mind is still boggled.  What the heck are they going to do with 780 cookies for 27 people?  I mean, maybe she's counting on some kids forgetting, but seriously.  ONE kid bringing in 3 dozen cookies would mean everyone would get a cookie plus 9 left over.

I read the note like 3 times and asked Tyler to look at it to make sure I wasn't missing anything.  I sent in one dozen because I don't support craziness.

And then in other, other news, I am back to being a 99% stay-at-home mom and you know what? It's just as boring as I remember.  I DON'T KNOW WHAT WOMEN DO TO ENTERTAIN THEMSELVES ALL DAY LONG.  My house is possibly less clean than it was when I was working full time because I think, 'eh... I've got all day long to clean that up, what's the rush?' And then it doesn't get done because I end up reading all mid-morning, then Lillian gets home from school and we have to bake 3 dozen cookies for school the next day.  Or something.

It doesn't help that I am still (STILL) pregnancy sick and very tired.  Oh. So. Tired. Such that when I do feel well enough to go on a walk or something, my children's whines about not wanting those shoes or needing the pink jacket when it's in the washing machine, or needing to go to the bathroom one more time or actually deciding that they hate walks and thought that when I said, "do you want to go for a walk" I said, "do you want to go to the zoo" and now WHY CAN'T WE GO TO THE ZOO, it wears me out and I have to sit down.

I'm just going to chalk it up to the fact that I really hate being pregnant.  However, having had 3 kids already, I know that this is a temporary condition and that it will e v e n t u a l l y end.  In the mean time, I have a lot of cleaning to ignore.

Things are... not going well

It started with Tyler being sick, and culminated in me trying to figure out how to load Tyler's gun last night at 3 a.m.  There were a few Motherhood Feats of Strength and a few more Low Points all adding up to the fact that this week has been really awful so far.

Saturday night: Tyler started complaining that he didn't feel well.  I put the kids to bed myself, which might not be a big deal to the rest of you, but I'm pregnant and tired and my body wants to quit at 7.  Not just quit, but like, shut down.  I don't handle all the whining and last-minute attempts at negotiations well at all.  There is kind of a lot of yelling and usually someone ends up crying.

Sunday: Tyler started shaking violently when he attempted to change into his church clothes.  His skin was burning up, so I told him to stay home in bed and I would take the kids to church.  Ethan got to stay home and watch The Incredibles because if you stay home sick from church, you have to keep the baby with you according to the rule I adopted from another couple in our ward.

I came home from church to find Tyler on the couch with MY barf bowl next to him.  Tyler never throws up, so I knew he was really sick.  The rest of the day was spent trying to keep the children away from him and put the kids to bed by myself, again. 

Sunday night: Ethan woke up crying hard.  This is unusual so I went into his room.  As soon as I picked him up, he vomited all over me.  It was in my hair and was running down my back.  I might mention at this time that I'm super sensitive to smells.  I may or may not say this several times a day.  I have found that spraying my entire house with Febreeze is not enough, so I started spraying a hand towel and wrapping it around my neck.  Also, I could smell Nora's hair (which smelled like shampoo) from across the room, so I may or may not have sprayed her head.  Anyway, there I was with a screaming child, puke all over both of us and also, he's not breathing.  Croup.  I forgot to mention that part.

I got him downstairs and gave him some steroids and some Tylenol much to his dismay (the kids complain that the steroids sting in their mouth and that the Tylenol is gross.  I can't wait until they are old enough to swallow pills) and set about cleaning him up.  Also, I'm still covered in vomit.  He vomited all over his blankie, which was unfortunate because blankie is an essential sleeping item.  ESSENTIAL.  I changed his sheets and rinsed out the vomity parts of blankie and put him back in bed with a wet blanket.  He was not happy about this.  By this time, his breathing was better, but not great so I sat up in his room to make sure that the steroids kicked in and that he didn't vomit again and then asphyxiate.  He started talking in his sleep in a crazy demon voice.  Eventually, he calmed down and went to sleep and I went and got in the shower at 2 a.m.  My body took the cue that now was the time to be awake, what with the shower and all, and I didn't fall asleep until 4.

Monday: Ethan had a fever but mercifully did not throw up again.  He is normally a regular awful awful two-year old, but when he's sick, it's 10 times worse.  Also, Tyler was still really sick and could not participate in any parenting activities.  Ethan was demanding and cried and screamed at the drop of a hat.  And then the Tylenol kicks in and they drive you crazy because they suddenly have all this energy and want to go someplace and play but you can't leave because you know he's really sick.  ALSO, I ran out of zofran on this day, so instead of just feeling like I was going to throw up, I was actually throwing up all day long.

By the time I got everything in order to where I felt well enough to leave the house to go fill my prescription and Ethan and Tyler's needs were attended to, Nora woke up with the croup and a fever and I had to fight her to get her to take her medicine and then she just wanted me to hold her.  Then I had to make dinner.

Then I put the kids to bed by myself, again.  I could not fill my prescription as I was done for the day.

Tuesday: Tyler was feeling better, so he LEFT to go on a 3-day business trip.  Ethan was still sick, Nora was still sick.  I managed to get my zofran and a new prescription for phenergan filled.  Activities this day include more crying, more managing fevers and catering to bossy 2-year old.  Nora didn't go to preschool so we were just home.  All. Day. Long.

Tuesday night: I didn't sleep well, I can't remember why.

Wednesday: Ethan woke me up at 5:30 by screaming in my face and asking if he could watch TV.  Love that kid!  I decided we needed to get out of the house so we set off for a walk around the lake.  Nora decided that she wanted to ride her bike.  We got 3 houses down before she freaked out.  She couldn't ride anymore. She wanted me to push her on her bike the whole way around the lake.  No. I'm not doing that.  I told her she could get off and walk or she could start riding.  She screamed for a good 20 minutes.  She eventually decided to walk, but then cried and had several melt-downs on our .33 mile walk.  After we got back, I threw up so I decided to try a phenergan.  The doctor gave me a low dose, so I thought it might not make me sleepy.  I loaded up the kids and headed to the library for story time.  I nearly fell asleep while driving home.  I forced the children into bed and then crashed on the couch.  At some point Lillian came home and proceeded to be VERY NOISY.  I did not use nice words when I told her several times to stop talking to me and be quiet.  I was so very tired.  I was finally able to get off the couch around 4 and then had to do our usual long-haul homework.  We had grilled cheese for dinner.

Wednesday night: I forced the kids into bed at 7.  No stories.  No scriptures.  I was still really tired and I climbed into bed fully clothed at 7:05 and slept until around 10.  I got up and watched way too many episodes of 30 Rock. I went to bed around 1:30 and as I was quieting down to go to sleep, I heard a noise downstairs.  I shrugged it off as a normal house noise and tried to fall asleep.  Then I heard another, then another, then I heard a shuffling sound.  I turned on the light and the noises stopped.  I started freaking out.  I told myself I was being paranoid and I just needed to go to bed, so I turned off the light and I SWEAR I heard the back door open.  I locked the door to my bedroom and got out Tyler's gun (which is where I spent 4 heart-pounding minutes trying to figure out how to load it) and put it under his pillow next to me.  I tried to talk myself out of a home invasion because seriously, who would break into my house when my next-door neighbor is obviously much wealthier than me?  Also, why not wait until we leave in the day?  Why break in 20 minutes after I turn off the lights?  I kept hearing noises so I finally called to police.  They came in about 3 minutes and walked all around and checked all the closets.  I was all hopped up on adrenaline so I didn't fall asleep until 3 or 3:30.  

Thursday morning: Lillian has had a sort of low-grade cough this whole time, and on Wednesday claimed she couldn't go to school.  The cough didn't sound that bad, so I told her she needed to go and that she could tell her teacher if the cough became worse and I would come get her.  She came into my room at 6 and coughed all over me to prove that her cough was worse and that she couldn't go to school today.  She has proceeded to fight with her siblings and be super annoying.  Tyler gets home late tonight and then I go to work tomorrow.

My only saving grace has been that I have just been normal pregnant sick this week: no fever, cough, or body ache in sight.  It's a small consolation, but I'll take it.

Lame

I thought the nausea was gone last week.  I was so excited, I cleaned my house for 5 or 6 hours over 2 days. I suspect that some women do this on a regular basis, but it's definitely a special occasion for me because I have probably cleaned for 5 or 6 hours total over the last month.

But, the reprieve was short-lived. Yesterday and today, I have spent most of the day on the couch with my throw-up bowl nearby. I may or may not have watched 10 episodes of "30 Rock."  But the worst part is how the nausea is my own natural Antibuse against sugar.

Antibuse is a medication the alcoholics take that causes them to become violently ill whenever they drink. I'm not sure how well it works because I've never met anyone who has taken it, but I have had several patients who get pancreatitis whenever they drink, a condition which will land you in the hospital for several days in excruciating pain, and that doesn't seem to stop them.

Anyway, this whole time I've been sick, eating sugary things has made me even sicker. This is one of the worst things that has ever happened to me. Wait, maybe best things. I don't know. I can't eat cookies, brownies, ice cream, or candy.

This was how I suspected that my good-feeling wouldn't last: to celebrate all that cleaning, I ate a Cadbury egg.  I love Cadbury eggs.  I'm always super excited for January to roll around and I can grab one at the cash register on my way out of the grocery store.  I mourn when Easter is over. I saw Facebook evidence that they came out with green eggs for Halloween and I searched my store every time I went and told a checker that they needed to get them when he asked me if I found everything OK.

But I ate the egg, and then I threw it up, and then I felt sick for the rest of the afternoon.  So now I'm back to an 8 on the Throw Up Scale wherein I feel like I could throw up if I stand up to quickly, or have to wipe any bottoms, or chase down a squirmy 2-year old, or make dinner, or clean.

I have to go to the store tomorrow because we're out of food.  You can bet I'll be bringing a ziplock Baggie so I can throw up by the frozen food like I do, and also I'll give a stink eye to the Cadbury eggs and I check out.

No ID, no airplane

We got back from Hawaii last week.  The whole trip was awesome, except for that whole our-car-window-getting-smashed-and-our-wallets-getting-stolen thing.  The pictures are on the computer upstairs and we're not technologically hip enough for our ancient laptop and our ancient desktop to talk to each other.  I'll post some eventually... just enough to make you a little jealous.

Until then, here are some highlights:

Most beautiful moment- Hiking down to the beach at dawn and watching the sun rise.

Most illegal moment- Breaking into a state park to go hike a waterfall.  (It seems like no one in Hawaii goes to work before 10.  Seriously people, that's 1 o'clock Arizona time.  I've been up since 2.)

Most relaxing moment- Chilling out on the soft fluffy sand and playing frisbee with Tyler for hours.

Most obnoxious moment- Trying to talk the lady at Quick Cash into giving us our money that Tyler's parents wired to us when we didn't have an ID.

Most touching moment- We attended church at some random ward in Honolulu.  We didn't know the family that was moving away, but that didn't stop me from crying like a baby when they invited the moving family to the front and sang "Aloha 'Oe."  Then people from the ward came up and gave them leis and kisses and said their goodbyes.  Tyler thought I was a little bit crazy because we didn't know these people, but it was so sweet, I felt like I knew them.

Tastiest moment- Tie between Thai Thai restaurant in Volcano that had the best pad thai and a pineapple stir fry thing that were THE MOST DELICIOUS THINGS I've eaten in forever.  We ate it so fast that the waitress was actually surprised.  AND Cheeseburger in Paradise in Waikiki.  We both had the California Burger which was the closest approximation of the Hana Burger from Sylvesters in Los Osos (the #1 best hamburger in the universe) that we could find.  It was pretty delicious, not as good as the Hana... but I think that would be impossible.

Saddest moment- Having to call the kids and tell them that they wouldn't let us on our flight because we didn't have IDs and that we would be home the next day instead of that night.

Most awe-inspiring moment- watching the fire knife dancers at the Polynesian Cultural Center.  Everything there was pretty cool, we should have spent more time there... but know... we were trying to change out our rental car and talk to the insurance company and what not.

Most ridiculous moment- Having ALL of the stuff in our carry-on being wiped down with the explosive-detecting wipes and the TSA agent seriously considering strip searching us.  US. Me and Tyler Ball.  But I guess you can't ever be too careful.

A huge thank you to my mom for watching our kids for the week, and to Tyler's parents for wiring us money when we were stranded, sunburned and half naked (because they also stole our clothes).

Remember, people are trying to be friendly

I work 12-hour shifts (with a 40 minute commute and 30 minutes for lunch) so I don't get home until about 8:30 or so.  Tyler is such an awesome dad and totally holds down the fort in my absence... sometimes better than I could by myself.  He cooks, he cleans, he takes the kids out to do something fun afterward.  Super dad.

However, he told me that he's tired of all the comments he gets from strangers.  Who knew that random strangers make comments to him too?!  I've been tired of the comments since I was pregnant with Nora, but they just keep on coming:

(when pregnant) "Whoa, you look like you're going to pop!"  "Thanks, I'm 30 weeks."

"What isle did you pick those up on?"

"Oh MAN! You have your hands full!  I love my kids, but I don't miss that stage."

Lillian asks me all the time why people talk to me in the grocery store.  I don't know honey.  I don't know.  Plus don't forget all the abuelas who want to touch my kids' hair and generally freak them out.

I guess being a man out alone with 3 kids, you get your own stranger comments, but they generally revolve on how I must be "having a night off," and imply that Tyler is the bumbling dad, clueless about how to raise children.  This irritates me on many levels, not the least of which is that I am not, in fact, having a night off.

The stereotypes bother me, and also when people commented on how big my pregnant belly was.  (Seriously, why do you think this will go over well?)  So if you see a woman or man with a whole lotta kids in their cart and you have to say something, just say that they're beautiful, and move on.

NaBloPoMo 2.0

I feel like this sometimes.

I wrote a post about jury duty, but it vanished as soon as I hit "Publish."  I'll give you the gist in 4 points.

1. I successfully put off jury duty for 6 months.

2. I finally did have to go.

3. I did not get selected.

4. It was very boring.

I wrote this post because I want to (attempt to) do NaBloPoMo this year.  I make no guarantees that I'll succeed, or that I won't cheat and write multiple posts on one day and then have them appear on consecutive days.  But, seriously, I have been depriving the internet of about 6 month's worth of pictures and I've got to fix that.

Lost and not found

Tyler in the Sahuarita Sun

For one of my classes, I have to make a portfolio of my accomplishments. They want me to include any degrees, certifications, and professional qualifications in addition to any awards, professional thank you notes, scholarships, and grants. I kept all of these things in one box- a purple shirt box. It had my high school diploma; all my scholarship awards and dean's list notifications; my high school swimming, thespian, and physics awards; notes from nursing professors; notable papers I've written that I was especially proud of; etc. I've looked for this box on and off for the last 2 years to no avail. I wasn't ready to accept that it was lost.

On Sunday, I made a systematic effort to find this box and I have to conclude, after 2 hours of looking, that it was lost in the move. I was surprisingly sad about this, given my complete lack of sentimentality. I think it's the whole assignment part of it- I have to prove that I have a life besides my kids, and I can no longer do it. As far as durable accomplishments go, having 3 adorable kids is not bad, but, you know.

Two things that DID turn up in the search: 1. My goggles. 2. The above newspaper clipping of Tyler playing softball. As you can see, the throw was late and he didn't make the play, but that doesn't mean he's not good at softball.

No (wo)man can serve two masters

How are things? I haven't heard from you in a while. Just calling to see how you are doing. How's school? You haven't updated your blog in a long time, have you been busy?

I have never been this busy in my entire life. The whole thing. Never.

I have two full-time jobs:

My mom job involves taking care of 3 children 4 and under. I get them up in the morning; I make all their meals (except I switched to store-bought baby food for Ethan. Best. Decision. Ever.); I am in charge of all their bathroom needs and I have to monitor the cleanliness of their underwear/diapers; I make sure they get enough naps, that they are engaged and active while awake, that they are learning and growing; I make sure they maintain a good balance between socialization and quiet time; I help them learn how to do chores; I clean all their clothes and wash all their dishes (except the dinner dishes); I pick up toys, dust, vacuum, sweep, mop, and scrub toilets; I plan all their meals and buy all the food they eat, while making sure they eat a variety of fruits, vegetables, and whole grains; I keep them clean and groomed by washing faces, brushing teeth, giving baths, brushing hair, and keeping track of endless hair bows; I am in charge of making sure they are safe by watching them as much as possible to make sure they don't run into the street, get into a stranger's car, eat dishwasher soap, touch the hot stove, sit on each other's faces, etc; etc.

My school job involves reading, reading, and more reading; researching things like how to get college students to increase their condom usage or whether or not educating expectant fathers on breastfeeding techniques will increase exclusive breastfeeding rates at 3 months postpartum; writing 1 or 2 8- to 10-page papers per week; going on "field trips" like going to a rehab facility for prostitutes, visiting an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, or going to a grocery store in a low socioeconomic part of town to research food disparities; watching lectures; making power points; more reading; completing about 5,000 self-study modules put out by the CDC about things like intimate partner violence and arsenic poisoning; watching about 8,000 documentaries on the health-wealth gradient; and more reading.

Now, do them together. Oh yeah, and my baby forgot how to sleep through the night. So, I do all this while sleep deprived.

Also, about 2 weeks ago, my kids were exposed to the neighbor girl who was later diagnosed with RSV. It looked like this for about a week in my house:

Except with more crying and whining, plus a sick baby.

Sleepless Night

Last night, while not in the top 5, was for sure in the top 10 worst night's sleep.

9:30 Fell asleep watching a webinar from The Council to Improve Food Outbreak Response.

10:00 Tyler woke me up suggesting I move to the bed, apparently I declined.

11:00 I went upstairs.

11:30 Ethan woke up with a fever and a cough. He coughed so much, he puked on me.

12:15 Ethan cried in his crib until he fell back asleep.

3:00 Both girls had to go to the bathroom; Tyler handled this one.

6:00 Ethan woke up again. I fed him so he would go back to sleep.

7:15 Ethan was up for the day.

To top it all off, Tyler was having so me sort of exothermic reaction going on, so he was about 500˚ next to me (it's not a fever, it happens to him kind of a lot, I think it's how he stays so skinny). I also had a crazy dream where my friend Michelle was on a French cooking show talking about how to make roast duck, but she was acting like Dan Akroyd acting like Julia Child.

I've cut the dickens out of my finger.

And I believed her!

Some of this post might be considered an overshare, so don't read if you are sensitive to that sort of thing. Also, I realize that this will automatically repost on Tyler's Facebook page so Note: this is Amanda typing.

I've asked my mom, mother of 7, why she had so many children. At different times in my life, I've received different answers. One time, she said, "I just couldn't turn it off. Every time I turned around, I was pregnant again." I think I was a teenager, or maybe in my early 20's because I answered, "you know mom, they have things that you can do to take care of that problem."

And now, here I am, 3 kids in 4 years later because I just couldn't turn it off. Something had to be done, so I decided to get an IUD. My doctor, whom I know and love, told me that her office no longer stocks Mirena because they cost $800 and they were losing too much money on them. So, if I wanted one, I would have to buy it myself, have it shipped to her office, and they would put it in. She made it seem like no big deal. I called Blue Cross to see if such a thing were possible, and the lady on the phone actually said, "Oh Yeah! That's FINE. Just go online and fill out forms X, Y, and Z and send in a copy of such and such paper and we'll send you a check." I was apprehensive because it seemed all too easy, but she was so confident that this would be no problem; she knew which papers to fill out, what to photo copy, she used sentences like, "ask your provider for a copy of the superbill." Surely this woman knew which way was up.

I called CVS/Caremark and ordered the thing, had it sent to the office, they put it in. I filled out form X, Y, and Z, made the appropriate photo copies, and sent it all in. I waited. And waited. Meanwhile, CVS/Caremark was deducting $35 a month from my account and would continue doing so until I paid them $800. I received a notice from Blue Cross stating that my claim was denied. Excuse me?

I called and an hour on the phone later, got it all sorted out. Did I mention that this was in September?

Since then, I've received notices, placed phone calls, and made more copies. I called again today to get a status update.

"My records show that we sent you a check for $326 on November blah-bi-di-blah."

"Yeah, I never got that. Did you send it to blee-bi-di-bloo?"

"Yes. Well, because it was never cashed, I'll just put on a stop payment and send you a new check."

"Great. What about the other 400-some-odd dollars?"

"I'm sorry?"

"The device (this is what you have to call it when you call in, so you know) cost me $800."

"Well, Blue Cross only allows 500-blah-blah dollars, your deductible was met so we'll pay 80%, leaving you to pay 200-blee-bloo dollars."

"Um... what?"

"[Starts to explain allowances]"

"No, no. I get that. What you're saying is that I'm stuck with paying not $200, but actually almost $500."

"Um.... Right... well [starts in on some lame explanation about pharmacy benefits vs durable hardware benefits]."

"[Enter a rant about how I CALLED and MADE SURE that this would work and the woman said it would be NO PROBLEM and now I'm stuck paying what may as well be the full price for something that IS COVERED and HOW IRRITATED I am and that I HATE Blue Cross.]"

"[Clearly flustered] I'm sorry ma'am. That does sound irritating. You're more than welcome to appeal."

"YOU AND I BOTH KNOW THAT WON'T WORK! I'll get a nicely worded letter about how I am ultimately responsible for knowing my coverage and that I have a copy of the plan, and that they have no record of me ever even calling in, and that it says in article B section 13 that I shouldn't base my insurance coverage decisions on what the insurance-coverage specialists say."

...silence...

"Is there anything else I can help you with?"

I apologized to the woman on the phone because she didn't do this to me. I probably will send out an appeal, but really, it probably won't work.

On one end of the customer service spectrum is Costco. I once took back some Cuties because they tasted a little funny, and they gave me cash back, no questions asked. In the middle is Target, where they require a receipt, a picture of you buying the item, and your first-born child before they'll give you cash back. And then way way down at the other end of the spectrum is the insurance company, who doesn't even give money to people who deserve it who are dying. Why would they give me my money back?