Finding out

Aaah, blogging. It causes me to lose sleep. I ought to be napping right now, because one of the babes is teething and I am e.x.h.a.u.s.t.e.d. But blogging encourages me to write about things that should be written down. In this case, the subject is pregnancy tests. I had planned on telling these stories at the end of the month, when Claire turns one, but swistle inspired me to do it now. Here are my stories:

With Kate, it was 2004, and we were living in Korea. We had discussed children, specifically us having them, in the past, and I wasn't certain it was something I wanted to do. I enjoyed working and didn't always enjoy children, and was certain that it would force an ending to my selfish streak that I so enjoyed. But after having been married for 3 years, and quitting my last job to move overseas, we decided that we would start trying. Somehow, I thought that since we were actively wanting children, it should be easy. It was not. We tried for six months. No luck. I called my mother-in-law, certain that we would never have children and how could I live with that? She assured me that it would just take time. I think she also mentioned something about my hysteria, and how that might be a sign of things...but I am not sure about that one.

Not long after that conversation, Tim and I went on vacation to Vietnam. In hopes that warmer weather would bring out the double pink lines, I brought a test with me. Just in case. We lounged on the sand, lying under big frond umbrellas, in Phan Thiet. We wandered from beach to beach, enjoying the warm February weather, the warm water, and the tropical atmosphere and good food. We woke late each morning and ate lavish breakfasts at the resort we were staying at. We read books on the beach, took naps, and watched kite surfers negotiate the ocean waves.

One morning at breakfast, nothing looked appealing. This was odd, as breakfast is my favorite meal. They even had crepes, my Favorite favorite. I ate a couple of bites, and then pushed my plate away, opting to drink my tea instead. That afternoon, we made our way to the beach, and Tim got a Tiger beer from a beach vendor. I sipped it, and it was delicious. But, I thought, what if I'm pregnant? I better make sure it's okay to drink it. Back to the room I went. Minutes later, I found out that I would not be drinking beer for a long time. I walked back to the beach, trying to restrain my excitement, to tell Tim. I was nervous! We had been wanting a baby, but what would he say? He was excited, of course.

We spent the rest of our vacation making sure I had readily-available snacks (if I was hungry, I Absolutely.Could.Not.Wait.For.Food), having maternity dresses made for me in Hue, and trying to decide on names. When we got back to Korea, I was instantly glad we would be moving back to the US, I was so happy that it was winter and the smell wasn't so bad, I avoided the weekly markets that smelled of fish and...who knows what...I got an ultrasound on base and saw our teeny bean baby and its heartbeat (we wouldn't find out her gender until she was born), and friends in Korea even threw me a baby shower before we moved.

For Claire, she was definitely the second born. We wanted to have kids close together, mostly because 1.) my sister and are 4.5 years apart and were not close growing up, and 2.) I wanted the kids to have instant friends when we moved, which we do often in the military. I wasn't sure what to expect with the second pregnancy. It took us a long time to conceive Kate, and I didn't want the ups and downs of testing every month. So we just kind of played it by ear.

Then one day, Kate and I were shopping at the commissary. We walked down the condiment aisle, and I saw the ketchup and mustard. Mmmmm, hot dogs, I thought. Then: I'm pregnant. I so have to be pregnant. HOT DOGS? I added a pregnancy test to my basket. But it was too early.

We went on vacation to Oregon to visit Tim's family. We bought yummy beer that we have trouble finding here in Arizona. I drank several bottles over the course of a couple of days, knowing that I would likely not be able to drink any beer for many months. I know. I know! Horrible, right? The next morning, I took the test in my in-laws' guest bathroom. It was positive. I don't remember Tim's reaction. I am sure he was happy, but I don't remember his specific reaction. We didn't tell anyone for awhile, but then I couldn't keep it a secret any longer. I called my friend Steph to see how the base medical maze did pregnancy tests. She didn't ask any questions, just gave me answers to mine. Then I called my sister and told her. Later I told two of my sisters-in-law while we were at lunch.

Now, the baby from that hot dog pregnancy is about to turn one. I can hardly believe it. These past 3 years have been wonderful, emotional, heart-wrenching, crazy, and the most satisfying of any before.

Do you have a story you want to tell? Please share!

The good stuff

Okay, okay. The details!

I am currently about 15.5 weeks pregnant, and am due on April 17. We don't know if we are having a boy or a girl, and since we don't plan to have any more children, we are not going to find out until the baby is born. I sort of feel compelled to do all those things during pregnancy that you can only do when pregnant, like not finding out the gender, and eating pretty much whatever I want. I'm not sure that this last strategy is smart, but it sure sounds fun, doesn't it? <=D

Things are going fairly well right now. The first trimester was pretty rocky, and there were several times when I just wanted to be put out of my misery. That whole thing about eating whatever I want began at about week 6 when I could only stomach eggs, fruit, and bread products. The sight of vegetables made me nauseous, and the smell of garlic almost made me have to leave the house. I felt somewhat ill when I was pregnant with Kate, but never got sick, and I was totally fine with Claire, although tired. With this one, I felt HORRIBLE. Miserable, gross, barfy, and lethargic. I'm sure trying to chase after two small children and act like somewhat of a good parent to them had something to do with it, but man. I am glad that is over. I do not know how other women do it, when they are actually sick throughout weeks of their pregnancy. Because when you're there, you feel like you will never get beyond how you are feeling, and it is sort of depressing. Lucky for me, my ickyness only lasted from about week 6 until about week 12. And I never really had to be anywhere, like work, or upright.

I was super stressed out about the health insurance thing, as you might have read about. In Tucson, I was spoiled: there was no hospital on base, so all pregnant women went off base for OB care. I had the best doctor ever. I delivered in a great hospital. My husband was home and not in danger of being deployed or TDY near or on either birth date. Here, things are different. There is a hospital on base and all prime insureds go there for OB care and delivery, and Tim has a deployment in March (he should be back by the end of the month, but eek! That is cutting it close, in my opinion). I have known too many women who have had not-so-fab experiences delivering their baby at a military hospital (Katie, I am most of all mortified by your experience), and I did not want to go through this.

Then, to top it off, I had a battle of wills with the admin staff on base. I tried to set up my first appointment, and they asked me if I wanted a morning or afternoon class. Class? Um. I tried to calmly and politely explain that I didn't need to attend the class about childbirth, and that I had in fact attended the same class in Korea (I saw a girl here at the hospital with the same book they gave me back then), and I was good, thank you very much. She told me that I had to go to the class before I could schedule my first OB appointment. I explained that I already have 2 children and that I was really okay with not taking the class. I mean, if you have to find childcare to attend the childbirth class, shouldn't that exempt you from the class requirement? They weren't going for it. I scheduled the p.m. class and began frantically calling everyone I knew (who does not live here and therefore wouldn't give my secret away) to ask about everything from TriCare Standard to actually giving birth here at the military hospital. I called the OB clinic back and asked if I could go off base for care. They said I could do so only if I was high risk. I muttered something about hoping I was. Then I changed my time to the a.m. class "because the children would be happier at that time and probably behave better". She told me I couldn't bring children to the class. I told her I was new here and what did she suggest? We went back and forth and I may have hung up on her.

I finally had a flash of genius: I remembered a friend who had just PCS'd from here, who had also had a baby before they moved. I called her and asked her the important question: if you could do it all over again, would you deliver on base here? She said probably not. Problem solved. She put me in touch with a friend of hers here who recommended an OB to me, and when I called to see if he accepted TriCare, they said he did.

I am not sure if I am breaking rules or getting through on some sort of loophole, or if it's just that I am actually considered high risk (I will be of advanced maternal age when I deliver, wouldn't you know), but TriCare hasn't given me any trouble about going off base. Let's all just breathe a collective sigh of relief, shall we? The icing is that this OB is great. I don't know yet if he is as great as my OB in Tucson, but I love him so far.

Kate understands that she is going to be a big sister again, and perhaps more importantly, that there is not a baby in her tummy as well. Claire looks at us like we are kooky when we start talking about the baby in my belly, and looks questioningly at her own tum. She loves babies, though, so I'm sure she will be a great big sister.

I'm So Very Glad

For those of you who are married but miss the dating scene, read on. I haven't missed 'dating' in ages, and this story from one of my single friends in Seattle made me remember just how lucky I am.

"So I finally decided to enter back into the dating scene. On my trip home from
Miami I met a guy in the airport. He seemed pretty nice and interesting so I
talked with him at the gate while waiting for our plane. Since I was super sick
after a super-hip-hop-tropical virus my judgment may have been impaired. I ended
up even sicker by the time we landed but continued to talk to this gentleman. We
spoke about different places to eat in town and he asked me if I’d like to go
out to dinner while he was in Seattle. He seemed pretty cool. He is a wildlife
vet in the south; he is from Canada and lived in Seattle for a while…..He had a
pregnant deaf dolphin he was caring for so I figured how bad could he be.


After some reconfiguring on my end we decided on doing something on Friday night. I met him at a small little arty bar on Pill Hill. We met for a drink and he was pretty nice. We had a pretty good conversation and decided to go for dinner. He had selected an Italian restaurant, although not knowing what we were going to do for sure he did not make reservations. I vetoed the suggestion of “chicken-feet” and an ID Chinese place.


I drive us a little ways away to the joint of choice. On the way he is very generous and offers to carry me later should I need assistance for my ankle. Given that I am
in a skirt, I decline. He mentions that most of his good stories end with a girl “hiking up her skirt and crawling on him”. This is the first of many indicators of the rest of the evening. He puts our name on the list for the VERY CROWDED restaurant and orders a bottle of wine at the bar. Since I drink more wine than he does he suggests I select the wine. I ask a couple of questions to the waitress and then he proceeds to order the bottle for us. So much for me ordering the wine.


Since we have some time to kill before our table is ready we begin our chatting. He finds out that like himself, I am also a Taurus and he mentions that we should have a stubborn-contest; I am not immediately stimulated by this idea. He also mentions that I should know that he doesn't believe in compromise. There are several other uncomfortable and awkward stories that he tells about his “kooky” personality, how he likes kids, wants to travel the world with his family, teach them several languages etc. He also mentions that the lucky woman that will land his future attentions needs to have an understanding to his desire to do what he wants. Not super impressed at this point. He is getting more obnoxious and self-centered as the evening goes on.
Still not really asking much about me.


We finally get seated at our table and begin to order dinner. He asks if I would like an appetizer and I decline so he orders two. Humm, why ask my opinion if you are going to do what you want anyway. Appetizers come and he suggests we share. I don’t really want either, but I take a small bit of the beef. I am having difficulties cutting it so he whips out his pocketknife and proceeds to cut if for me. He then leaves the large pocketknife on the table. He gleefully suggests that we eat with our
hands. When I protest and use my fork, he takes his butter knife and throws it
out the open window next to my head. Dinner comes and we proceed to dine. During
the chow, I say something particularly cute and charming so he leans across the
table for a kiss. I try to feign politeness but my body jerks back. He also
tries to hold my hand, which I pull away. He is now offended that I have not
fallen for his amorous ways and proceeds to make sort of a big deal about it,
discussing it, reviewing it and telling me he was “in the moment with my beauty
and didn’t realize that anyone else was around”. I somehow manage to keep my dinner down and try to politely downplay the situation. More awkwardness abounds has he debates if I am complex or interesting or stimulating. He then throws his fork out the window. He encourages me to throw my serve-wear out the window and I decline. Finally the check comes. He tells me that since he paid for the wine that I can get dinner, but he guesses if I want that we could split it or he guesses if he has
to he can pay. He still has the pocketknife on the table. So he asked me out,
selected the place, ordered all sorts of stuff that I didn’t want and then asked
me to pay. I end up paying to hope the pain will end soon and I can go home.


He asks if we can get coffee, despite my pleas to go home because I don’t like coffee, am super tired, and not feeling well. He insists we go for coffee across the street. Not sure why I am being so nice and obliging, but I go. We have coffee across the street; he drinks and I listen to more stuff about him. He then throws his spoon into the street. What is up with throwing silverware??? We get into a conversation about Mexico and the importance of the mother there. He disagrees with me for around 10 minutes; I finally change the subject and he manages to bring it up again a few minutes later telling me how wrong I am. I change the subject again and he manages to return to topic once again to tell me about his travels in Central America and how I am wrong and he is right. Finally I have it and I snap! I yell into the air “Mother of God, please make it stop”. He stops mid-sentence and asks if I would like to go home. I say “Yes, Please!” I drive him back to his truck; I’m not sure why I am being so nice - I should make him walk. I get a handshake and he retrieves something out of my backseat. I pull my purse to the front seat, since I am planning on calling one of my girlfriends and telling her about this horrible catastrophe.
He then says he can’t believe I think he is going to steal my purse. What??? I
tell him I need to get something out of my purse and he says he seriously can’t
believe I think he would try to steal my purse. He closes the door; I immediately lock it and speed away from one of the worst dates of my life!"

Why I Shouldn't Leave the House With Less Than Five Hours of Sleep

I've learned recently that more than one outing a day can be hazardous to my sanity. Also, fewer than 3 outings a week will cause me to feel cabin feverish, especially since it's so nice out right now.

Yesterday was Claire's 1 month check-up. Kate, Claire and I packed up gear and toys into the car for the 1.7 mile ride to the doctor's office. Once out of the car, Kate immediately ran in the opposite direction that I wanted to go. Carrying a diaper bag, a baby in a car seat and trying to herd a toddler all at once is ... challenging. Forget about taking that cup of coffee inside with you - there's no way to make it happen.

The highlights of Claire's well-baby exam:

• height 21" (20" at birth)


• weight 10lb 10oz (8lb 5oz at birth)

Apparently all that regurgitation of food has not affected her ability to pack on the chub.

We came back home and got ready to head out to playgroup at Erin's. Kate was already showing the signs of sleepiness (at 10:30am) but I ignored them, convinced that her social well-being was at stake because we never go anywhere to play with other kids. We got to Erin's and Kate was excited to see other children, play with Erin's dog, and play in the grass. Claire was sleeping peacefully in her car seat. Way to go, Jen; this was a great idea. I mentally patted myself on the back.

Then, just like it did with Tim last week, all hell broke loose at once. It was lunchtime and Kate couldn't be corralled. She is used to sitting in her highchair for meals, and without it she won't stay still to eat. I couldn't hold her because Claire woke up and needed coddling. Before I could get Kate any food, Claire spit up (read: vomited a gallon of milk) all over me and down my shirt. She has this way of doing that; she turns her head and spits right down my shirt. Mmm. Covered in baby goo, that's how I wanted the afternoon to go.

So Deb gets some food for Kate and tries to feed her and her daughter while sitting on a blanket on the grass. Kate kicks over her plate of food and walks through the fruit salad on the blanket to get to me. Claire is screaming (why, I'm not sure. I was the one covered in goo), and I am verbally questioning my desire to have kids so close in age to one another. Kate wanders out to the porch and tries to sit in a chair but falls down and bumps her head. Melissa picks her up and tries to calm her down.

These were all warning signs of Kate's pending meltdown, but I didn't see them. Why? Because I had too little sleep the night before. Kate wandering around looking like she is drunk and bumping into things is a sure sign that she is exhausted. I guess me not picking up on the cues is a sure sign that I am.

I decided that we were done and asked Erin to hold Claire while I took Kate out to the car. I carried her down the long driveway, put her in her car seat and buckled the seat belt, and drove up to the door to go get Claire. I think by the time I made it back out to the car Kate was already half-asleep. I snapped the baby seat in and we were off. We were halfway down Sabino Canyon road (which is really like a highway) when I noticed that Kate was so tired that she was falling forward as she nodded off to sleep. I called her name, apologizing to her that I had kept her out so late. She sat up and then leaned forward again. Wow, she is so tired. I have never seen her do that; she must be absolutely exhausted, poor kid. She was sleeping on her lap, totally bent over at the waist. Then, after about another minute of this, I realized why she was leaning over so far. I had forgotten to tighten her seat belt. Duh. You can't lean over that far if your harness is tight. Way to go, mom.

And that is why I should not leave the house with less than five hours of sleep.

On the positive side, Kate slept for 4 hours yesterday afternoon, allowing me to get my first daytime nap since Tim's mom left. Hallelujah.

I guess it could have been worse?

We were planning to go to Tucson for spring break, but then my sister and her daughter got pink-eye, and we reevaluated. Going to San Diego to see my dad seemed like a good option. I certainly didn't want to hang around Las Vegas by myself with the children out of school for a week. Then Kate got a fever last Wednesday. She recovered for the most part by Thursday, so I decided we were going to push to California. On the drive out, things got challenging. I had rearranged the car so that the girls were sitting next to each other in the back row, in order for them to entertain each other. Who knew that by "entertaining" they meant fighting? I guess I should have seen that coming. Just south of Vegas, I pulled over on a dirt road and tossed bags and car seats out of the car gently suggested a new seating arrangement. I put Kate next to Luke in the second row, which also turned out to be a mistake. She refused to leave him alone. At one point AC/DC's 'Highway to Hell' came on the radio and I mused about its timeliness.

Almost 6 hours after we left, we arrived at my dad's. Luke had started coughing a couple of hours into the drive, and by Friday night, he sounded awful. I must have been up every hour that night, helping him get back to sleep. Sometime in the middle of the night, his cough turned into barking, followed by a slight wheezing. This completely freaked me out, and I don't know if I slept much after that. He wasn't better by the morning, so I told my dad we needed to take him to the doctor.

My dad got online and found a clinic to go to. It was on the way to the beach - perfect! He called, and told them we were on Tri-Care, and the woman mentioned that there was a Tri-Care outpatient facility nearby. Great! We headed there instead. Turns out it was like a Tri-Care office off base, and they would only see you if you were a patient there. The woman gave me directions to a different place for us to go. I asked her if it was an ER (I absolutely detest going to the ER; in fact, it is probably the number one thing I hate to do), and she said no. I asked if it was on an installation. She said no, and also that she wasn't from San Diego. Um? I should have taken this to mean that she didn't know what she was talking about. We wound our way closer to downtown....and ended up at a military gate. We should have turned around right there. But, not knowing where else to go, we parked and walked into the hospital. It turns out we were at the US Naval Medical Center, San Diego, a large concrete structure full of sickies. We checked in, and I asked how long they thought the wait would be. No idea. Awesome. I think it took about 20 minutes to get into triage. And another 4 hours to be seen. So there we were, all in our beach garb, Simone with a migraine, three sick and crabby kids, on vacation. Luke has croup, and ear infections in both ears. They gave him some liquid steroids and amoxicillin, and he is finally sounding a lot better. Now Claire sounds bad.

Ready for his chest x-ray.

On Sunday we finally made it to the beach. For an hour. Luke and Claire were still not feeling great, and Luke cried for most of the time we were there. He was interested in the sand for a bit, though, until he rubbed some of it in his eyes. Claire went down to the water once, but the wind combined with the cold water made her head right back to the warmth of the beach towel.

Mama, this bath is cold. Also, my ears hurt.

I'm supposed to do what with the sand?

Kate loved the beach. LOVED. She giggled with delight as the water rushed up to her feet, sucking the sand out from under her toes. "Mom! The beach is moving!" She ran back and forth, into the water and out again. She splashed, made friends, gathered shells, and giggled some more. I felt bad tearing her away from the water, but Luke was a crying wreck.

On Sunday afternoon, I made the command decision to head home on Monday, earlier than we had planned. We got home at 6pm and Claire went straight to bed, in her clothes and without dinner. This from my little night owl who likes to stay up until 9 or 10pm. Kate and Luke were also asleep by 8pm. Today we have an appointment for Claire to see what sort of illness she is harboring.

In all, I am glad we went. It was a good diversion for all of us, even though it was painful. Here we would have been sick and bored. And it somehow gave me a confidence I haven't had in awhile: I can do pretty much anything alone, if necessary. I would prefer to have Tim here, but we do okay when he's gone.

I made that

I haven't made bread in a really long time, mostly because it takes forever, it rarely turns out well, and I have 2 kids. Did I mention that it takes forever?

Niki sent me an article and recipe months ago about how to make a tasty loaf, the kind with a thick, crunchy crust and chewy middle. You know, the kind you get in France. Or the kind you pay half an arm for here at some pseudo-French bakery and try to eat every last bit of it in one day before it turns into a giant crouton. What, you don't do that? Come live in Tucson for awhile and you'll learn to.

Anyway, this recipe. It has four (4!) ingredients, which you probably already have on hand. You mix it for about 15 seconds and then you let it sit. Then your turn it over a couple of times, let it sit some more and then bake it. Seriously. No kneading. No! kneading!

So, rush to your kitchen and make sure you have these staples on hand:

3 c. flour (any kind will do, but I used all-purpose white)

1/4 t. yeast

1 1/4 t. salt

1 1/2 c. water (the recipe in the video calls for 1 1/2, the written recipe calls for 1 5/8. I have only tried the 1 1/2 c. thus far)

Now for the complicated part:

• Wash your hands so you can mix everything with your fingers. It's more fun that way, and also anyone who walks into the room will think you're working harder than you are.
• Put all the dry ingredients (all 3 of them) in a bowl and give them a run-through with your fingers.
• Pour the water in.
• Remove your rings unless you want to bake that kind of bread with a surprise ring inside.
• Mix the dough for about 15 seconds, or until everything looks...mixed.
• Cover it.
• Let it rise for 12-18 hours (recommend 18, maybe longer - my bread was flatter than I had hoped for).
• Sprinkle a cutting board with flour and pour the batter onto it.
• Fold it over a couple of times.
• Return the dough to the bowl and let it rise another 2 hours. Or do what the recipe says and let it rise on a towel (maybe that's why mine didn't rise as much as I thought it would?).
• Heat your oven and a covered baking dish to 500*.
• Pour the batter into the hot dish and bake, covered, for 30 minutes (I baked it for 25).
• Take the lid off and bake for another 15-30 minutes, or until it looks so good you want to burn your fingers off in an attempt to eat a chunk straight out of the dish.
• Patience! Let it cool before you slice into it and shove large pieces slathered in butter and raspberry jam into your mouth. Whuh?.

Update: I made my second loaf, this time with 2c white flour and 1c wheat, and with a heaping 1/4t of yeast. I think I like the rise I got this time better since I used more yeast. And the wheat aspect is good as well. Also, I baked it at 500* for 25 minutes, which was better than 515* for the same amount of time. My 'lid off' time is significanly lower than theirs: I baked this loaf for 10 minutes with the cover off, as opposed to 15-30 minutes that they recommended. I plan to add fresh rosemary to the next batch, per Niki's advice.

27 Dresses and a little bit of vomit

Oh, it's been a weekend. Not a bad one, but not really a great one, either. Where do I begin? Most of you probably want me to begin, well, at the beginning, but I am going to jump to last night, and the title of this post. Then we'll get to the stuff you really want to hear about. Mmmkay?

Yesterday was okay to begin with. I won't go into the whole poo incident, and will skip ahead to the more fun stuff. We were invited over to Shayne and Reagan's house for playtime and lunch, which was awesome, since I was sort of going stir crazy with the girls. My sister came along too, and we all had a nice lunch and the kids played well together. Jess and I also had plans to see a movie last night (27 Dresses), and I did actually make it, but just barely.

Dexter is my regular babysitter, but he was busy last night, so Rae (Dexter's mom, and a friend of mine) asked if it was okay if her second-oldest son, Owen, babysat instead. Since Owen is, what, 11? she would come along at first and transition the girls to bed and then when they were asleep, she would go home. They live about 1 minute from here, so this was fine with me. But, it was apparently not fine by Kate. My problem, in retrospect, was not leaving immediately when Rae and Owen arrived. This made Kate think that it was just a visit, and she became hysterical when I tried to leave. As I walked out the door at 7:20pm, I heard her retch because she was crying so hard. She does this often enough that it didn't surprise me, although I'm pretty sure it was an unpleasant surprise for both Owen and Rae. I raced back inside to find Kate wailing and covered in vomit, Claire beginning to get hysterical, and Owen with a shocked look on his face. Rae was in crisis mode, and had already started the bath. I tried to calm Kate down while removing her jammies, and Rae gave her a bath while I cleaned up. Owen did a good job of keeping Claire occupied and out of the puke. Fifteen minutes later, I was out the door and on my way to the movies, while I frantically dialed my sister and then Tim to tell him about how awesome my night was going. I called Rae at 7:45 and things were fine.

So, does anyone else's child work themselves into such a fit that they make themselves sick? Kate does this on a regular enough basis that I can tell when it's going to happen. What I don't know is how to head it off, besides just giving in to her demands. She does it when she doesn't like a particular food, when she's really mad about something, or when she doesn't want me to leave (which is rare, luckily). Tim's theory was that she was already distressed that he was gone all weekend, and she didn't want me to leave, too. My response is: that is understandable, but unacceptable. I need to be able to leave sometimes, and I need to figure out how to stop her from making herself sick when she's mad. Ideas?

The movie was fun. It's a total chick flick, but one that Jessica and I actually enjoyed. It didn't hurt that James Marsden is so yummy.

Okay, onto the stuff you want to know about. I know, I know! I'm being so mean! Posting pictures with no titles or explanations. On Thursday, we got our assignment, verbally. This means that you kind of want to see it in writing (probably March) before you make any big decisions like selling your house. The assignment is to Nellis, in Las Vegas, to report in June. It is a flying assignment, which Tim is so excited about. He would continue to fly the A-10, and would be in a position to advise pilots going to and coming from the war, I believe. We haven't had much time to discuss this assignment, as he had to work for about 15 hours on Friday, and left on Saturday before 5am.

Then, last night, he told me he'd just found out that FedEx is hiring pilots in Hong Kong. We visited HK in 2004 and loved it, and always thought that he would check out various airlines some day to see if they were hiring. So, now you know about as much as I do. I have no idea where we will be by the time June rolls around, but I'll keep you posted. Tim gets home tonight, so there will be plenty of discussions going on this week at our house.

Recovering

I am exhausted. Why does this shit never happen when I am gone? Probably because I'm only gone like 5 days a year.

We got home on Monday night. Tim left Thursday night. I had plans of going to bed early in an attempt to recover some lost sleep from last weekend. I was just settling down under the covers when Claire woke up screaming. I got up to see what the problem was. She hasn't been sleeping well for about a month now; she has a cough that only allows her to sleep restlessly at night.

Which is why I had taken her to the doctor that afternoon: after a month of coughing, I figured it was no longer just a cold. The only time they could fit us in was at 3:40, which is smack in the middle of nap time. Also, the appointment was with the doctor that I do not like. We didn't start out well, did we? Anyway, we got there, crabby kids and all (Claire had actually not slept a wink during that afternoon nap), and proceeded to wait 50 *%$@# minutes. Fifty. I began the wait by trying to keep the kids in line: "Shh, girls, not so loud!" By the end I was letting them climb every piece of furniture, help themselves to as many stickers as they could grab out of the "one per visit" basket, eat crackers (I'm pretty sure there is a "no food" policy), and shriek to their hearts' content. When we finally got seen, it was for 5 minutes worth of weighing, checking ears and throat, and the doctor coming to the conclusion that it was not allergies like I had thought, but perhaps a little asthma and bronchitis. Just a little of those things, though, like that was supposed to make me feel better. She gave me a prescription for an inhaler and an antibiotic. An inhaler? For a toddler? Are you kidding? But, this is also the doctor that has previously advised me to tilt her bed at night to help with congestion. Like Claire stays in one position for more than 15 minutes.

We went home and had some dinner, and I had the girls in bed by 7:15. I thought I was going to be in heaven: I was going to get to go to bed early! So, now back to the story I started earlier. Let's see....just settling down, Claire started crying... I went in and there she was, covered in vomit. Awesome. I checked the clock: 10:45. Just 4 hours after her first bath of the night, and she was about to get another one. I started the water, tried to calm her down without picking her up (see also: covered in vomit), undressed her and put her in the bath. She was shaking and whimpering, and I felt so bad for her. I hate to be sick, and I hate seeing my kids sick - it's so sad when you can't explain to them what is going on. Got her dried off, changed the sheets, put her back in bed....15 minutes later: same thing. More vomit, more hysterical baby, another bath, more sheets. Repeat scenario every 15-60 minutes until 3am. Also include me crying while trying to explain to my baby that she couldn't have any "mao", "jewce", or "watew", 2 loads of laundry, scrounging for clean mattress covers, about 15 minutes worth of sleep for me, and you have my night.

Of course, Kate was up, bright and chipper, at 7am. Me, not so much. It's hard for me to be chipper with 4 hours of sleep.

Claire drank Pedialyte and ate bananas all day yesterday, and seems to be fine now. I don't know what made her sick; I had not yet given her any medication, luckily, or I would have sworn it was the antibiotics that caused it. I spent yesterday trying to explain to Kate why Dexter the babysitter wasn't coming over after all while I went to my very important doctor's appointment (had to cancel due to sick kid), why we couldn't go to the park (exhaustion), why I was slow to warm to the idea of chasing her around the house (exhaustion), and why it was nap time at 12:30 instead of 1:00 (exhaustion). I did get to sleep for 2 hours yesterday afternoon, and I am slightly more coherent today.

How's your weekend going?

Pavlov Visits the Hanoi Hilton, and a Casualty of War

Tim's war-fighting ammo.

We're done. At least, I hope we're done. Tim hasn't come down with this nasty bug yet, which means he probably will in say ... about 24 hours, right after he's done flying on Friday, right in time for the Squadron Christmas party on Saturday night, and right in time for us to start our latest project: Operation Remodel Master Bathroom.

But first. I did end up getting The Bug, but it wasn't nearly as bad for me as it was for Kate. I spent most of Tuesday night on the sofa so I wouldn't wake Tim up (little did I know he had no idea that I was even gone, he was so tired) every time I moved. I was in a sorry state until 4am when I finally got sick (sorry for the graphic timeline) and was able to sleep after that. I woke up at 7am, wondering if that was truly the time. Not a sound from Kate's room. Not a peep from Tim's room. I tried in vain to go back to sleep, and instead grabbed the remote and turned on the Today Show. Kate didn't wake up until around 8am (this from a 6:30am riser), and even then only wanted to lay on Tim. Luckily, he had the day off from flying, cancelled his 9am meeting and told me he could hang out at home for a few hours until I was better. Ha. He ended up home all day taking care of us.

We tried feeding Kate some breakfast, but she got sick. I called the on-call nurse and got in line for a call-back. Kate hadn't been able to keep much of anything down for more than 24 hours and we were a little worried. More napping on Tim's chest, and then she seemed a little better. Tim decided to feed her lunch, and I was down the hall getting dressed. I heard crying and knew what had happened. This time she got super sick, though, and Tim was overwhelmed by the amount of food that had been in her stomach. "Call the doctor back now." No messin' around with Daddy. I called. And someone actually talked to me, right then on the phone. I couldn't believe it. She told me that we weren't to give Kate anything for 2 hours, then start her on a teaspoon of clear liquid every 10-15 minutes. Then, if she could hold that down for 8 hours -are you kidding?- that we could start giving her small amounts of bland solids. Good God. That meant no solids until dinner time (later, really) and she already hadn't had anything to eat in like 2 days. Sounded like baby torture to me, but we decided that it was the only hope of getting Kate any better. And since there was only one pediatrician on base the whole day, we didn't have many options.

We put her down for a nap, and when she woke up, we started with the teaspoon every 15 minutes. She was pissed. I would have been too! She was starving, I was sure. Then, at about 4pm, I finally got a little hungry and made a piece of toast. I have never felt so much guilt in my life. I still feel bad, just thinking about how I was eating in front of her, and she had 3 hours to wait for a morsel of food. Mama Ho Chi Minh, here. When we finally got to the point where we could feed her food, it was a Kix every 2 minutes. Tim set his watch for 10 minutes, and everytime it went off, she'd get a teaspoon of Pedialyte and a Kix. I'm afraid she's going to hear alarms and think it's time to eat. Tim did such a good job with her, though, keeping her entertained while she waited for the next piece of cereal.

16 minutes worth of food.

The morning she got sick in her bed, she had all kinds of stuffed animals in there with her, including 'bu-eee' (bunny, duh). This is her favorite stuffed animal ever. My grandma got it for her when she was born, and it's super soft and plays a lullaby when you pull her string. I had to wash her the other day, though, and now I can't get the lullaby to work. Tim dissected her the other night, but to no avail. I stitched her back up last night and Kate hugged her and grabbed for her pull-string. Poor kid. But the bunny is as soft and clean as ever.

And, you'll be glad to know, after reading all this long-ness about Kate, that she is now eating many Kix at a time, and sucking down Pedialyte as fast as she can. And she's keeping it down. Whew.

It Was Funny Until...

Kate had a nice long nap today, allowing me time to post photos, get some household chores done, and read some articles on the internet. I swore that wouldn't happen for years. Anyway. She got up and I made some juice for snack, which she drank while she ate her goldfish crackers and dried fruit.

I was cleaning the juicer, allowing her to finish her last dried blueberry, a dried cherry and a goldfish that were left on her tray. The thought occurred to me that perhaps I should take that blueberry away; it was just the right size to fit into her nose... I don't know why that thought popped into my head, but I should have heeded it. Moments later, Kate began whimpering, and sounded rather stuffed up. The blueberry was gone. She pointed to her nose and said, "boom", which I believe is synonymous for "ouch" for her (we say "fall down go boom"). It was a cute "boom", all nasal sounding. I tried not to laugh. I asked her if she had put the blueberry up her nose. She looked at me, confused. She scowled and whimpered again. Then blue goo started to run out of her nostril, and I knew. I called Dr. Mom (Tim's mom) and asked her through my laughter what we should do and had any of her sons ever stuck anything up their nose. She laughed a little and told me that we needed to get it out, either here or at the doctor's. Oh. I was about to call Tim to let him know that perhaps if he were to come home soon that would be great, when he called. He was on his way home.

Blue goo coming out of her nose.

I called the doctor's office. And that's when it ceased to be funny. No, they couldn't do anything for us, we had to go to urgent care. Are you kidding? The ER here took like 4 1/2 hours last time, just to be seen. I started looking around the living room for that damn blueberry. And I found it! Yahoo! I called the doctor's office. They told me that no, they still couldn't do anything for me, except have a nurse call me back. Tim packed Kate, food and toys into the car and headed to the ER to get in line. I waited at home with Claire.





The nurse finally called and told me that she is probably fine and that we should just take her in later if she seemed irritated or stuffy. Tim and Kate are on their way home. The blueberry incident is now funny once again.

The culprit.

Getting to Know You

Welcome to the 2006 Christmas Edition of Getting to Know Your Friends! You know the drill. Don't be a scrooge!

1. Egg Nog or Hot Chocolate? Egg Nog; I can drink hot chocolate any time of year. Unfortunately this year my egg nog will not be made with merry juice.

2. Does Santa wrap presents or just set them under the tree? Um, hello. Isn't that part of the whole Christmas idea? Wrapping paper makes the season! Usually stocking stuffers are unwrapped, though.

3. Colored lights on tree/house or white? I don't have a preference, but this year we have colored lights outside and will probably have colored lights on the tree. I don't know if we own any plain white lights right now.

4. Do you hang mistletoe? I haven't found any in years. But Amy gave me this great gift many years ago: the famed Mistletoad. He gets hung with care every year. Sometimes we hang the Mistletoad Rules of Conduct next to him, but I think they need to be updated since Niki and I enacted them freshman year of college.

5. When do you put up your decorations? It depends on where we are living. Here in Arizona, you can't put a live tree up too early (see the pumpkin story) or it will dry out and is sure to catch on fire. I'm hoping we'll put the tree up within the next 2 weeks. Tim hung the lights on the house over Thanksgiving weekend, and we have some Christmas decorations up in the house.

6. What is your favorite holiday dish (excluding dessert)? Turkey and stuffing. Even though we have it the month before for Thanksgiving, it still rocks. I also love hot cider and egg nog.

7. Favorite Christmas memory as a child? So many memories, none of them so spectacular that it stands out. We went to the Nutcracker often when I was little, and although I liked the idea of going (maybe the getting dressed up part?), the ballet always put me to sleep. I remember going to the Domino's Christmas light show in Ann Arbor one year - that was pretty cool. It seemed that every year we saw our grandparents, though, and that was great.

8. When and how did you learn the truth about Santa? I think around 3rd or 4th grade, probably from friends.

9. Do you open a gift on Christmas Eve? Yes, one.

10. How do you decorate your Christmas tree? First we hang the lights, Tim usually following behind me and attaching them to the branches properly. Then we hang the ornaments. We have all kinds - some from when I was little and made ornaments in grade school, some from Beijing, some from many of the places we've vacationed together. This year will be interesting; will we be able to hang ornaments below waist-level? I'm starting to wonder...

11. Snow! Love it or Dread it? Love it, probably because I've never lived anywhere where we've had a lot of it. Driving in it is no fun, but it sure is beautiful.

12. Can you ice skate? Yes.

13. Do you remember your favorite gift? Thinking...thinking...last year Tim got me an MP3 player. That was cool. Oh yeah - he got me a pearl necklace a few years ago. Very cool.

14. What's the most important thing about Christmas for you? Spending time with family and friends.

15. What is your favorite Christmas dessert? Christmas sugar cookies and Tim's cranberry bread pudding.

16. What is your favorite Christmas tradition? I love decorating, and picking out the tree. And seeing Christmas lights around town. Making sugar cookies with my sister is also a hoot. Oh, and watching 'When Harry Met Sally' is a must. In my 20s I loved going to midnight mass. I don't think that is going to happen this year.

17. What tops your tree? Aaah, I'm not sure. I'll have to get out the ornament box to see if we have something.

18. Which do you prefer, giving or receiving? I love giving gifts! And I love the surprise of receiving gifts.

19. What is your favorite Christmas Song? Linus and Lucy (Guaraldi) and Sleigh Ride (performed by the Boston Pops).

20. Candy -Canes! Yuck or Yum? I don't generally eat them by themselves, but I bake with them!

Toddler for sale

Okay, before you call CPS and/or hit the comment button to post a bid, know that I am (mostly) kidding. In general, Kate is one of the best 3 things that has happened to me. But this week she has come into her terrible twos with a vengeance that even I was not prepared for. She is hitting, kicking, screaming, and throwing herself on the floor in full-up tantrum mode that only a toddler can achieve. The other night, she cried so hard she made herself sick, literally. She got a bath and I got to clean up chunks of dinner. Normally I just ignore the tantrums if we are at home, but with her ability to cry so hard that she actually throws up, I am forced to double-think that method of tolerance. If I let her cry too hard, I'm afraid of what the result will be. I am thankful that she is not biting, and pray that no one mentions this out loud near her lest she get any ideas.

Mostly, I cannot understand what she is crying about. She is crying so hard and screaming and I just can't understand what she is trying to say. I know this is frustrating for both of us. I think the past 2-3 episodes have involved clothing: she either wants to wear something or does not, and I want/need her to do the converse of what she wants. For instance, I won't let her go to bed without pants on, because she'll take her diaper off, and that's just too much. I cannot figure out a solution. Ideas?

On the other hand, Claire is at my favorite age. She is able to sit up (mostly) unassisted, she can't move besides rolling from her back to her tummy, she coos and dissolves into a fit of screamy giggles when you snort on her neck or belly, she grabs her toes and chews on them, she throws one arm across her eyes and puts her other thumb in her mouth when she's tired, and the only things she can say are 'Maaa!' and 'Aaaaah!'

Now, I don't not love Kate (for those who don't like quadruple negatives, this translates to: I love Kate dearly), don't get me wrong. I'm just near wit's end trying to sort out how to handle her. Until then, I'll just enjoy her nap time, and hope that this stage passes. Fast.

Make It Stop

Many loads of laundry.

Warning: put down your muffin before reading this post. There will be a discussion of vomit, and it won't be pleasant.


Kate woke up yesterday in a pretty good mood. She sat down for breakfast and after drinking most of her milk, let out a horrendous burp and then threw up all that she had ingested. I thanked God that she was still in her high chair and that the tray caught most of the action. I'm still amazed at how big her stomach is. I calmly walked to the bathroom and started the tub, came back and undressed her in her chair, and took her to the tub and placed her into the water.


Last night she was having some trouble sleeping, and after she woke up for about the 3rd time, we gave her some Motrin, thinking she was teething. Tim rocked her for a long time, and then she fully woke up, good mood and all, wanting to play. We finally got her back to bed, thinking it was going to be a long night. She slept fine.


Tim's back on days now, and had to be to work at 5am. I heard Kate wake up briefly when he left, and hoped that she would go back to sleep. She did, and so did I. Then at about 6:40, she woke up and started talking. I usually can let her talk until about 7am before guilt sets in, so I pulled the covers over my shoulders and prepared to sleep for another 20 minutes. Then I heard crying, followed immediately by retching. Uh-oh.


Poor kid. She doesn't know what is going on. I ran into her room, saw the mess and went to the tub to start the water. She hadn't even had breakfast yet. Normally she loves baths, but I think she's starting to dislike them. She had a nice warm bath, finally cheering up towards the end. I got her dressed and fed her some breakfast. She didn't eat much, but seemed in a good mood. I thought I'd take advantage of this and head to the commissary because we were almost out of milk, and I was starting to think along the lines of 'saltines, 7-up and chicken soup', none of which we had. We got home, I fed her lunch and then it started all over again. This time with me in tears, dialing the squadron ops desk to tell Tim that he needed to not hang out after work (just in case he was planning on that) and needed to come home as soon as he was done. Line busy. Maybe that's when the tears started. Or maybe it was when Kate wouldn't stop screaming. Or when I walked down the hall to the tub yet again to start the water. Or perhaps when I realized that her crib wasn't made yet and I couldn't just bathe her and put her down for a nap. Luckily I'd had the wherewithall to put the sheets in the dryer before we went out. I gave Kate another bath, did a half-assed job of making the bed (do you know how hard it is to make a crib when you're 8+ months pregnant??), and got her down for her nap. I hope she gets better soon. Especially if Tim and I are both going to get it, too, like Katie's family did.

Dilemma

What was I thinking? The girls started school last week, and life is crazier as a result. Isn't school, at this age, supposed to ease my stress levels a bit? The problem is that they each go to school on different days, at different times. And although it's been just over a week, I am going [sing-song] cuck-oooo!

There are other options, but I am unsure which will be best. All involve switching Kate out of her class, a class where she knows a bunch of kids, and I have a high level of guilt over this. But I am telling myself that it will be for the better for EVERYONE if I am less stressed out every day. [This is where Tim will nod vigorously.]

So, please help me, dear readers. Claire is currently in the Tuesday/Thursday a.m. class, and Kate is in the Monday/Wednesday/Friday p.m. class. The options:

• both girls in the Monday/Wednesday/Friday a.m. classes
• both girls in the Tuesday/Thursday a.m. classes (means not switching Claire around at all, which I am actually not that concerned about, because I'm not a huge fan of her class at present)
• both girls in the Tuesday/Thursday p.m. classes

Pros:

• Morning classes would allow me to just throw on my running gear and go for a run with Luke (note to self: must get crap stroller fixed) before getting ready for the day. Of course, I could do this for the p.m. classes, too, when the weather cools down...
• I am generally more productive in the mornings, and therefore morning classes would allow me to increase my a.m. productivity as I would only have one child with me on some days.
• Tues/Thurs classes are a better value: when there is a holiday, it is usually on a Monday or a Friday, and you get charged for the whole month, regardless of whether there is class or not. Also, family days for the Air Force are usually on Mondays and Fridays, so the girls would be less likely to miss out on them, or we wouldn't have to have them play hookie.
• Three days a week sounds really, really nice right about now.
• Afternoon classes are easier all around for scheduling.
• Morning classes allow Claire to have her nap in the afternoon.
• Tim can occasionally drop the girls off for morning classes; not so for afternoon ones.

Cons:

• Morning classes are hectic for drop-off and pick-up. School starts at 8:30, so we need to be out the door by about 8:15, and it ends at lunchtime. This means that by the time we get home, they are starving, but I usually have not yet made lunch. I could probably get into a schedule of making lunch before I pick them up and this would help on the pick-up end of things.
• Afternoon classes mean no nap for either girl, and Claire still really needs one. She will rally through the afternoon if inspired, so if I do put her in the p.m. class, she won't fall asleep while there. She might, however, be grumpy.
• Tues/Thurs mornings will cause us to miss out on the playgroup we are part of on Thursday mornings. This group is fun, with seasonal parties, and I would hate to have the girls miss out on such things.
• The Mon/Wed/Fri class adds to the already outrageously expensive bill from the pre-school.
• When Tim is on nights (granted, this doesn't happen that often), he pretty much misses out on time with the girls that day if they are in the a.m. class.

I am totally stuck. I keep thinking: "Oh! Yes, that's the one we'll sign up for!" And then I think of a reason that it won't be so great. All I know is, something has to change, or I will have completely lost my mind by the time fall comes around.

organized, focused, emotionally stable planner

According to the similar minds personality test, these words describe me. I am an ESTJ: extroverted, sensing, thinking, judging sort of person. I think that is probably about right. I am an "Administrator", much in touch with the external environment, very responsible, a pillar of strength, 8.7% of the poplulation. How they know that, I don't know. The part that made me give them a lot of credit was the 'favored careers/disfavored careers' section. It says that I would be good at:

• supervisor
• financial planner
• business analyst
• loan officer

These are all things I have done in the past.

And I would suck at:

• poet
• songwriter
• art therapist (what the hell is that??)
• art historian
• travel writer (I think they are wrong about this, but maybe I would just like the travel part)

Thanks again to Katie for the blog idea.

*****

I'm not totally left-brained (this is not a response to your comment, Katie!); I did somehow get some art genes. But I can't imagine doing something artsy for a living, mostly because I'm just not that creative to do it full-time, and that would stress me out.

Here is something I drew in high school:

And something I just finally finished for my sister:

For you ESTJs out there, this was a fun project that only took me 2 1/2 years. Check it out at this website.

Crabby

Hi, my name is Luke and I'm having a tough day. I skipped my morning nap, but slept in the car for 10 minutes, which is plenty. My mom thinks I should sleep a little longer, but I'm not gonna do it! I'd rather cry and wail. I didn't go to sleep for my afternoon nap until after 2:00, and then I decided to sleep for just about an hour and a half, which my mom says isn't nearly long enough.



The other day we walked to a restaurant for dinner. My mom gave me miso soup, which was way better than the green stuff she was trying to get me to eat. My big sister, Claire, loves "going to Japanese"; she fancies the soup with the white jell-o, too, but says she doesn't like the weeds in it. My mom also let me try something called "green tea ice cream", which was awesome! Dad looked at her kind of weird after, but I thought she was pretty cool for letting me try it. Then she let me taste the pumpkin cheesecake she made yesterday. Wow, that stuff is so good. Plain pumpkin can stay in the dish, but I'll take the sweet stuff anytime.

I didn't wake up until everyone else did this morning, which is such a bummer. I did start crying right after mom was asleep last night, which frustrates her. I think she can't figure out how I know she has just fallen asleep, but it seems like such a good time to wake up and have her come in and play with me for a bit. I also like waking up when it's super dark out and mom is zombie-like. Those are great times - it's just me and her, and she'll do just about anything to get me to go back to sleep. My cold is finally starting to go away, though, so I'm not waking up many times during the night coughing and choking. I think my mom is glad about that part; she seems kind of nervous when I make horrible sounds.

My biggest sister, Kate, is super fun. She loves to hold me, and I'm so big that we usually topple over. She makes me laugh all the time, though, and gets me toys when I cry. She makes funny faces at me and then I smile at her. She's the only one who can make me smile like that.

My dad has been trying to get me to crawl. For some reason, my mom seems reluctant to help me acquire this new skill. Dad is also cool because he helps me walk with my walker toy. Mom glares at him when he does this. She says it's something about stairs and tile floors, but I'm not sure what the problem is. There are so many things in this house to see! And put in my mouth! You should see all the cabinets that don't have "child locks" on them. It's going to be so fun around here soon!

Tim's 'Heidi' Moment

I mentioned earlier that we played a few games over Christmas, one of which was Totally 80s Trivial Pursuit. There was a question in there that brought up a story by my Dad. I don't remember the question, but the story made us laugh and cringe. Before most of us were born (I believe Mike was alive then??), there was a Sunday night football game between the Oakland Raiders and the New York Jets, now known as the Heidi Game. To use a ka-ching phrase, basically what happened was that the game went on longer than expected, and when it was due to end at 7pm, NBC cut to its previously scheduled programming instead of allowing viewers to watch the end of the game. People were pissed. NBC got so many calls from angry football fans that the phone exchange crashed. I think the networks learned something that night: don't publish your phone number.

Cut to the Sun Bowl on CBS on Friday afternoon, a game between the Oregon State Beavers and the Missouri Tigers. Tim's a proud Beaver, and was super pleased that his normally 'doormat of the Pac-10' team was 1) ranked, and 2) in a bowl game. He came home from work at a reasonable hour (noon) just so he could watch his Beavers play some football. So we're watching the game, and things are close. The Tigers score, the Beavers score. It goes back and forth for most of the first half. Then, out of nowhere, Katie Couric comes on the screen for some 'breaking news'. CBS had just cut out of a bowl game to cover one of President Ford's funerals. Except that the news team was totally unprepared, and it was fairly obvious that they didn't know what exactly they were supposed to be talking about. There were cars driving up to the site, but that was about it. I assumed that the network would cut back to the game within a minute, after seeing that there was really nothing to see at the funeral. Nope. Katie and some other reporter stammered on for more than 20 minutes, finishing out the first half of the game. Tim was pissed. I don't remember the last time I've seen him that mad. He tried in vain to find CBS's phone number so he could help the rest of the Beaver and Tiger fans crash their exchange, but to no avail. He ended up calling our network provider, which gladly gave him their number, happy that he wasn't calling to complain to them. There were some colorful words that Kate did not learn that day, because she was napping. He never was able to reach CBS, but apparently some people did, because not long into halftime, they switched back to the game. And the Beavers won with less than a minute to go, 39-38. What a game.

Eww, eww

A few days ago, I had the brilliant idea to start bribing Kate with candy to get her to use the potty. She has a crush on M&Ms, so I bought a package of the dark yummies that were on sale at Target. I also bought a bag of Reese's peanut butter cups, because they sounded oh-so-good. I just opened one foil-wrapped candy, thinking what strange light was filtering through my windows that made the wrapper look yellow-ish. The candy inside was a bit gooey, and stuck to the paper cup, and I thought I smelled the sickly sweet scent of bananas. Dying for some peanut butter and chocolate, I ignored both of these warning signs, and popped the gooey mess into my mouth (as good as you can 'pop' a melty chocolate glob). No sooner had I done so when I had the sinking realization that that crazy banana smell was not a figment of my imagination: there truly was banana in my Reese's peanut butter cup. ICK. There is not much that I dislike more than banana-flavored things. Gross, gross, gross. I just downed a (small) fistful of Kate's dark M&Ms to try to get the taste out of my mouth, but it's still there, taunting me.

The house is so quiet. Everyone is asleep. Claire has been sleeping for almost 3 hours now. She likes to flip over onto her belly and suck her thumb to sleep now, and I guess it's doing the trick.

Claire is cracking me up now. She yells (YELLS) when she wants attention, or when she is tired. I found out the latter today at the commissary when I took too long to shop. She was very vocal about her feelings.

Does anyone have any suggestions on how to keep up with the constantly changing baby clothes? I feel like every other week I'm pulling clothes out of the girls' drawers because they don't fit anymore. Then I come across some cute little outfit that will just barely fit for a week before it's too small. Organization tips? What do you do to stay organized with your kids' stuff?

A classy night

We went to McDonald's for dinner. I just couldn't bear the thought of making another meal for the 3 of us (Tim is TDY again). Kate is back to her picky phase, and Claire is starting to like how her sister thinks. There is not a lot of eating that goes on at the table unless it involves macaroni and cheese, hot dogs, peanut butter and jelly, cheese, or fish sticks. Unless you count ketchup for Claire. That kid could eat her body weight in Heinz on a weekly basis.

We made it to McDonald's with only one minor incident (Kate has learned how to unbuckle her seat belt while sitting in her booster seat, and has also learned that spankings follow any such action that occurs when the car is in motion). Once inside, they made straightaway for the prize vault to see what they would get in their Happy Meal boxes. Is that a sad indication of how often we visit Old McDonald's? Really, we go maybe once a month, if that. I think Kate has a keen memory for certain things. I guess I shouldn't also mention that Claire can spot the golden arches from approximately 2.3 miles away?

We got our meals and sat down to enjoy some greasy food in the play area, which is the only place we can now sit when at McDonald's. I proceeded to eat my hamburger while watching a little boy and his father? grandfather? interact. Grandpa (I'm sticking with it: he was older and didn't seem to have a firm grasp on discipline that one usually possesses as parent) was eating an ice cream cone, and apparently the boy had already finished his. He was whining for another one. Then, after sliding down the curly slide, he grabbed the crotch of his pants and sort of pulled them up, sharing a view of the wet spot with everyone in the play area. There was a small exchange between man and boy, and then the boy climbed right up on the play equipment and slid down the slide again. I was totally dumbfounded. I think my jaw might have dropped open. There was no ensuing trip to the potty, and no change of clothes. Needless to say, there was not a lot of playing on the equipment by Kate and Claire post dinner.

Anyway, Claire had ketchup all over her (see above), even in her armpit. How does that happen? We drove home (to the constant sound of, "May the force be with you," from the back seat) and immediately had a long, cleansing bath. Tim is on his way back from NC and will arrive in time to cook the next meal. Woot.

Exhausting

I'm not generally a subscriber to the 'Murphy's Law' philosophy, but as of late it seems that if it's not one child, it's another. By this I mean that if it isn't Kate peeing her bed in the middle of the night, it will be Claire falling out of hers. If it isn't Luke failing to nap, it's Claire refusing to do so. Today it was the latter. I am at a point where I need an afternoon nap so as not to be 1.) a total grump in the evening hours, and 2.) to maintain some semblance of sanity and/or coherence after 4pm. In recent months, it has been Kate who has challenged the nap time routine, preferring instead to roam the house adult-free and cause untold destruction. Finally, she is starting to behave in this arena, and has passed the reins to her younger sister, who is exponentially more...dangerous...in this regard.

Today, something woke me around 3pm, probably about 30 minutes into a nap. The half-hour point is not a good point to be awakened, as anyone who has been abruptly jarred from sleep at this point will attest to. I checked Luke's room for signs of Claire. She was sitting prettily on her sofa, where she naps, but was mysteriously covered in brownish bits. Upon further investigation, I found that she had not yet slept, and that her pillow and blanket were "missing". Because she had been playing with a toy from the loft, which somehow made it to her room during nap time, I expected to find the missing items there. They were not in the loft. I went downstairs after she told me where to find them, and also found a juice cup on my desk. And one of Luke's burp cloths laid out like a table cloth on a box in the entryway. When retrieving her pillow, I stepped in what appeared to be invisible crumbs on the tile floor of the family room. It occurred to me that the last time I had felt such a sensation on my bare feet had been when Claire had 'salted' the kitchen floor. Sure enough, I looked around the family room to see a pile of salt and bread crumbs on the sofa and floor. On my way upstairs, I saw more bread crumbs on the bottom step. I'm not sure exactly what kind of party she was having while I was napping, but it involved a fresh loaf of zucchini-carrot bread whose top is now missing, and a salt shaker that I am currently unable to find.