the library battles

We LOVE our library. Love. It is beautiful and sunny and child-friendly, with story hours several times a week, and after your suggestions of requesting books in advance, it has become one of my favorite outings with the kids. I sit at the computer late at night, making lists of recommended or popular books, and then head to the library page and request each book. Within a couple of days, I get an email and the books are held for me at the circulation desk of the library. This SAVES MY LIFE, seriously. I could never spend time browsing through books with the kids, or I should say, I could browse through the books, but not without the kids screaming bloody murder and disturbing everyone else. Requesting books allows me to read all the new and hot favorites, but without anyone shooting me dirty looks. You have changed my life, and that is no exaggeration.

A few days ago, though, I noticed on my account web page that our library was saying I'd checked out a book I KNEW I hadn't checked out. Additionally, it said I hadn't returned a book I knew I'd returned. If they'd said I checked out a kid's book I didn't remember, I could have believed it, because there have been times where I have 30 books checked out for the kids. The book was an adult book, however, and I was positive I'd never even seen it before, much less carted it home. Then there was the question of the book I KNEW I'd returned. In fact, as soon as the name popped up, I could picture the cover art. I knew I'd returned it because Gabe and I had an argument as I stood at the returns slot because he wanted to keep it, but it was a Halloween book and it was after Halloween and I saw no reason to keep a Halloween book, so I distracted him and tossed the book in.

I began to fret. I knew I didn't have these books, but I still felt the need to tear the house apart to make sure. I looked through every bookshelf in Gabe's room. I looked under his bed. Pulled his furniture away from the walls. Looked under his rugs, in his closet, in all his backpacks. I searched Josie's shelves, behind her crib, under her rocker. Crawled around my own bedroom and looked under beds, in baskets, on shelves. I checked the living room baskets, under the couches, inside the coffee table. Tore apart the basement, checked every shelf and storage drawer. I checked my car three separate times, and after I did all of this, my mom double checked everywhere I looked. I searched bags in the garage thinking maybe I was crazy and Josh had thrown books somewhere without my knowing.

I drove myself crazy. I began to envision these imaginary conversations where the library didn't believe me and made me pay for 2 separate books. The thing is, I pay late fees to the library all the time, and gladly. The free (!!) service the library provides to me is so awesome, and I'm so grateful, I will happily pay those minimal amounts of money. Even totaling up all the fees I've ever paid to the library, I'd still be saving so much money compared to if I had to purchase even a fraction of the books we read. It's totally worth it.

But this felt unjust and unfair. I knew this wasn't my fault, and because of this, I obsessed over having to pay for the two books. I had a knot in my stomach for several days as I hunted through the house and hoped they would turn up. Finally, though, the due date was upon us, and I was starting to accrue fees. I figured now was better than later if I was going to try to argue my case.

Josie and I dropped Gabe off at school and headed straight for the library. We arrived at the circulation desk, and as I looked at the desk clerk, I found myself at a loss for words. It sounded so ridiculous for me to be arguing that the library had made a mistake on two different books, no matter how convinced I was. I started talking anyway, and within a couple of minutes, the clerk had scanned my library card, looked over my account, and said, "Oh sure, no problem. I'll just remove these from your accounts. These computers are crazy sometimes."

And that was that.

All that stress, anxiety, worry, for NOTHING. It took about 2 minutes of talking, and no one questioned me or argued with me. My account was cleared in no time. Josie and I wandered into the kid's room to pick out some new books, and a few minutes later, the clerk followed us in to let me know he'd done a search himself and located the books on the shelves. Just. Like. That.

Isn't that a lesson? Why waste energy on something so silly, so petty, so UNNECESSARY. Sigh. If only everything in life could be this easy.

maybe I can pretend it is an ornament

The Good News: Josie (fingers crossed) has STOPPED FALLING. I know, I know, too soon to tell, but really, the change has been rather dramatic. I've had several people comment on the change because she is really and truly falling far less than she was. She has even managed to correct herself from falling when she does start to teeter. That never happened. Never.

The Bad News: Of course, another injury. At least it wasn't one of the children! I have to take my blessings where I can get them.

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On Friday, I took my parents to Salem, Massachusetts so we could experience some of the Halloween/crazy people who love to roam the streets in the witch trial city. It was surprisingly tame for being only a couple of weeks away from Halloween, but regardless, we had a good time.

At one of the kitschy witchcraft shops we browsed through, they happened to be selling something called "witch's balls." Wikipedia has a better description than I can provide, but it was basically a pretty colorful hand-blown glass ball, with strands of glass criss-crossing the inside of the ball. It looked a bit like a spider web inside, and was rather pretty. The description on the display said that witch's balls were traditionally hung in windows and were thought to attract evil spirits with their beauty and those evil spirits would get trapped inside the strands of glass.

Is it terrible that the first thing I thought was, "Oh geez, I need one of these."? I mean, I think we can ALL acknowledge, we have had more than our fair share of bad luck. Things have been a little bit crazy, a little bit frenzied, a tiny bit STRESSFUL, maybe? I do keep reminding myself that although upsetting and annoying, we have (thus far) avoided serious or long-term illness. It could always be worse. We are very very lucky in so many ways.

Anyway, the glass ball cost $20, which I guess wasn't soooo much money, but it was too much for me to be spending on a random strange superstitious probably piece of junk, so I didn't get it. But I lingered over it, and thought about it, and kept wondering- could it hurt? Why not?

I chuckled over it, laughed a bit with my parents, and then dismissed the glass ball as silly and unnecessary. After Sunday, however, I'm thinking a drive back to Salem may be in order. $20 or not, I'm willing to try anything at this point. Josh called me from work today and said he'd done a survey at the office and 100% of his coworkers said GET THE BALL. My girlfriends said ha ha ha, no seriously. GET THE BALL. My parents said, GET THE BALL. So what the hell. I may end up GETTING THE BALL.

I'll let you know how it goes. I'll also be doing some serious research for house/people cleansings. And buying stock in Percocet. Sigh.

done. through. finished.

What was I saying about feeling relaxed and refreshed and Zen and all that? Apparently, I needed it, because Josie dislocated her OTHER ELBOW tonight.

I took the kids to the mall with a friend tonight to get out of the rain and let them run around a bit. All 4 kids (both of mine and both of my friend's) were acting crazy. Really batshit nuts and running all over the place and yelling and tickling each other and acting generally hyper. We asked them to calm down several times and threatened a bit and took away privileges, but something was in the air, so finally we packed them all up and left.

In the car, I lectured Gabe for a few minutes about appropriate behavior and why he was losing his Buzz Lightyear toy for the rest of the night and why he wouldn't be allowed to read any books, and blah blah blah. He acted all apologetic and understanding, so I decided I could risk a quick stop at the Container Store for some drawer organizers. It would be 5 minutes, I reasoned. It'd be okay.

Everything seemed fine, and I spent a few minutes picking out the drawer organizers, while Josie and Gabe chatted and laughed. Josie was strapped into the cart and Gabe was standing next to her. All of a sudden, Josie began shrieking in a bloodcurdling manner, and I looked up to see Gabe let go of her arm from the other side of the cart where he'd been pulling on it. She cradled her elbow in her other arm as the tears began pouring down her cheeks and she screamed, "Gabe broke arm! Gabe broke arm!"

I stood there, stunned, and literally seeing red. I was SO mad, I was actually afraid of what I might do in that moment. I just couldn't believe it. I threw what I had in my hands into the cart, while Josie continued to scream, "Gabe broke arm!" and in a moment of what I assume was shock, I PAID FOR THE STUFF (which seriously, what the hell is wrong with me?) and then walked out. As I was walking, I called the pediatrician and left a frantic message asking whether there was anyone still in the office (it was evening, by this time) or whether we should go to the emergency room. Then I called Josh and told him to meet me at the hospital. I spent a horrid few minutes slowing inching Josie into her car seat while she screamed, and then I strapped Gabe into his seat and then screamed at him like a crazy person as I started driving to the hospital.

It was not my finest parenting moment.

A few minutes later, my savior of a pediatrician called back and told me to bring her to his house. Did you read that correctly? He told me to bring her to his house so we wouldn't have to go to the hospital. He gave me directions, and 15 minutes later we were there, and 15 seconds after that, her elbow was fixed. She didn't even cry after that, although she repeated approximately 87 times, "Gabe broke arm! Sorry Josie. Eees okay. Gabe broke arm."

Sigh.

So much for feeling ready to take on the world. I may be booking another trip to Myrtle Beach for next weekend. Right after I wrap both kids in bubble wrap.

I may bubble wrap myself

Egads, you guys. We are having some kind of infestation of these disgusting, revolting, stomach-turning, scream-inducing bugs.

(I cannot possibly put that picture on my blog because I might VOMIT)

Seriously, they are everywhere, and I am completely traumatized. For a few days there, I was finding up to 10 of them crawling around the house and I cannot figure out how they are getting in, where they are coming from, or how to stop them. We called an exterminator who told us the problem is that they have no natural predators, so when they start having their babies or whatever the hell they do, they just multiply like crazy with no way of stopping them. Also, they love cool dampness, and we have had quite the wet summer, so they are running around like gangbusters.

GAG.

The other day, I was gardening outside and came inside to get the kids something to eat, and saw a strand of hair dangling in my face, and when I went to brush it aside, an earwig crawled from that strand of hair onto my hand. THAT BUG WAS ON MY HEAD, HANGING FROM MY HAIR, IN MY FACE. Let's have a moment of silence.

Then earlier this week I picked up a bib from the kitchen counter, and two, TWO (!!!) crawled out from underneath the bib. (I'm honestly almost crying over here)

And then the worst of the worst of the worst? This morning, I was changing Josie's diaper and I pulled a wipe out of the container and wiped her with it and I DEPOSITED AN EARWIG ONTO MY DAUGHTER'S HOO-HA. They have infiltrated the wipes container and are hiding inside. On her girly bits (as Chatty Cricket calls them), I actually wiped her with an actual EARWIG and then I died and moved out of the house.

Josh keeps swearing he is going to spray the outside of the house with some organic chemical, and normally I'm all chemical-phobic and concerned about cancer, but I tell you, these bugs are starting to possibly look worse than chemical poisoning. I can barely sleep at night for fear of them crawling into our bed and biting me.

Finally, to add insult to injury, I was killing some tiny gnats that had gotten into the house from our trips in and out, and I went to swat at a moth, and IT FLEW INTO MY EYE AND GOT STUCK IN THE SPACE BETWEEN MY EYELID AND EYEBALL. You guys, I cannot even make this shit up, so I'm jumping up and down and screaming and holding my eye open with both hands and trying to get the moth to come out and Josh is staring at me in horror and saying, "I can't touch your eyeball. I just can't." while I am literally having a bug crawling into my brain.

I think this might be grounds for divorce, I honestly do.

beyond ridiculous, honestly

You have GOT to be kidding me.

Guess where I spent my afternoon today?

If you guessed a hospital emergency room in the Berkshires, ding ding ding! You're right! Seriously.

The kids, my mother in law and I went into Lenox to attend the library's toddler story hour and grab some lunch before I left for NYC this evening. Everything was proceeding beautifully, and both kids sat and listened to the story, Gabe made a lovely craft and sat longer than all the other children perfecting his "pizza" (which oh my goodness, is a post for another time because this is the child who I thought would never sit longer than 30 seconds for the rest of his life), and we walked toward the car to drop our books off and grab the stroller on our way to lunch.

I was pulling the stroller out of the car and my mother in law was standing on the curb with the kids when I heard Josie start screaming. I actually didn't pay a ton of attention because truthfully, Josie falls 72,846 times per day. This wasn't a noteworthy fall, but then she continued screaming, and toddled over to me with her left arm hanging limply at her side and huge crocodile tears flowing down her cheeks. I picked her up and tried to examine her arm, but her screams got worse when I even gently touched her. I gave her a couple of minutes of calmly holding her to see if she would calm down, but her crying didn't lessen and that was when I started to worry.

I grabbed a couple of super tantalizing items from my purse (cell phone, keys, cookies) and held them out to her left side, and nothing. She kept crying, and wouldn't even attempt to move her little arm. I tried to take off her sweater and the screaming became so loud I couldn't continue, so I told my mother in law we were heading to the hospital.

I called Josh to find out where the closest children's hospital was, because I wasn't going to face the same situation as last time. I do learn new tricks, after all. He had no idea, so I called my pediatrician and my college roommate who is also a pediatrician, while my mother in law called anyone who lived in the area and had kids to see what they suggested.

After much gnashing of teeth (mine) and tears (Josie's), we eventually settled on the closer community hospital, rather than the farther children's hospital because her arm didn't look like a terribly serious injury, even if it was broken. My reasoning was that if anyone suggested anything like surgery or another invasive procedure, I'd demand to be transferred to a children's hospital at that point.

A few hours, several x-rays, many consultations later, the official diagnosis is that no one is sure what is wrong with her. Her shoulder and elbow are not dislocated, her forearm looks okay, and the pain seems to be centered on her wrist and hand. The problem is (according to the doctors) that the bones in her hands are not totally calcified and don't show up clearly on x-rays, so they can't see whether the bones are broken or not. It could be a sprain or it could be a break, and we won't know until it starts to heal next week and we see some callouses on another x-ray.

Poor Josie was in serious pain throughout the emergency room visit, though, and it broke my heart to see her crying like that. She was a limp little sack of potatoes and wouldn't even lift her head from my shoulder when people would enter the room. The doctor opted for a fiberglass splint/removable cast, and as soon as they wrapped her arm, she completely perked up and became a different kid. As they were wrapping it, she looked concerned until I reminded her that now she was "just like Gabe" and you can imagine how thrilled she was about that. 5 minutes later, she was running the halls of the hospital like the crazy little boss she is.

We are seeing an orthopedic hand surgeon next week- coincidentally the same one Gabe is seeing, of course, and we're hoping for good news on a repeat x-ray.

Needless to say, poor Josh had to rush out here when I called him in a panic and our trip to NYC is cancelled, or at least seriously modified. We may decide to head to the city on Saturday night or maybe just for the wedding, we're playing it by ear. If Josie doesn't seem much improved by tomorrow, I may ditch altogether and stay with her. Sigh. So much for our second attempt on a vacation, huh?

Most importantly, I think I may NEVER LEAVE MY HOUSE AGAIN, or at least until the kids turn 18. I'm also wondering if I should consult with a voodoo doctor to find out if someone cursed me or something equally evil. This is getting a little ridiculous, don't you think?

at least it was free

A few weeks ago, this strange throbbing started in one of my teeth on the left hand side. The throbbing was sporadic, though. It would happen only once in a while, and it was never terrible, mostly just annoying. The vast majority of the time, it wasn't even annoying, I just felt like I knew my tooth was there. It was worse at night, but didn't seem to be affected by anything. I could eat hot foods or cold foods, hot drinks or cold drinks, crunchy food, hard food, it didn't matter. It would come and go, and sometimes I went 2 days without feeling anything.

But I worried. I'd go over these horrible scenarios of what it might be- I'd need a root canal or maybe the tooth would be so bad the dentist was going to have to pull it. I stressed and fretted and felt anxious over what the dentist might tell me. In the meantime, I started having crazy allergies and sinus pain. I know from experience that tooth pain often means a sinus infection, so I calmed down over the whole random throbbing and attributed it to sinus problems. But last week the sinus problems improved, although I'm still having what I assume are allergy headaches, and the tooth continued to bother me. I guess "bother" is the right word. It is such a weird problem to be having.

Finally, on Thursday I bit the bullet and called the dentist, got an appointment for this morning, and then worried myself to death over the weekend. I kept telling myself to let it go because it is what it is and there is nothing I can do about it, worrying won't change the tooth situation and I just have to hope for the best and not ruin our weekend over it. The tooth was about the same, maybe a little better, and I realized that the gums around the tooth were also swollen. Another worry added to my list, of course. Now I thought I might have some crazy gum disease that was infecting teeth. It was a fabulous weekend.

This morning I went to the dentist's office, and convinced myself that even a trip to the dentist, alone, with a great book, was really a good thing. Practically a vacation, right? The dentist whacked away at my teeth, did x-rays, chatted with me over symptoms, poked around while I yelped in response, and guess what?

I'm OVERFLOSSING.

I have apparently "shredded" my gums by flossing zealously and am aggravating the cuts every night when I floss again. I have been interpreting the throbbing as tooth pain when it was really GUM pain.

I'm thrilled by this diagnosis, of course, although I feel like a giant fool. I made Josh take off from work, made an extra long dentist appointment so he'd have time to repair the tooth if needed, worried for WEEKS over this, and now I have strict orders to STOP FLOSSING. I'm doing gum massages with my finger (which cracks me up), salt water rinses until the tissue heals, and no flossing for at least a week and even then, I'm resuming with a different brand and method.

Of course, Josh claims this is proof that his teeth care method is superior to mine- i.e. never, ever, under any circumstances, floss your teeth. Brush only sporadically.

Life is so unfair sometimes.

paying it forward

I mentioned last week that I really hate asking for help, but as part of my resolution to be happier and improve my life, I've vowed to ask for help when I need it. And this winter in particular, I have DEFINITELY needed help. We have been struck down with more illnesses than I can count. Ear infections and stomach flus and ear infections and bronchiolitis and ear infections and coughs and ear infections and runny noses and ear infections and a couple of sore throats thrown in for good measure. It has made for a crummy winter, and lots of tissue purchases, antibiotics, night wakings, and sleepless nights.

Whining isn't the point of this post, though. I've decided to ask for help, and that means when my friend asks if she can pick anything up at the store for me, I say YES. For the first time ever, I said yes. We needed diapers and I was going to bundle the kids up in the car and drag them to the store and wipe the noses and cart the sad limp kids inside, so instead I told her I desperately needed diapers and thanked her profusely and left it at that. And rather than feel guilty about asking for the diapers, I just accepted the idea that she didn't mind getting the diapers and perhaps felt like she was doing a good deed and I was certainly grateful.

So a few days later, when my neighbor said she had to take her own sick kids to the store because she needed milk, I insisted on getting it for her when I went to Target that afternoon. She did the whole, "no, it's okay, don't worry about it, I couldn't, etc." but I insisted and she said thank you and was thrilled when I showed up with the milk later that afternoon.

Let's call it paying it forward or being a normal human being who accepts help, but it felt good. I like this new resolution, and I think it is going to improve all of our lives.

apparently I'm a community supportive glutton for punishment

We've done the whole community supported agriculture thing before, and as I mentioned last year, I wasn't the hugest fan. I know it isn't a popular stance to take, but I still remember how much I disliked washing those dirty vegetables and coming up with ideas for unknown veggies and making the drive to pick up our box. I wanted to be a supportive and active member in my community, but apparently, I have my limits.

So I'm doing it all over again.

I signed up for another share at another farm. Hopefully this particular farm will provide us with more of the vegetables we actually like to eat, and they even let you specify a "no like" list. I'll definitely be telling them I do NOT like to receive 79 turnips at one time.

This year, though, I am splitting the share with a friend, and I am thrilled about this. We will alternate weeks of pickup, split the boxes of food, and I'm hoping this will lessen the load and make the whole experience more fun. Best of all, included in our share is a "pick you own" option throughout the summer, which means we'll be permitted to go to the farm to pick berries or beans or flowers. I have discovered that 3 year olds LOVE to pick fruits and vegetables, and I love the idea of him seeing where those fruits and vegetables actually come from (besides the supermarket, I mean).

Let's just hope the dirt and bugs don't get to me this time, or maybe I can come up with some kind of outdoor hosing off ritual. Do you think 3 year olds can learn to wash vegetables?

enough talk about sticking fingers in holes already

We made peanut butter and jelly muffins last night (I know! Yum!), and it was an exercise in hilarity for Josh and me.

You have to make the peanut butter batter, then push a little hole into the center of the muffin, spoon in the jelly, and then put another glob of peanut butter batter on top. We got Gabe involved, and these were the comments that came out of our mouth, complete with uncontrollable snickering from Gabe's parents.

"You push your fingers in the hole and spread it."

"After you put your fingers in the hole, Daddy will stick the jelly in."

"Stop licking your fingers after putting them in the hole."

"It's too sticky in there."

"You stick your fingers in the middle, not on the sides."

And on, and on, and on.

This is a public service announcement, do not try to accomplish any cooking project like this with preteens or teenagers. It will not go well, I promise you that.

people I'm totally judging but trying to pretend not to judge

1. Scene: At the grocery store, trying to manage one of those massive carts with the child-friendly automobiles attached to the front of them. Do you know which ones I'm talking about? They are like 15 feet long and difficult to maneuver, but the kids love them with a burning passion.

My cart was particularly loaded up with groceries and I am trying to wrestle it through the aisles. Anyway, I ended up ACCIDENTALLY bumping into the back of this elderly woman's leg as I'm trying to get into the cashier aisle. But seriously, it was a GENTLE BUMP. Regardless, I was MORTIFIED and apologized approximately 17 times (not exaggerating), and she huffed and puffed and REFUSED TO LOOK AT ME OR ACCEPT MY APOLOGY. It was to the point that I actually gave her a minute, and then again walked around the cart to try to touch her arm and apologize again, sincerely, and she turned her back to me. And then when I went around to her other side, she turned her back to me again. And then did it a third time and she kept turning her head to avoid making eye contact. I had no idea what to do because I felt super guilty, but at the same time, I was pretty pissed because HELLO! It was an accident! I'm saying sorry and being sincere about it and you are being so rude! I actually switched to the aisle next to hers where she would have to look at me and kept watching her and she spent the majority of time paying with her back partially to the cashier just so she wouldn't have to acknowledge me. Wow.

2. Scene: At a playdate sponsored by our town's mother's group.

I'm chatting with a woman in our new neighborhood, and discovering all these things we have in common. Ages of kids, home towns, backgrounds, and I'm getting excited that we can hang out! Have playdates! New friends! Anyway, at one point I comment on how much hair her daughter has, because seriously, she has as much hair as me and she is only a couple of months older than Josie (who has NO HAIR). The mom starts saying that her daughter was born with this much hair, and she has to do it every day, and then she says, "Yes, she sleeps with hot rollers every night." I was totally confused at this point, because, um, what? I thought maybe she was referring to herself and I misunderstood, but further conversation confirmed that yes, it is indeed the 17 month old who sleeps with hot rollers every night. All night long. The explanation is because "her hair is too flat and limp and needs shape." Oh, okay.

3. Scene: Playdate at a girlfriend's house.

I have this girlfriend (whom I generally love) and she often makes comments about how her hair is sooooo straight and lacks body and how she can't do anything with it. Often in these same conversations, she will sort of indirectly criticize my hair, but in this strange way where I'm often left wondering if she is trying to compliment me and it is coming off badly, or whether she really is criticizing it. The thing is, I don't have many complaints about my hair (except for horrible haircuts, of which I've had a few). It is easy to care for, generally does what I want it to, and I think it is fairly nice. I wouldn't trade my hair with too many people, let's put it that way.

So the other day, she is again commenting on her hair and how it is so straight and so she doesn't bother to do anything with it and doesn't even dry it or anything, it always looks like this (and by the way, her hair always looks perfect, not too dissimilar from Jennifer Aniston, for example). A few minutes later, she offers to show me her something in her bedroom and we run upstairs and I happen to peek into her master bath and see, sitting on the counter, HER HAIR DRYER AND STRAIGHT IRON PLUGGED IN AND SEVERAL PRODUCTS lying out on the counter. Why? Why would you voluntarily lie about this?

_________________________________
p.s.- I'm loving the idea of this positive reinforcement chart thing. I keep throwing around the idea, but couldn't figure out how to put it into action. I'm a concrete person and I kept wondering how many stars/stickers, how many opportunities should I offer, how do I decide what to reward him for, etc. This is my type-a personality shining through, huh?

p.p.s.- I actually laughed about the idea of Gabe being out of control. He is not out of control, but he is three and very active and testing. I mentioned to his teachers and a couple of friends my complaints and they all laughed because he is exceedingly easy and compliant the vast majority of the time. But when he is a three year old, phew, he likes to shine in his misbehavior. We had his parent-teacher conference this morning and they said he is fabulous. Shocking to me, but whatever. I'll take good news when I can get it.

down the drain

And just when we thought it couldn't get worse, the downstairs toilet backed up AGAIN on Sunday night. Then AGAIN on Monday morning.

Poop. Toilet paper. All over the floor. BLERGH.

I'm still traumatized. I'm also still gagging, even though my saintly husband took most of the heavy lifting (i.e. picking up poop and scrubbing black stuff off the floor).

The plumber came by again and started spouting off about what the possible causes might be- tree roots in the pipes, uneven pipes, bends in the pipes, sediment resulting from a year of the house sitting empty, etc. I started sweating when he suggested we might need to EXCAVATE the basement and front yard to replace the pipes throughout the house.

And then, he pulled out a toy. One of Gabe's toys, and I instantly recalled a moment a few days beforehand when Gabe had informed me that the stick man went bye-bye in the toilet. We had a long talk at the time about not flushing things, but I didn't honestly believe he'd flushed a toy. Until now.

We had another loooonnngggg and stern talk about not flushing things, and he is now on lockdown when it comes to the bathroom. He is allowed to go in by himself, but he does not flush until I come look at the toilet.

Thankfully, it has been a week and we've had no more backing up issues (knocking on wood) and I'm praying the toy is the real source of our problem, and not any of those other major issues the plumber suggested.

$1000 later, though, and my dreams of sending Gabe to a couple of days of summer camp per week are down the drain (literally). It looks like I'll be looking for lots of free or next to free activities for kiddos. Ideas? I'm still saving pennies for a swing set, so I'm hoping I'll at least be able to throw them out back and sip margaritas from a lawn chair.

Hey, a girl can dream, can't she?

i can't believe we have to worry about this

You watch the news and hear the numbers about unemployment, uninsured Americans, foreclosed homes, but it doesn't seem real.

Until it happens to you, I guess.

My mom is in a waiting game, hanging around until she gets the call that she's been laid off. It is a certainty she'll receive the call. She works in a California public school, and she's been told the call is going to come soon. Very soon.

She is also wading her way through the disastrous web of information regarding retirement, Social Security, pensions, and health insurance. Ahhh, health insurance. I never imagined I would hear so much about health insurance from my parents, and I never imagined it would hit so hard, so close.

My parents cannot retire, because they cannot afford health insurance. My dad has diabetes and some heart problems, and this makes them ineligible for lots of different programs until he is 65, at least, which means my mom needs to keep working for at least a few more years. Health insurance for them now is prohibitively expensive. We're talking $1,000+ per month, which would be bad for anyone, but especially for two people living off of Social Security and their savings. Even if one or both of them finds a part-time job, which will be hard because no one wants to hire older adults, they'll still be struggling just to pay their premiums.

My mom spends her evenings researching different health care possibilities, and even considers not going to doctor's visits because she doesn't want to be flagged with a pre-existing condition that will make it difficult for her to receive health insurance also. At least if it is only my dad, she'll wait a couple of years and then he'll be eligible for Medicare. She has a few more years before she'll be 65 and eligible herself.

Tell me in what world it makes sense for my parents to feel trapped and frustrated and worried and lose sleep and PUT OFF MEDICAL EXAMS because they are worried about health insurance???

It is crazy and infuriating and makes me want to cry because I know how worried they are about all of this. They've even talked about moving back to Argentina because health insurance is guaranteed there. So they'll leave the country they've lived in for 35 years, the country to which they are citizens, where their daughter and son-in-law and grandchildren live, just because they can't afford to live here if they have to pay for their own health insurance.

Totally fucking fair, that's what this is.

advice

I need some help, my friends. I seem to have developed some sort of allergy to soaps and detergents, and it is driving me crazy. I am having these crazy allergic reactions to any and all soaps, and any and all detergents. I keep switching and trying all the hypoallergenic and free everything products and nothing seems to be working.

Has anyone had this experience? Have you heard of any detergent or soap that is particularly good for allergies?

I seem to be able to moderately handle sensitive skin Dove, but even that seems to be irritating me lately. The worst offender seems to be laundry detergent, which is a serious problem because HELLO? I need clean clothes!

HELP!

because I needed something else to freak out about

I got a letter late last week for jury duty. Jury duty.

For this coming Monday. As in, the Monday of the week I am moving out of this house, closing on this house, closing on the new house, and moving into the new house. Mmm hmm.

You're permitted one postponement for jury duty, but unfortunately, I've already submitted my postponement, because I was supposed to do jury duty about 2 weeks after Josie was born. That wasn't going to happen, and I could never have imagined this was the week I'd be moving.

I started scrambling to find a babysitter, trying to figure out how I could afford to take an entire day off from packing, and worst of all, how Josie was going to make it through an entire day without me, because she STILL won't take a bottle. The other day I left her with Josh for an afternoon while I attended a baby shower and she sobbed for two hours until I finally came home.

I didn't let myself contemplate the possibility of actually being PLACED on a jury, because I assumed between the moving and the breastfeeding, I'd be getting excused.

Thankfully, I called to ask about the process of getting excused, and how long I'd need to plan on being at the actual courthouse, and the kind, sweet, blessed woman with whom I spoke told me to get a letter from my pediatrician and fax it into the office explaining the breastfeeding situation. She said I didn't need to show up at the courthouse with the breastpump in hand, as I'd originally planned. I could get a medical exemption ahead of time, and it would be good for 3 years.

I got my letter, faxed it in, and I'm waiting to hear back, but my stress level has gone down 200%. Can you say "phew"?

I have a death wish

It is totally insane to even consider doing this NaBloPowhatever, right? RIGHT? I can't even ponder the thought. Tell me not to even think about it please.

The last time I attempted this was when I was 8 months pregnant with Gabe and I almost succeeded, except for that one pesky night when I tripped and fell in the Home Depot parking lot and ended up in the hospital for 2 days with contractions. Stinking Home Depot. I don't know why they didn't anticipate that a gigantically pregnant woman would trip in the middle of the parking lot with nothing around her to trip on. I should totally sue them.

Anyway, I'm considering doing it. Even with packing up the house, and moving, and sick kids, and ear infections, and husbands working around the clock. Maybe. Perhaps what I'll do is do my best to post every day, and not ever say I'm officially doing it, so if I can't do it, I don't have to feel like I failed.

I think that is what I'll do. I'll do the daily posting thing, but I'm not officially doing the daily posting thing, and let's all hope for the best. Anyone else on board?

half-priced halloweenlover

Have I told you about my love for Craigslist? I think I might actually be addicted. I have had the best luck on Craigslist, and because of that, I refuse to buy anything without giving myself the chance to find it first on Craigslist (and Ebay, but I like Craigslist more).

When I wanted to attempt some basic sewing, I bought a used sewing machine for $30 on Craigslist and have used it for the last 5 years to make window seats and pillows and curtains and even two quilts. It started to break down over the last couple of weeks, but I think I've gotten my $30 worth.

When I needed to clear out the guest room furniture in preparation for Gabe's big move, I sold all our furniture in one weekend for exactly the prices I was asking.

When I needed furniture for Gabe's new room, I knew which furniture I coveted and which furniture I could actually afford. We shopped around endlessly, and I'd finally resigned myself that in order to get something decent, we were going to need to buy unfinished furniture and I'd try to paint or finish it sometime during my pregnancy. At the same time, I kept an eye on Craigslist in the hopes that something would turn up. It did! I ended up finding this exact bunk bed set, in the color I wanted, in almost perfect shape.


The family had owned it for 2 years (they purchased it for $1,199 + $150 delivery fee + tax) and still had all of the paperwork, but were moving and buying their kids new furniture (picture borrowed from PBKids).






They also had this dresser, colors perfectly matched, that just happened to fit Gabe's room perfectly (they purchased it for $799 + $150 delivery fee).

I bought both the bunk beds and the dresser for $650, and they dismantled it for me and loaded up the truck I'd borrowed from my inlaws, and even threw in a repair kit and a wood staining pen they'd purchased for the furniture). 2 year old furniture! Original price more than $2400 (after tax and delivery), and I paid $650! Granted, still a ton of money, but not compared to what it cost in the stores. Craziness!


Then, of course, I needed bedding and a rug for Gabe's new room. I needed a large rug and all of his sheets and comforter and quilt, and everything I liked kept adding up to several hundred dollars, so I checked Craigslist (and Ebay) and between the two of them, ended up putting together this adorable bedroom set for about $300 after purchasing a quilt, a Euro size quilted sham, twin flannel sheets, a down alternative blanket, and 8x10 rug- all brand new in their original packaging! If' I'd purchased all of these from the stores, it would definitely have been more than $1000. More craziness!

Since then, I sold our bassinet and bought a larger one since Gabe outgrew his bassinet before we were ready to move him from our bedroom. I sold our old bassinet in a few days, and picked up a sturdier one for Josie, all on Craigslist. I sold old bedding on Craigslist and old furniture we had lying around our basement.

I really want to try to make my own baby food for Josie, but I was overwhelmed with the process when I tried it with Gabe. I found this little gem on Craigslist, brand new in the packaging, for $80 instead of the original $149.99 + tax. It was a splurge, but a splurge that cost half the price of the splurge I really wanted!

I was in a mood for a new diaper bag, but didn't want to spend any real money, so I found this bag used and purchased it for $15. The only thing that was wrong with it was a few smudges and the zipper pull was broken off. I called Bugaboo to ask whether I could purchase a new zipper pull from them, and they asked for all my info and said they would get back to me. 4 days later, a BRAND NEW diaper bag showed up on my door step! And all I paid was $15! Even more craziness!

Ok actually, this is looking like a lot of money, despite the cheaper prices, but I swear this is over a few years, not all at once.

With all of the new house excitement, there are TONS of things we are going to need for the new house, like rugs and appliances and curtains and a couch, and I'll definitely be checking Craigslist for deals.

Honestly, it is getting a little ridiculous. I may never pay full price for anything ever again!

the good, the bad, and the WTF

Oh dear, where should I even start.

We left off last talking about how overwhelmed I was feeling because of the kids and the dog and the house. Little did I know, that was nothing compared to what has been going on the last 2 weeks. I'm starting to wonder what I might have done to piss someone off.

Exhibit A:
Josie had her regular 9 month checkup that same day (which by the way, how can she be 9 months old?), and she had a regular blood draw to check her blood count and do a lead test. And guess what? She tested with an elevated level of lead in her blood.

We rushed her to the hospital to have a repeat draw, this time a real one in her vein. The test itself was stressful enough, honestly. And guess what? It really was elevated! No false positive for us!

So we proceeded to rush Gabe to the hospital to have his blood checked for lead too, since it would stand to reason that if one child was positive the other would be too. While I was out of the house, my mother in law was staying at home with Josie. While she was at home with Josie, she answered the phone, spoke to my real estate broker and told her Josie's blood tested positive for lead.

Wait. Did you read that correctly? She told my REAL ESTATE BROKER my daughter tested positive for LEAD. Are you sensing a problem here?

I'm going to cut the story short here, because I cannot possibly rehash the nightmare that has been my life for the past week. A nightmare that included me hysterically sobbing on the phone several times, screaming matches with my broker, multiple attorneys, threats from my broker's firm against me about disclosing the information to our buyers, and finally a written disclosure we drafted (with the help of an attorney) and sent over to the buyers on Saturday.

And then we waited for a response. It never came, and Tuesday was the final date for our buyers to get their commitment from the bank (i.e. a mortgage), and they did. And that was that. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't even think about anything but this for days, but it looks like in the end the buyers were okay with it, and trusted my pediatrician's assertions that such a low level of lead combined with Gabe's negative lead test, meant the source of the lead was from a toy or from some other random singular event. The pediatrician feels confident that this is not coming from the house.

I feel tremendously guilty about this whole Josie having lead in her blood thing, and every time I talk about it, I start crying all over again. I don't know what I could have done, but it feels like I should have been able to do something. It feels like I didn't protect my baby. I shouldn't have let this happen.

The good news is that it is a very low level, as my pediatrician calls it, "a very slightly elevated level" and that level doesn't even need to be treated, although we are proactively giving her iron supplements.

Exhibit B:
At the conclusion of the weekend, and while we were still waiting to hear from the buyers, Josie was a mess. At midnight on Monday night, she woke up screaming (SCREAMING) inconsolably at midnight, and would not calm down until 6am, at which point I called the pediatrician in hysterics, because Josh was insisting we needed to take her to the hospital to be checked out. The pediatrician sat on the phone with me for 20 minutes listening to her scream and suggesting various possibilities, and he finally told me to meet him at the office so he could check her out before we went to the ER. As we were getting ready to walk out the door, Josie starts projectile vomiting all over me, herself, and our bed.

I rush over to the office, and the doctor and nurses start examining her and running bloodwork to figure out what the problem is. She would scream any time they touched her stomach, and the possibility of an intestinal obstruction started floating around. I, meanwhile, was crying quietly in the corner, because OH MY GOD, seriously?

We sat in the office for 3 hours, me rocking her quietly while she lay limp, pale as a sheet in my arms, and feeding her teeny sips of pedialite and discussing whether we should go to the hospital. Finally, the pediatrician gets the results of the blood test indicating she has some sort of infection, and he says we should go in to the ER for some tests. I'm packing up her stuff, and turn to him to ask, "this couldn't be an ear infection, right?" He assured me it couldn't, but then decided to check her ears right as we're leaving, and guess what? RAGING ear infection. Raging.

The relief, I cannot even begin to tell you the relief. The guilt came later, but the relief was amazing. We had a terrible 24 hours, but she is a different baby today after 48 hours of antibiotic and food and SLEEP, glorious sleep.

Exhibit C:
Yesterday I went to pick Gabe up from school, and somehow, within the span of just a couple of hours, he has become goop city. He is drooping, feverish, snotty, and generally unwell. I had to do the walk of shame out of the preschool, while all the other mothers eyed me angrily, all but saying out loud that I sent a sick kid to school to infect their precious babies.

I swear, he wasn't sick! I'm super paranoid about sending sick kids to school! Alas, no one believes me anymore, and although he seems better today, I'm probably going to have to keep him home tomorrow just to prove a point. Damnit.

Honestly, though, if karma is a bitch, as I always like to remind rude people, what have we done to deserve all of this? And I know that sounds totally self-involved to say that all of this is falling on me, but that is how it feels! Many many times this week I have thought about crawling under a rock to cry. Or at least under the covers. At this point, I'm thinking we should call 2009 a wash and move onto 2010. It can't be any worse than this year.

I admit, I'm a lunatic

Josh's aunt agreed to babysit the other night so Josh and I could go out to dinner (!!!) with a few of Josh's colleagues. Although I would have loved to have a night alone with him, I was happy to get the chance to spend a bit more time with colleagues because I try desperately to stay connected into his work life and his time away from us, especially since I am staying home with the kids for now. I don't want my one and only topic of conversation with him to be the kids, so I'm always interested in his work gossip and new projects. Or at least, I pretend to be interested, you know?

Anyway, we were driving home from the restaurant and decided to split up and try two separate routes because we disagree on the fastest way to get home. My route, I think, is faster because I don't have to cross through this messy traffic circle, but it does take me through a not great area of a neighboring town. Not terrible, but not great.

I pulled away from him and started down the road, following a black Honda Civic as we sped through the dark streets. A few minutes later, the Honda Civic pulled up to a stop sign, on a street full of untended homes and packed with parked cars. In an instant, he'd stopped the car, opened his door, and started to walk back toward me. I had a moment of total confusion- why was he stopping his car, why was he walking toward me, what could he possibly want- before I reacted.

I slammed my hand down on the car door locks, threw the car in reverse, and started to back up faster than he could walk toward me. I groped with my other hand for my cell phone, ready to call 911 if he came any closer.

I don't know if he could see my face and could tell how frightened I was, or whether he reacted from his own realization that I must have been afraid, but he put his hands in the air, the way you would do if someone was pointing a weapon at you. As he came closer, I saw that he was young, maybe 19 or 20, blond, dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, looking like a local college student.

"Your headlight is burnt out!" he yelled through the closed window. "What?" I yelled back. "Your headlight, one of them is out! I just wanted you to know. Sorry!" I felt a rush of embarrassment, but I still wasn't getting out of the car, or letting him get any closer. "Oh, thanks! Thanks! Sorry!" He quickly ran to his car, put it in gear and drove away.

I spent the rest of the drive feeling sheepish, and wondering what the world is coming to that I thought a good Samaritan was trying to car jack or assault me or something. But really, what else could I think? The alternative, waiting like a sitting duck for a strange man to approach my open car window on a dark street? That doesn't sit well either.

Truthfully, you still never know, I guess. My headlight was burnt out, but what if you got out of the car to look and it was all a ploy to get you to exit your car? I don't know, I guess this is my mind going to dark places, but unfortunately, I do think you have to be careful these days. I'd like to think the whole thing was a misunderstanding on my part and he was just a nice kid who wanted to tell me about my broken headlight. Would you have done the same thing? Was I overreacting?

maybe comcast will deliver freshly popped popcorn and sodas

Last night I was watching television, some new crime show I'd never seen before, and I couldn't help marveling at the camera work. Shots that panned in and out, close-ups and dramatic zooming- the whole thing seemed remarkably artistic. Combine the fancy camera work with high definition, and it felt more like being at the movies than watching a regular tv on a week night.

I couldn't help thinking that we never could have anticipated this, even a decade or two ago, when a sitcom consisted of a camera watching people chat in a living room, or a coffee house, or on the street. Nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary, the show was simply about the interaction with the characters on the screen, nothing else. Last night's show was about far more than just the conversations on the screen. It felt like I was watching this carefully choreographed dance between the scenery, settings, and the people.

I wonder what television will be like when Gabe and Josie grow up. He already lives in a world without commercials and without having to wait for a show to come on (thanks to DVR). He doesn't believe me when I say a particular show isn't available on tv, he'll just hand me the remote and tell me to find it on the tv. What do you think? Maybe holograms? Maybe everything will be 3-D? Maybe we'll have movie theaters in our house?

grrrr

If you saw my Twitter last night, you saw that our buyers backed out. FOR NO GOOD REASON. The having no good reason thing is really pissing me off, but I guess its better than having a problem we have to remedy. We had the inspection yesterday morning and the inspector actually told the buyers and both agents that it was one of his best inspections ever, and the house was in excellent condition. The buyers came with a whole entourage of folks, though, cousins and grandparents and uncles and milkmen and who knows who else.

One of the cousins, in particular, kept arguing with the inspector over random things. She said she didn't like the way the furnace LOOKED, even though the inspector insisted the furnace was in great condition. My broker says she kept insisting the newer furnaces were better, to which the inspector said that certainly newer furnaces have some improvements, but those are improvements, not problems. She also complained about one spot of squeakiness in the hardwood floors outside of our upstairs bathroom and said she thought we should have to REPLACE those floors. I should go upstairs right now and take a picture of our floors, because although the entire house is hardwood floors, they were covered in carpet for the vast majority of this home's life, and every realtor who came into this house has commented on their excellent condition.

Besides these two non-problems, the inspector found that there were carpenter ants in the garden (!!!I'm not sure what to comment on bugs in the garden!!!), trees coming too close to some of the electrical wires, a garage door without a sensor for children (would go back up if a child gets in the way), and a chimney without a cap. All of these together, even if we were to take care of all of them, would probably total out to less than $1000. The buyers, however, asked for $20,000 off the price of the house because they want me to replace the furnace and replace the part of the hallway floor that creaks.

Their own broker told them they were making a terrible mistake, and she was unbelievably apologetic to us. She kept telling them they would never have a better inspection than this one, but when I told them to shove their requests, they (unsurprisingly) decided to back out. Sigh. Back on the roller coaster.

We kept our appointments today to see some houses, and of course as is always the case, today I saw several houses I loved and on which I would happily have made an offer. Even worse, a house on our dream street in our current town is on for a much higher price than we can afford, but they said they would happily consider a lower offer from us because the seller is in a situation where she needs to sell. I can't stop thinking about that house, and worrying about losing out on an awesome opportunity.

At the same time, though, Josh and I are reconsidering our plan to put it back on the market and entertaining the idea of staying in the house for another year or more. We need a bigger house, but now that we've pseudo-finished the basement, we have enough space to stay if or until I get pregnant again. We don't HAVE to move, at least not now.

We have more showings scheduled, another open house, and who knows what will happen. I'm frustrated and angry and disappointed, but it can't all be sunshine and roses, I know.