Breakfast and Spring

This morning, as I lolled around in a Benadryl stupor, I heard a wee little hesitant knock on the bedroom door. At least I thought I did. But it was so timid that I thought maybe I'd imagined it. I lay back down to slip back into my coma but then I remembered that the little guy is sick and maybe he needed me. I groaned, "Come in," which, naturally, woke Dan up from his deep, non-Benadryl-induced, sleep-of-the-dead thing that he does every night.

No one answered.

So I groaned again, louder, "Come in!"

Nothing.

I got up and stumbled to the door, grabbing one of Dan's shirts off the floor to cover my lower half with since I was only wearing a T-shirt. There, on the other side of the door, was my supremely intelligent, straight-A, gifted, oldest child. I croaked out, "What do you need, son?" in my allergy-dry, early morning frog voice.

His eyes immediately darted to my T-shirt covered lower half, which creeped me out. Then he looked back at my face and said, "Um, yeah, I was going to make "Daddy Pop-Tarts" but I didn't know if I was supposed to butter them before or after I put them in the toaster."

Yes, folks, that's my gifted child.

You see, "Daddy Pop-Tarts" are Frosted Brown-Sugar Cinnamon Pop-Tarts the way Dan makes them. First he toasts them, and then he slices the non-frosted side into a checkerboard pattern and slathers them with butter. Because, you know, they just aren't quite fattening enough on their own without the butter.

By then I was awake and I remembered that I needed to get up because it was actually an hour later than I thought it was. So much for sleeping in. Stupid daylight savings time. Stupid Bradford Pears. That's right folks, it's that time again--time for my hatred of Bradford Pear trees to swell exponentially, as it does every spring.

But at least it's not snowing. I'll take it. Bring on the warm weather, even if it does make the trees stink even worse.

Anniversary Dinner

So tonight Dan and I took the kids with us to Zaxby's for our 18th anniversary dinner. Because we are SO fancy, we wore our good sweatpants.

While Dan and I were ordering we sent the kids to pick out a table. Eight chose a booth for four, while Eleven picked out the big, round, corner booth. I told him no, that we needed to save that table for a larger family because there are only four of us. He disagreed, but reluctantly left the table and came over to the booth his brother chose, grumbling the whole way. When Dan arrived with the food, Eleven was still complaining. Dan told him that we needed to leave that table in case a party of twenty showed up. I laughed and said, "Well, I don't think that table will seat twenty, but definitely more than four."

Eleven piped in and said, "Oh, it will seat nine. I know because I measured. With my butt."

Then he demonstrated how he scooted around the booth, counting butt prints as he went. Yep. That's my gifted child.

Later, while he was munching his grilled cheese sandwich, he bit his tongue or the inside of his cheek or something. He sat there saying, "Ouch, ouch, ouch," until we acknowledged his injury. Dan jokingly asked if I ordered extra glass slivers in the sandwich, to which Eleven deadpanned, "I didn't know they used sharp cheddar cheese."

Ha, ha. Dinner AND a show.

Happy anniversary, honey. Thanks for giving me the last eighteen years and our two precious children. But next weekend, let's go out to dinner and leave them at home, 'kay?

Quote of the Day

The funniest thing I heard all week:

Dad was in his jammies, (with his coat on over them) getting ready to go out to the garage (a.k.a. his bedroom since I moved into his room) for the night. His hand was on the doorknob when he stopped and turned back to address Mom, Dan, and me.

"This is depressing," he said.

"What's wrong?" I asked him.

He sighed, hung his head, and said, "I'm going to be 62 years old in a few months and I'm sleeping out in the garage while some guy from Ohio is sleeping in MY bed. WITH MY DAUGHTER!"

Poor dad.

And a Doctorate in Doubt

I was driving to my weekend home from my weekday home yesterday (I wish I had the kind of money that first part of the sentence implies) with a migraine. A bad one. The kind of headache that made me press my fingers really hard on my left eye to keep it closed so I could focus on the blurry white dotted lines on the road with only my right eye and hope I didn't slide over them in 70 mph rush hour traffic. Really. It was that bad.

Even though the sound was excruciating, I hit Shuffle on the iPod to keep the boys busy singing instead of asking me questions--what with the whole "concentrate on the dotted lines so we won't die" thing I had going on. So there we were, cruising down the highway, when I heard the boys singing a song that brought tears to my eyes. Note to self: when you're experiencing the mother of all migraines and your vision is blurry, adding tears to the mix is NOT a good idea.

They were belting out a Jeff Slaughter song from "Arctic Edge" Vacation Bible School a few years back, an uptempo song that goes like this:

I will be trusting God with all my heart,
No matter what, no matter where, no matter when.
I will depend on Him, I will not lean on my own understanding.
In everything I do I'm gonna have the courage to trust in God.

I don't get all holy on the old blog very often, but allow me a minute to get my preach on because my boys taught me a lesson in song yesterday. With our lives being so chaotic right now--not knowing where Dan and I will be working or where we'll be living next fall and where the boys will go to school--it was nice to remember that He knows.

And I need to leave it at that. Not that I think I can actually just "let go and let God" or anything, since I have a Master's in Anxiety and Fretting, but I should try.

Emphasis on TRY.

More Trip Highlights

In which I share more random highlights from our trip as I continue to unpack.

Why oh why do toy manufacturers have to make the packaging so impossible to penetrate? If only they could make airplanes out of this same material. No more crashes or hijackings.

My MIL bought all three of her sons matching ski caps (or toboggan hats, as Dan calls them). Well, not exactly matching. Ted's is brown--the other two are blue--so you know who the favorite is. Dan and Jack opened theirs first so when Ted arrived they both said, "Hey man, you need to open your present from Mom. You're going to love it." I'm pretty sure everyone there pulled a stomach muscle laughing so hard.

Here they are...Larry, Darryl, and Darryl.
Through some sort of weird cosmic fluke, the cousins in attendance were Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, and Eleven.

I'm now officially hooked on the Twilight series. I bought the first two books before we left so I could read them on the trip. Not only do my kids have the best aunt in the world, I have the best sister-in-law. When I finished New Moon and starting jonesing for a trip to the bookstore to get Eclipse, Cathy called out of the blue and said, "I'm going to pass right by Borders on my way to Mom's house. Can I pick up a book for you?" Am I loved or what? I finished it last night and now I'm thinking about running down to B&N to get Breaking Dawn. But I know once I start reading it that I won't get anything else done today. Sigh. It sucks being so responsible.

I don't know what my mom fed my dog while we were gone, but she is the most flatulent creature ever created. The dog, not my mom. Just to clarify.

My new favorite toy that my kids received (but Dan and I promptly commandeered--which is totally within our rights as parents): Nerf N-Strike Maverick.

Ew, I just had a presidential debate flashback when I typed the word Maverick. I feel like I should be doing shots of something. Oh yeah, speaking of shooting...

Who needs expensive toys like the Wii system we can't afford because we had to buy new tires and actuarial manuals? Not that I'm bitter. Nope, not me. Dan created this game which involves propping an action figure on a box in the kitchen and trying to shoot him off his perch from a designated spot in the foyer. I don't want to brag or anything (yeah, right) but I'm the uncontested champion. If this whole teaching thing doesn't work out, I may have a promising future career as a sharpshooter.

Okay, enough playing around. I have to go remind Dan that he promised to paint the bedroom with me while I'm off work. And I have to convince him that I actually meant painting the bedroom and not whatever euphemism he thought he was agreeing to. Yep, being responsible is no fun.

Here are the rest of the trip photos:

Trip Highlights

We just got home a few hours ago from a six-day visit with the in-laws. Eight-to-ten-ish hours on the road (thank the good LORD and Grama for the portable DVD player), two cars of Christmas gifts to unload, and four loads of laundry (so far) later and I've finally reunited with my beloved computer. C'mon, you know you're singing it. I love my computer because all my friends live in there.

Anyway, I'm exhausted and still have more laundry waiting, so I'll just give you a quick SportsCenter highlights version of the trip:

• My kids have the greatest aunt in the whole, wide world. If there were an Olympic event for "aunting," she'd be a quadruple gold medalist.
• I'm finally completely addicted to the Twilight series, just like Trish told me ages ago I would be--if I'd just give it a chance. And I said that "teeny-bopper vampire romances" just weren't my thing. HA!
• I might have reached the saturation point for Tripoley and Skipbo, if it hadn't been for that awesome straight royal flush of HEARTS that I dealt myself. Aw, that was sw-eeet.
• My mother-in-law should have her name legally changed to Sneaky McCheaterpants. Really.
• The snake I found in the middle of the road was not real. At least I'm going to continue to tell myself that.
• After almost eighteen years of marriage I thought I knew all Dan's crazy rock band stories, but his former bandmates told me a couple of new ones at dinner last night.
• My father-in-law acts tough, but he's a big old softie. But don't tell him I told you so.

Okay, that's it for now--the dryer just buzzed. More tomorrow...with pictures.

Grateful

I was reminded tonight, as I snuggled on the couch under a down comforter with my HEALTHY kids watching Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader, that I'm pretty darn lucky. Even if the economy has tanked and my husband is losing his job in ten days and I'm splitting my time between two counties and going in to work on a snow day and all that stuff, I still have it pretty good. At least I have a job, even if it is an hour from my house. At least I can stay with my parents up there so I don't have to commute that hour's drive every day. At least my husband will get a few weeks of severance pay so he can study for his math exam. And, most important, my kids are healthy. When they're driving me crazy and I really need a break from them I need to stop and just be grateful for them--hyperactivity and all.

We were right in the middle of the show and a commercial for St. Jude's Children's Hospital came on. Jennifer Aniston (who is way too pretty to be the same age as me, BTW) was hugging a little bald-headed girl who has been battling brain cancer. Here's this cute little girl, fighting for her life, and I'm fussing at my kids for getting mud and snow on the carpet.

Wow, I have nothing to complain about.

Eight--the tattle-tale

Eight is the Star of the Week in his second grade class, a fact which he has not let us forget since the minute he found out last week that his turn in the spotlight was approaching. He loves being the center of attention. I can't imagine where he gets that from.

Ever since last Monday afternoon, Eight has been planning this week. He started working on his poster about five minutes after he was dismissed from school and started selecting photographs to share with the class. By Tuesday night he had each day planned out: the Guessing Jar, the Surprise Box, the snack he'd share with his friends, the book he'd read to them...everything. The boy was SO unbelievably excited. One might even call him obsessed.

Today was the Surprise Box day. He got to take a box to school and the class had to guess what was in it. He filled it with his "puppets." These are lunch bag puppets that he makes with markers and decorates to look like characters from Star Wars (or members of his family). He only has about two hundred of them, so clearly his collection is not quite complete yet. May I just mention that the $1.99 I spent on brown paper lunch bags was the best money I ever spent. The child stays busy for HOURS!

Anyway, today he was sharing the puppets with his class. His teacher said, "That one looks kinda like a worn-out Santa." Eight looked at her and said, "Um, that one is my dad."

Poor Mrs. Jones. She said, "Oh, don't tell your daddy I said that." So, of course he did.

And of course I had to blog about it. :-)

I Wonder if this is how George Lucas started out...

My kids are bored. When they get bored they argue. When they argue Mommy gets frustrated.

In the interest of keeping the peace while Daddy works all weekend, we've made what we hope isn't going to turn out to be a very costly error in judgment...

We handed over our family video camera and let their creativity flow.

They've been working on stop-motion videography for months now, but always with Daddy's supervision. Yesterday Dan wanted to watch football and I just wanted to read (big surprise there, huh?). Dan set up the tripod and showed them how to operate the camera without him. And they've been making movies non-stop ever since. Most of them are goofy, but some are quite creative. They've been using all their action figures, toys, even the dog as characters and doing their own voice-overs, sound effects, and music.

Maybe someday they'll be multi-billionaire film makers and they can take care of their mother in her old age. At their Oscar acceptance speech they'll say, "And we owe it all to our Daddy who taught us how to use a video camera on Thanksgiving weekend while Mommy sat on her butt reading romance novels," and I'll nod and smile while I wipe away my tears of pride.

Hey, it could happen.

Seven is Now EIGHT!

What the @#% just happened? I turned around for five minutes and my wee little baby, the last baby in this family, my sweet little blond-haired, blue-eyed miracle baby went and turned himself into a tall, strapping eight-year-old. I did not give permission for that.

What happened to the little baby who cried every time we tried to strap him in the stroller and walk around the block for more than fifteen minutes because he wasn't being held? What happened to the defiant toddler who looked at his daddy and said, (hands on hips) "You not my pawent. I not you child." Where is the two-year-old who potty-trained himself and said, "I not wear dose yucky diapers. I a big boy." And what about that three year old who used to follow his brother around and call him "Beebubby?"

Then there was the four-year-old with the bowl cut. The kid who had the lead in the preschool play who said all his lines LIVE when the other kids' parts were prerecorded. What happened to that five-year-old who went off to the first day of kindergarten and said, "It's okay Mommy. Even though I'm in kindergarten now, I'll always be your baby," when I cried. And remember the six-year-old who started first grade and said, "You don't have to walk me to class on the first day, Mom. I know what I'm doing."

Now he's a second grader at a brand new school. He forgot his lunchbox the other day and he didn't cry or call Grama to bring it to him. He just decided to man up and eat the school lunch--chicken fajitas! He's brave enough to sing in front of a crowd, but he's still afraid of the dark. He would spend every moment of his life working on some kind of craft if we let him. His grades and conduct are awesome and every teacher loves him. He's grown about ten feet taller in the last six months, but he still sucks up and uses a baby voice when he wants something.

Or when he senses that his mommy is just not quite ready to let him be a big kid. Sigh. It's inevitable...he's growing up right before my very eyes.

I can't wait to see how he turns out. Wait, yes I can.

Oh yes I can.

Because he'll still be my baby, no matter how old he is. He promised.

A Few Pix

I can't post the pictures from Halloween because they're in my camera at home and I'm at Mom's.

But I can post a couple of pictures from last week's dress-up days at school. It was Red Ribbon Week for the Just Say No club, so we dressed up each day to speak out against drugs. Monday we dressed all in red, Tuesday was mis-matched day, and Wednesday was jammies day. I was wearing my Eleven, stop talking and look at the @#$% camera face.Thursday we wore silly hats and I wish we had a picture of it because some friends at school asked me if I was confused and thought it was Dress up Like a Pimp Day. Yeah, I looked that good in my fuzzy pink vest, my pink cowgirl hat with black and white hatband, and my black, pink, and white boa. H-O-T, lemme tell you.

Friday we dressed as what we want to be when we grow up. Mom only took pictures on those two days because she couldn't catch all three of us being still at the same time.

I want to be a Cleveland Indians baseball player and the boys want to be crytozoologists. You mean, you don't know what that is? Yeah, neither did most of the kids at their school, so they had to explain their costumes all day. A cryptozoologist is a scientist who studies evidence that suggests that there may be a living animal that is not yet recognized by science--like Sasquatch, Yeti, the Loch Ness monster, etc. My kids are obsessed with cryptids and can name some kinds you've never heard of in your life. It's crazy.

Anyway, here's the picture...

We had a good time, but my feet were ACHING after wearing my cleats all day. Ugh. Then we drove home to Smyrna to trick-or-treat with our best friends, the Gaffords. Too much Fun!

More pictures soon, including Hannah's favorite pumpkin.

My Kid the Waif

Seven's teacher approached me today and asked, "What's this I hear about Dan losing his job?" I hadn't told her yet, so I assumed Seven said something. His teacher said, "Yeah, I handed out the Scholastic book order catalogs and explained to the kids that the class benefits from their orders because we can get free books for our class library."



A little while later Seven went up to her and said, "I'd really like to help my class get free books, but I don't think I'll get to order anything this time because my daddy is about to lose his job and mommy says we don't have any extra money because we have to save our money to buy food. "



So maybe my speech at Michael's last weekend actually sank in after all!



Oh and apparently he was asking for extra hugs last week at school because his daddy was out of town and he needed some "teacher hugs" to replace the "daddy hugs" that he was missing out on.



Does that kid know how to go for the sympathy factor or what? I can just picture him as one of those doe-eyed, waif-like children in paintings with puppies, kittens, and wittle bunny wabbits.

Can't you?

LNT goes bye bye

Well, it's official so I can announce it now...



Linens N Things is liquidating.



Yep, this sucks. Looks like my sweet, darling husband will be looking for a new job after Christmas. After ten years with the company, he's going to be out of work.

Anybody else wanna gripe about the economy? Leave me a comment. I'll be crawling under the covers, curling into the fetal position and sucking my thumb, so it may be a while before I get back to you.

House Viewing, finally

I never thought it would happen, but someone actually made an appointment to come see our house. I know, right?

Of course, since we'd all but given up hope after four and a half months on the market, the house was not at all clean. Our realtor called and said, "There's an agent in your neighborhood who has a client who wants to see your house." I said, "In our neighborhood? How much time do we have?" and he replied, "Well, they should be pulling in your driveway any minute." So I said, "Well, crap! Thanks for the advance notice," and hung up. Dainty, aren't I?

Then I yelled upstairs to the boys, "Code red! Code red! Someone's coming to see the house. Let's move, move move, people." They were involved in some kind of elaborate action figure game, so they were deeply reluctant to break it down and put their toys away. When I threatened instant and painful death, they complied. I scrambled around shoving things into cabinets and making beds (hey--it was Saturday!) and praying that the lovely realtor ran into some unforseen traffic in our little suburban enclave.

No such luck. They pulled into the driveway about two minutes after I hung up the phone. I strapped the dog's leash on her, shoved the kids out the back door, and walked over to Grace's house, where we stood in their driveway watching people go through our house. They were from out of town and were on a house-hunting blitz, trying to see as many properties as they could in one weekend. Maybe that was the reason they only stayed at our house for five minutes. Yeah, right. I'm sure they loved the place but they were just in a big hurry. Right.

At this point I don't really care if it sells or not. Dan even said we should just take it off the market with the economy being what it is. Our future is uncertain for reasons I will wait until after Tuesday to divulge. I'm just glad that we finally had someone come through the stupid house. I'd rather they had come through during the summer when I actually cleaned it every stinking day, but whatever.

Hakuna matata. No worries.

It's Official: I've Become My Mother

It all started when I dismissed some policy I didn't agree with by saying, "Well, that's just stupid." Dan called me on it immediately, since that's one of Mom's famous catch phrases.

Then, fast forward to Friday night at the birthday bash. Mom and I were both talking about the quality of the pizza. We bought the "3 medium for $15" deal and were disappointed with the results. They use a different crust to be able to sell it for that price.

Mom and I looked at each other and said, (in unison, in stereo, completely in sync with each other without even trying),"I like the Pan Pizza better."

We laughed at our "Jinx, buy me a Coke," moment and then made it worse by adding (also in stereo), "Because it's greasier." We even made the exact same hand gesture to indicate the greasiness of the pie. Let me tell you, it was an eerie moment for both of us.

This morning it really hit home how much I'm turning into my mom. For the first two weeks we stayed at Mom's house, I kept missing the trash can when I'd throw something away in the bathroom because Mom's waste basket is to the right of the toilet. At home we keep the trash can to the left of the toilet. Today, at my own house, I dropped a tissue on the floor. To the right of the toilet. Missing the waste basket entirely.

AAAAHHHHHH! I've become brainwashed.

But, since my Mom is one of the best people I know, that's not entirely a bad thing.

Happy Birthday, Eleven

To my ELEVEN-year-old:

I cannot believe you're eleven years old. It seems like just ten minutes ago that you were trying your level best to make sure that I never slept for more than ten minutes at a time. Ever. That's not really an exaggeration. When you were a baby, I drove and drove and drove around town because the only time you ever slept was in a moving vehicle. I even took a nap in the Kroger parking lot once. You logged a lot of frequent flier miles sleeping in your swing next to the couch so I could catch a few Zs.

I spent the first three years of your life wandering around in a sleepy fog. I enrolled you in Mother's Day Out when you were two, just so I could get a nap. You'd wake up at 5:00 every morning, raring to go. Then I'd put you in the car to drive to MDO (which started at 9:00) and you'd fall asleep in the car on the way there. I'd turn around and drive back home, figuring that you'd have a really bad day if I woke you up to go to school, only to have you wake up on the transfer from the car seat to the house. You'd be ready to party and I'd be yawning my head off. Then I'd turn around and drive back to school to drop your butt off.

I finally got to the point where you'd fall asleep in the car and I'd pull into the garage, leave you asleep in the car, and leave the door to the house open so I'd hear you when you woke up. Which you always did--way too soon.

Now that you're eleven, you still avoid sleep whenever possible. You hit the ground running first thing in the morning and keep going until you fall down late into the evening. Daddy and I call you the Energizer Bunny. It's often exhausting to spend time with you, but we're insanely jealous of your energy level.

You're one of the smartest, sweetest, funniest, most talented and kind-hearted kids I know and I'm so proud to call you my son.

Happy Birthday, Eleven.

Quick Prayer Request

Seven is feeling better now--thanks for asking about my baby. Mom is doing pretty well. She's been cleared to drive for short distances, but she's supposed to continue to stay off her feet as much as possible. Ten wants to stop taking his meds, so we'll see how that goes. Pray for his teachers.

I'm going to have my first observation in twelve years this Tuesday. YIKES! If I had any memory of what I'm supposed to do, it's buried under piles of papers that are waiting to be graded. I have a ton of paperwork to do before then, so I'd better get back to work.

Supporting the Medical Community

If you were worried about the healthcare providers in Tennessee going out of business, don't. My family has done our part this week to keep all the doctors in filet mignon and caviar. Seven went to the doctor (Minute Clinic--still loving them) once, Ten went twice, Mom had surgery on her foot, and I think I have an ear infection which will send me there some time this week. Yep, we're a very healthy bunch.

Ten developed a fever blister after being sick last weekend. Apparently he touched his mouth and then rubbed his eye because he spread the virus all over his eye. It was nasty. Naturally the Minute Clinic doesn't treat that (but I still heart them anyway) and we don't have a new doctor up here yet, so Dan had to take the day off work Tuesday to drive Ten all the way back to Smyrna to see his regular doctor. He missed a day of school but made up all the work by the next day. He's lost five pounds in the last month because he's been back on his ADHD patch since school started and the doctor is worried about that. So now we're trying to cram him full of food every chance we get.

Dan also took the day off work Thursday to take care of my mother after her foot surgery. Is he a great son-in-law or what? Mom is doing pretty well, considering what a mess her foot was in. They replaced the knuckle in her big toe, straightened the next two toes, and removed a bone spur that had turned into a bunion. She can't drive for at least a week (probably more like two or three) and she's bored out of her mind, but doing okay. (I think my sister-in-law and I will probably end up with some new knit scarves and jewelry out of this because Mom needs to keep her hands busy.) She didn't get violently ill after anesthesia like she usually does, so we were grateful. Especially Dan.

We talked to another realtor about listing our house with him. We're going to have to drop our price significantly, which has us pretty bummed out. It limits the amount we'll be able to spend on another house up here, where houses are more expensive. We have a huge list of things to do to the house this week to get it ready for the market. Again. Argh.

I miss my friends in Smyrna. Hi guys. :-(

LABOR day

I found this over at Shannon's blog, Rocks in My Dryer, and it made me laugh. Any time you get a bunch of moms together for any length of time the conversation invariably turns to the topic How I Gave Birth. So now we can share it with all of the blogosphere.

How long were your labors?

Kid #1, 26 hours. He still takes forever to get ready to go somewhere.

Kid #2, about six hours, I think. Honestly, it was all a blur of pain and my then three year old singing the theme song from Zoboomafoo at the top of his lungs from his car seat while Dan drove through a rainy construction zone at midnight to get me to the hospital.

How did you know you were in labor?

Kid #1, I was induced because I was suffering from HELLP syndrome. Then my water broke in the hospital bed in the middle of the night.

Kid #2, Horrible pain which started while shopping for groceries at Kroger. No one told me it would feel like I was extremely constipated. I didn't know I was in labor--I just thought I needed more fiber.

Where did you deliver?

Kid #1, Centennial Women's Hospital. Where I didn't have an epidural correctly inserted into my spinal cavity until the very last minute. Then I slept through the delivery. Then I threw up on the operating table. Good times.

Kid #2, Baptist Hospital. They have really good painkillers in post-op. Unfortunately I found out that I was allergic to most of them. Is it any wonder I stopped at two children?

Drugs?

Yes, please. Oh, you mean did I take them then? Heck yeah, sister. They kinda frown on doing a C-section without them. Although I came close with Kid #1.

C-section?

Um, yeah. I'm 5'2" and both my kids were eight and a half pounds. You do the math. Kid #1 refused to come out. He always has been stubborn.

Kid #2 has his father's sense of direction. He was trying to come out sideways. The triage nurse checked me and felt his ribs.

Who delivered?

Doctors. No underwater births with midwives and New Age music for me. I thought that's what I wanted when I was pregnant with Kid #1, but after the first 20 hours of labor I said, "I don't care what you have to do, just get this thing out of me."

The doctor for the first kid was awful. Just awful. She had very rough hands during every examination for the entire pregnancy. When she pulled the screaming little monster out of me she held him aloft over my head, dripping blood on my face. Then she didn't notice when I couldn't get the oxygen mask off my face to throw up because my arms were weighted down with 80 pounds of warm blankets in a failed attempt to keep me from violently shivering during the operation.

The second one was the on-call doctor because it was 1:18 in the morning. I liked her so much I made her my regular doctor after that night. She fixed the horrible scar that the other doctor left behind after the first C-section.

Wow. Is this blog great birth control for women who haven't had kids yet, or what?

Share your Labor Day story if you want. Check out some others at Shannon's blog if you dare. (Insert maniacal laughter here.)

Not Spoiled

I'm a thirty-nine year old woman whose Mommy packed her lunch today.

And I am okay with that.

Not only did she pack my lunch today, but guess what else she did. Last night when she saw the brown and pink polka-dot pants I'd laid out to wear to work today she asked me if I had jewelry to match. I said, "Well, I'll just wear my pink gemstone earrings," and she said, "No, I'll make you something else."

Yes. You read that right. She made me some jewelry right there on the spot. She plopped right down with pink and brown beads and totally made me some dangly earrings and a bracelet to match my cute pants and pink tank top.

No, I'm not too spoiled. Not at all.

:-)