I Need To Impress, So I'll Tell You What a Poor Mother I Am

People! Holy Shite! The pressure is on! I've been linked to and my most recent post sucked donkey arse.

And linked to by Jennifer at Playgroups Are No Place For Children, no less. Holy Shite! What do I do? What do I DOOOOOOO????? I can't disappoint.

Hey, wait a minute...at first I thought she was trying to make it up to me for stealing my pretend boyfriend, but I'm beginning to think she's just trying to stick it to me even harder. Seriously? What could I have possibly done to tick her off enough to steal my pretend boyfriend AND stress me out unnecessarily? Is it because I sided with Tate that one time? That just took me FOREVER to find. Is she still mad about that and trying to get back at me?

Or, does she just appreciate my wry, self-depricating sense of humor. It's probably that. Right?

Either way, here's what I was going to share with you today. I'm trying to dazzle you with my amazingly shitty parenting skills.
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I was planning on telling you all, as I shared with Jennifer H over at Thursday Drive, that I am NOT going to win any Mommy of the Year Awards any time soon.

For the past few months (MONTHS people, months!) Dylan has been driving us CRAZY with this new found terror of power tools and any other device that makes any sort of noise. He screams, he cries, he runs away in terror. Most importantly, he covers his ears. We didn't think much of it, since covering his ears is his way of "hiding." When strangers talk to him, or he thinks he's in trouble, he covers his ears. We have no idea where this came from. But, we figured his newly developed imagination had led him to believe that noisy things were somehow dangerous and it would be in his best interest to stay away from them.

Jump to last week, when we found out he has a DOUBLE ear infection. Ouch, right? Probably painful. Shove some antibiotics down his throat and guess what? He's not terrified of noises anymore. He covers his ears when he's anticipating them, but then he takes his hands away. No more terror. No more tears and running away.

OMG, people. It was his EARS! He wasn't just being a pain in the ass, he HAD a pain in the ass, or ear drum, as the case may be. How long could this have been going on? It's been MONTHS that he's been super sensitive to noises, but it NEVER occurred to me it was because his ears HURT him.

If you feel the need to call Child Protective Services on me, please just give me a heads up so I can get the matches away from Zach before they show up. I'd appreciate it.

And now, a cute baby picture to show you that at least ONE of my children is happy and content and well cared for.

The Full Moon Can Kiss My Ass

I don't really buy into all that lunar bullsh*t, birth signs, tarot cards, palm readers, etc., but today? Today I think there might be something to it. Tonight is a full moon (and a full lunar eclipse no less) and I've had 20 hours of nothing but friggin' headaches. Not actual headaches, but figurative, this situation is a pain in the ass, headaches.

We've having tile laid in our dining room/kitchen area. The floor has been 1/2 linoleum and half concrete for the past year and a half. (The story behind that is coming, trust me. With lots of pictures, with captions!) We bought this beautiful porcelain tile in June of 2006 and made sure to order plenty so that we would have enough when we finally got around to laying it. So what happened? Yep. We're short. WAY freakin' short. Somehow we either mis-measured (DJ) or mis-ordered (Me). So, there's this bare part in front of the sink/dishwasher/door to garage area. I called to order more tile. Yep. No longer available. Lots of scratching of heads, chins and frowning later, we gave up and called it a night.

I spent this morning on the phone with the manufacturer/importer in SPAIN with them giving me the numbers of different tile stores throughout the U.S. who had ordered the tile within the last year, and MIGHT still have some in stock. Fingers crossed. But alas, no.

OH! And before I got on the phone with Spain this morning? Zach threw up ALL OVER himself. And me! And the couch! And the floor!*

And now back to my tile saga. So, with my tail between my legs, the boys and I headed over to the tile store to talk to my tile lady (is it bad that she remembers me from 1 1/5 years ago?) and get some ideas for WHAT THE HELL TO DO WITH MY BARE SPOT. After much discussion and picture drawing by me, and a trip to the bathroom for Dylan (!), we finally decided on laying down tile that looks like wood. My hope is that, when we go to sell the house, the people who buy it will just think we made a bad design choice instead of thinking we're complete assholes who spent a shitload of money on tile and couldn't freaking order the right amount.

OH! And while we were at the tile store? Dylan decided to be a pain in the ass. They have this cool castle built with manufactured stone product with toys in it to keep the little guys occupied while their parents make shitty design choices pick out their tile. He decides that he doesn't want to play with the blocks IN the castle, he wants to play with them by me. So he starts to pull the little wagon-y block holder over to me. I tell him "No, you need to leave those in the castle and play with them there." To which he replies "NO. I don't want to" and do you know what he does? The little bastard DUMPS the wagon-y thing out on the floor in the middle of the tile showroom. I almost killed him. I dragged him and the wagon-y thing back to the castle and bent down to give him a piece of my mind when, WHAP! OW!, I smack my forehead into the book shelf.

So, now my figurative headache has become a full blown REAL headache and my beautiful tile floor is costing me an extra $250.00. Right on.

Like I said, the full moon can kiss my ass.

*Don't worry Grandmaother, I think Zach threw up because he coughed really hard, not because he's coming down with some stomach bug. Although the stomach bug would not surprise me one bit. Just add it to my list of headaches.

Put Me In A Straight-Jacket and Institutionalize Me

Okay, so I realize, much to DJ's chagrin, that I've outed myself to you people as being completely insane. On more than one occassion. But I really, seriously, truly need to be tossed into the Looney Bin. That's probably not politically correct. The Crazy House? No, that doesn't work either. The Insane Asylum? Do those even still exist? Okay, whatever. You get the point.

But after last night, it's been reconfirmed. Sign it, Stamp it, Certify it and stick it in the mail. I'm Certifiable.

It all started out innocently enough.

Put Zach to bed. Check. Sleeping soundly, no wheezing, hacking or visible discomfort.

Put Dylan to bed. Check. "I don't need a book" means I just want to go to sleep. Fine. "Good night. No Bugs. See you in the Mornin!"

Cut to 3:00am. I'm awakened by something. I'm not sure what, just something. I listen. It's hard to hear over DJ's snoring breathing (he's still stuffy). Then I hear it. Dylan coughing. No, HACKING. Bad. Like, really bad. I jump out of bed and race to his room. Um, no. He's sound asleep. Doesn't even wake up when I go bounding in there.

Okay, back to bed. I must have been dreaming and it woke me up and I was uneasy from the dream and was still half (or 3/4) asleep and thought I heard something, but I really didn't and I need to just forget about it and go back to sleep. Nothing to see here, folks. Head on pillow, eyes closed. Almost asleep.

Again, there's something. I roll over, sit up and listen. Definitely, something. Coming from outside, maybe? It sounds like someone screaming, crying. A toddler? Outside at 3:00am in the 40 degree weather? No. Maybe? I open my window and listen. Muffled freeway noises. Night noises. "You're hearing things" I tell myself. There are no abandoned children wailing outside your house in the middle of the night. "But" I think, "remember that urban legend about the murderer who plays a recording of a baby crying to get people to open their doors and then he attacks and kills them. What if it's that? What if it's NOT that and someone has ACTUALLY left a baby outside my door. Clearly, they've seen my awesome parenting skills and have chosen ME as the best person to raise their child." CLEARLY, the don't read this blog. There is no noise, there is no abandoned child, there is no serial killer playing tapes of crying babies. Just my imagination, once again running wild. So, back to bed. Again.

Again, something. My attention is drawn to the baby monitor. ZACH! OMG, It's Zach! I, literally, FLY out of bed and into his room. He's lying there, asleep, making these creepy little moaney-type noises upon every exhale. HOLY SHIT. There must be something wrong with him. Some terrible case of RSV, newly developed from his little innocent cough. His lungs don't work and he can't get enough air. (Mind you, I JUST commented to Mrs. Flinger that RSV is not nearly as dangerous in older babies as it is in little newborns, but that realistic outlook doesn't cross my mind at 3:15 in the morning. Or when it's my child. DUH, I'm prone to freaking out.) So I turn on the hallway light, pick my baby up and inspect him. Blue lips? No. Bluish fingernails? No. He starts to fuss. Oh, shit. I'm waking him up. Insert pacifier. He fidgets, opens his eyes. Looks at me like "Where the hell did you come from?" and gives me a little smile. I sit down with him in the rocking chair and get him back to sleep, all the while I monitor his breathing for any irregularities. There are none, save for the occassional moaney-type noise upon exhale and occassional little cough. Put him back to bed. Watch him for a few minutes to make sure he's fine. Go back to bed myself. Lie there, thinking about the HUGE probability that he's going to stop breathing at ANY MOMENT and return to his room to bring him to bed with me. At least I can keep my eye on him, and in the event of his imminent death, I can be there for CPR until the paramedics arrive.

So what happens? I bring him to bed with me, he sleeps. And BREATHES . I lie there, wide awake. Still freaked out about the serial killer and the abandoned child. Once I forget about those things, I start to think about, what else? BLOGGING. Holy shit, people. I laid there, in bed, with my breathing child, at 3:30 AM, and thought about how I would relay this whole incident to you, the internets. Really, I did. For, like, an hour maybe. I kid you not.

Now, if thinking there was a serial killer playing the sound of a crying baby, or that someone would actually PICK me to raise their abandoned child, OR that I was convinced my baby was about to die because he was making a kinda funny noise WHILE BREATHING, if all that wasn't enough evidence to prove that I need to be committed, surely the fact that I laid in bed and wrote my blog post IN MY HEAD about the whole situation is proof enough. Yes?

All I can say is that I hope they have wireless interent in the psychiatric hospital.

Oh, and this post was much more amusing in my head in the middle of the night than it is right now. Why is that?

Some Randumb Stuff

And yes, I know random is spelled incorrectly.

1. Quart, this is for you. It's too late to call you and I'm afraid I'll forget (again) but it totally makes me think of your guest post. Swistle has created a new blog, dedicated completely to baby naming quandries. Maybe, sorta, kinda helpful?
2. I have taken the leap and decided to commit myself to participating in Make Me Laugh Monday. See? I even added the button to my sidebar. It's actually perfect timing, as I'm changing my schedule and will be going to Santa Barbara on Mondays now (instead of the usual Tuesday) so this will give me an opportunity to prepare my post ahead of time. Kinda like I do on Friday. I will most certainly be using other people's material as putting the pressure on myself to come up with something funny may just be too much.
3. Dylan is back to pooping in a diaper. I can't handle the stress of FIGHTING with him about going on the potty, so I've given in and am letting him use the diaper for that ONLY. Even through his little illness he did a SUPA FAB job of peeing on the potty, even out in public. Now, I'm back to dealing with Zach's shpoop. He's got whatever little bug Dylan had and, although he's (at this point) not nearly as sick as Dylan was, he's got somethin' nasty happening in his diaper. Poor kid. It looks something like it did in the picture from this post, although the most recent diaper was green and EVERYWHERE. See, aren't you glad I share these things with you? How would you survive if I didn't? Really.

So, yeah. I guess that's about it. Let's recap, shall we?

• Swistle created a new blog dedicated to baby naming quandries
• Check back tomorrow for something to make you laugh. Every time I see it again I think it's funnier than the last time.
• I continue to share entirely too much about my children's poop. Yet, you keep coming back. I'm not sure what to think about that.

A Dylan Update

So, Zach's appointment turned into Dylan's appointment today. Of course, the Doctor is going out of town for TWO weeks after today, so he was booked solid and had no time to fit Dylan in. I probably could have seen another Doc, but I'm a pain in the ass like that. So Zach got the boot and Dylan got to go see the Doctor. The entire time he said "I don't want to see the Doctor." "I don't want to be sick." "I want to go HOOOOMMMMMEEEEE." It was all very sad and pathetic.

Turns out he has TWO NASTY ear infections. Who knew? Ear infections were honestly something that had NEVER even crossed my mind. I'm shocked. SHOCKED. But it makes sense. And, following a HEAVY dose of antibiotic (for the ears), Claritin (for the congestion) and Tylenol (for the pain), he's starting to act like an ALMOST normal Dylan. So, I'm going to keep him heavily drugged for the next few days and heavily anti-biotic'd for the next 10 days, and then we'll be in the clear. This just makes me wonder how many times before he's had an ear infection that we never knew about. He still won't tell us that his ears hurt.

Oh, and DJ's sick now, too. What IS it with men?

And, a little quiz:

Q. What is the one thing you DO NOT want to hear when your child is sick?
A. We're out of wine. Uh-Oh, Mommy. Look (at what I just threw up).
I heard that at least four times in the past two days. F.U.N.

Friday Non-Recipe, 2/15/08

Sorry, my peeps. No recipe today. Dylan's sick with a cough/cold/fever (averaging about 102) combo and has severely inhibited my internet time. Damn kids. Oh, and my Zach time. Poor neglected child.

SO, I wasn't able to put together a recipe for today. I know you're disappointed.

I did make these the other day and they were yummy. All you have to do is add water and stir. So, unless you can't measure or stir, it's hard to mess up, unless you forget they're in your oven and burn them. So, don't do that, and you're good to go.

Oh, and apparently you can buy a 22 pack on Am*zon.com. I'm too tired from spending the night with a hacking, talking in his sleep (who knew?) (Almost!) Three Year Old to spend time finding a better picture or fixing this one. My apologies.

Hope y'all have a good day. Zach has his 6 month (OMG! SIX months! Gah!) well baby visit today, so wish him luck. Hopefully the fat in his chubby little thighs will take the brunt of the needle blows and he'll come out relatively unscathed. Wish me him luck.