Weird Science

The other day Daddy and Little Man were on a walk in our fab new back yard; all 1.5 acres of it. As the two bonding outdoors men walked around our pool that currently looks like a pond, Little Man made an observation. "Daddy, those frogs are doing horsey back". Why yes they are Little Man, hehe. I remember life growing up with a pool in the backyard; frogs. Now I know why. So rather than dwell on what we will deal with when we pull off the cover in May, Daddy decided to use this as a learning opportunity. Don't worry Aunt Tammy, we are not teaching sex education yet...well not totally. Daddy scooped up the trail of eggs with a net a couple of days after the walk and placed them in a fish tank in our laundry room. We talked to Little Man about what will happen over the next few days and will document it with photos. Little Man was intrigued and wanted to visit the tank often to "check on the poles". He told me they will grow mouths soon so they can get food. That is good Little Man, I have enough mouths to feed. Daddy may still have a nice store front, but there is a reason he no longer carries inventory.

When Frogs mate, the male frog tends to clasp the female underneath in an embrace called amplexus (I Guess Little Man was not aware of this term and thought it looked more like a horsey back ride). He literally climbs on her back, reaches his arms around her "waist", either just in front of the hind legs, just behind the front legs, or even around the head. Amplexus can last several days (braggers)! Usually, it occurs in the water (yeah, like my pool!), though some species, mate on land or even in trees (hey, can;t be picky right). While in some cases, complicated courting behavior occurs before mating (true of humans too), many species of frogs are known for attempting to mate with anything that moves which isn't small enough to eat (hmm, sounds familiar)!

Frogs and Toads tend to lay many many eggs because there are many hazards between fertilization and full grown frogness! Those eggs that die tend to turn white or opaque (how about that, I wondered about those little guys). The lucky ones that actually manage to hatch still start out on a journey of many perils. Life starts right as the central yolk splits in two (let's not debate when life begins but this might give us an idea). It then divides into four, then eight, etc.- until it looks a bit like a raspberry inside a jello cup (I am not sure I can eat jello again, never like raspberries). Soon, the embryo starts to look more and more like a tadpole, getting longer and moving about in it's egg

Let me explain something. I am not a girly girl, but I am not a huge fan of things that crawl and are slimy. I like to camp but prefer to do so with some luxuries like a space heater and at least a community shower area. I need a place to do my business that does not involve leaves. With that said I have to tell you I struggle with not acting like things that gross me out don't gross me out. Little Man is already a little put off by stuff and I certainly don't want to confirm any concerns he has. I must say though, every time I go to the laundry room and I see that fish tank with that slimy confetti string of eggs I shudder a little. I have not actually touched the snake of eggs but in my mind I can feel the individual bumps as I run my finger over the eggs. Yuck. I should stop thinking about that, or just stop doing laundry.

I have to thank the University of Google for my scientific references. Although I have a B.S and will soon complete my MBA, the S includes very little science and a little more bull.

Three's a Crowd

I know the topic of the family bed can be a controversial one. Like any topic that is heavily debated, you will find material to support or oppose the subject. In the end you have to do what is best for you and your family. When Little Man came home in June of 2005, we decided that co-sleeping was an idea we liked. Little Man slept in a co-sleeper "box" in the middle of the bed for about six weeks. This allowed us to get much needed rest as well as be available for his every need. At six weeks of age he moved to his crib and was a great sleeper; taking regular naps and sleeping up to fourteen hours a night. When we brought The Babe home in November of 2006 things were a little different. We lived in a two story house at the time and did not want him to go upstairs just yet. We had a huge master closet so we made that his nursery. Don't worry, there was room for a crib, rocker, changing table, and still room for clothes. The close proximity to us also provided us comfort when he was diagnosed with RSV at seven weeks of age and sent home with an oxygen saturation monitor. The Babe would sleep with us on occasion, primarily when we were so sleep deprived that we could not get up from a feeding or when Daddy was out of town. The Babe moved upstairs to his own room when he was nine months old. Now that we have moved to a one story house we are all on the same level and it is great!

About three months ago Little Man started waking in the middle of the night and crawling into bed with us. We thought it was sweet and did not see any harm in it. When we moved to the new house we did not fight it because we knew he was a little anxious and thought it might help the transition.

Enough is Enough. I want my bed, and sleep back. It might make Little Man feel safe and cozy but I am sleep deprived and grumpy.

I love Little Man and cuddling with him but he has taken to sleeping horizontally in the bed and by the end of the night either Daddy or I end up in his bed. We tried moving him back to his bed when he sneaks in but end up waking The Babe with fits of screaming. We tried threatening to put up the "baby gate" but that didn't work. Daddy thought we should tell him there are alligators under the bed but I thought that might come back to haunt us.

A few nights ago we saw a small glimmer of hope. Instead of putting the gate on his room, we put it on ours. He came to the door and called for us. Then he rattled the gate. We told him to go back to bed. Screams. I got up and gently placed him back in bed. He asked me to lay down with him. I told him I would check on him in ten minutes; of course knowing we would both be back to sleep by then. A couple of hours later the scenario began again but rather than get up I simply told him to go back to bed. He did.

We might be on to something.

I know this is not the end of it. I am guilty of taking naps with him and falling asleep at night when I put him down. We get in bed and tell stories of the day and talk of what we will do tomorrow. This time of the day is my favorite time with Little Man. He has so much energy it is impossible for me to get him to settle down during the day. This seems to be the time he is ready to give me some cuddles and Mommy Time.

We seem to focus on all the firsts that our children experience. What about the lasts? Rather than focus on the fact that this is the last time he will sleep with us I will focus on the fact that I am helping him be independent.

Maybe the ENT surgery will help this too?

Thursday Thirteen

Thirteen Reasons we are going to take Little Man's Tonsils and Adenoids while retubing:

1. A child not yet the age of three should not have already had strep three+ times.

2. A child that had tubes fall out in November should not have had 7 ear infections since.

3. He still has fluid on his right ear since his last ear infection over three weeks ago.

4. Doing it now will avoid missed school and socialization once in school.

5. He is a mouth breather when he sleeps. Of course, now how will I be able to tell he is asleep without actually going in his room?

6. What three year old wouldn't want to eat ice cream and smoothies for a week.

7. Research shows sleep apnea is related to cardiac issues later in life.

8. Fewer antibiotics because he will be sick less (hopefully).

9. Better sleep for him means better sleep for me.

10. Aren't the adenoids pretty much like the appendix...useless.

11. Maybe we can finally turn down the radio.

12. A cranky three year old post op has to be better than a cranky teenager post op.

13. He is our test child anyway.

I will keep you posted on the routine surgery and when they can get him in. I am very optimistic that this is the best thing for Little Man. Not only have I attended Google University to consider our options, I have received lots of advice from others to support our decision.

Wordless Wednesday

Chaos for Little Man...Hilarity for The Babe

Order is Restored

You say that like it's a bad thing

Am I the only parent that gets a kick out of eaves dropping on the conversations of their children? It can be a real hoot to listen to the dialogue between a 3 year old and 18 month old when they don;t know you are listening. The other day, the boys were playing in The Babe's room. I am not sure what they were doing exactly, and I am not sure if what came out of Little Man's mouth was in jest or if he was mad at The Babe. Either way it was funny.

"You little Masterson"

I could not help but chuckle. Obviously Little Man pays attention to what Mommy says to The Babe. I am one of those moms that uses middle names when the boys are doing somethign they should not. You know, "Babe Masterson get off the cat". "Little Man Michael get off your brother".

Brother must have felt The Babe was doing something that was not safe and was looking out for him. At least that is the way I will tell it.

Birth Story Carnival-Ride #2

Some people get sick on carnival rides. Some get so sick they decide never to ride again. Others forget easily and take another chance. After all, not all rides are the same so we can’t assume we will have the same experience on a different ride. I am a gluten and decided to take another spin.

When Daddy and I found out we were having Little Man we already knew we wanted another child. Timing was important though. Daddy wanted to try for “Irish Twins” (ya know, like Brittany Spears but without the white trash). I told Daddy I would consider it after I recovered from delivering Little Man.

For my immediate, or church family, you may want to skip the next part. You may have a hard time looking at me at the next dinner or at the communion alter.

There was the fear of getting back on the bike after delivery, but nothing a few margaritas won’t fix. Nana Joetta came down to Florida from Missouri to meet the “grand” child and we took advantage of the opportunity to go out with other adults for our first night out as parents. We stared at one of my favorite spots in Bonita Springs; Cantina Laredo. “The Cantina serves authentic Mexican dishes in a sophisticated atmosphere.” You might question how sophisticated this group was by the end of the story. After dinner we head to Dwyer’s Irish pub for drinks and dancing. By the end of the night we are crashing a friend’s pool that stood us up for Kelly Clarkson of all things’ serves them right. When their eight year old daughter came out side and asked the home owner why we didn’t swim during the day he said “honey, that just wouldn’t be as fun”. Gracious Jim finally said we didn’t have to go home but couldn’t stay there. We headed to our neighborhood pool. About an hour into our dip we are rudely interrupted by our neighbor security that informs us the pool area has new security cameras and accuses us of “indecent exposure”. As mother of a four week old, I was pretty proud of myself and explained I was far from indecent under the circumstances. All the couples headed home, which fortunately was walking distance from the pool.

**This is the part that does not need details but I will say I lost my fear and got back on the bike**

The next morning we relive the night by telling stories to Daddy’s mom. She is so cool.

Daddy and I realize we have a good chance of getting pregnant soon; after all, they say you are pretty fertile after delivery. That is why they suggest abstinence until the six week checkup. At my six week check I ask my midwife for forgiveness rather than permission. She tells me all is well since I was healing well and obviously comfortable.

Weeks turn into months and what had once been “for the fun of it” turns into “trying” to conceive again. It was so easy to conceive Little Man what is the deal this time. I remind myself how lucky we are and how beautiful Little Man is; maybe we are meant to only have one. I feel guilty for being so selfish; after all there are lots of people that don’t even get pregnant once. We move back to Missouri in March of 2006 and I visit my new OB (they don’t do midwives here, but that is a whole other post). As I sit and talk to my new fabulous OB Frank he tells me to be patient and although Daddy is irresistible, cool down and it will happen. Little did Franks and I know I would be back in eight weeks and be eight weeks pregnant! I told you he was fabulous; I didn’t even have to take my clothes off or take fertility drugs! The irony of The Babe’s conception is it was the night that I flew in from Florida with Little Man. Daddy was leaving for an annual fishing trip on the White River and I told him (at midnight when we finally made it to bed) that it was time. He asked, with a very sensitive tone, if it could wait; he was so tired form the move. I laid on the guilt. You don’t want another baby do you? I am finally ovulating (looking back I don’t think my body fully got back into cycle until this time) and you changed your mind! It worked. He sighed and said fine, roll over. He is much more romantic than this makes him sound.

I will fast forward to delivery as my pregnancy was pretty uneventful. I was sick a lot; partly due to what Little Man brought home from daycare and the fact that I was pregnant in Missouri in the winter. Yuck and Yuck.

So my due date was a topic of regular debate at my check ups. I said December 21st; I should know, I was there. Frank said closer to early January. He must have known something I did not. The three of us were planning our Thanksgiving trip to St Louis to see my dad and family. Our plans were changed when at the beginning of the week I went for my check up. Hmmm, you are dilated to a five and at least a month ahead of schedule. You should stay in 417 land unless you want to be stuck in the city on steroids to prevent labor. I had already been having contractions and knew we were close. I had not experienced Braxton Hicks with Little Man so I figured this was for real. We spend Thanksgiving in town with Daddy’s family and have a great time although I missed my annual trip to the city for Turkey. I spent the next week experiencing intermittent contractions and going about my business; eating spicy food, having sex, and walking a lot. I was still convinced I was not that early mind you.

Tuesday November 28th. My contractions are getting a little stronger and different than before. I call my doula Ginny. If you are not familiar with doulas you should check them out. They are a fabulous addition to the birthing process and great advocate for your health and well being of the baby. Ginny also took a lot of pressure off Daddy so he could enjoy the process. Ginny tells me to take a bath and try to relax; if the contractions continue they are probably real. I do as instructed and head to bed. I am awakened around midnight and know it is happening. You know what I mean moms; you just know. We start clocking them; about 5 minutes about. Call Nana to come over for Little Man. She is swift and arrives quickly. We head to the hospital where we enter through the ER and head to L/D. Ginny arrives shortly after us. A call to my OB, who happens to be the only doctor that stays at the hospital when he is on call, says we will monitor my progress. Progress is slow and I am told a couple of hours into that I will be sent home but I am instructed to not do anything to induce labor. The nurse leaves the room and I told Daddy and Ginny I am not leaving without this baby (we still did not know if it was a boy or girl). My contractions are still solid and steady. The nurse comes back in to check me; baby’s heart rate is dropping, time to admit. Told you I wasn’t leaving. I am very nervous. I know I am a little early but now is my baby ok? Did my activities last week cause this? Bad mommy.

We are admitted and Ginny’s hands are immediately tied by the nurse. Do not do anything to induce labor. Ginny’s job here is to make me comfortable and make labor less miserable. Now she is told not to do that. I cannot even get out of bed to pee. Baby’s heart rate is still an issue; I am placed on oxygen. Nurses continue to monitor me and the contractions. Finally they take me seriously when the contraction monitor almost combusts from the contractions. Here comes epi man, who happens to be the guy that did my happy gas for knee surgery and Little Man’s tubes; we are almost family now.

Highest priority is on the baby’s well being. Every contractions causes a dip in his rate. I am slowly progressing but with the heart rate issue they decide to break my water. This ain't my first rodeo so I am ready. Still not fast enough; a little shot of pitocin should do the trick. A little more, ah right there. Here comes Frank and as if there is an echo from Little Man’s delivery “Where the hell have you been”? He laughs and so do I. I am strangely jovial at this point, trying to make a love connection between single OB and single LD nurse. We joke about the sex of the baby. Every has their ideas. Doc says it would be great if the baby was a black girl. According to Frank, not only girls, but African American children that are early, tend to be smaller and as such will go home with fewer health issues. That may be good for The Babe, bad for me. We all get a good laugh…which allows me to push. One , two, three. Here the Baby Be. The Babe arrived November 29th around 9am at 6.9 lbs to a full room of well wishers. Me, Daddy, Doula, Frank, NIC doctor and nurse, and LD nurse. NIC doctor says he is a healthy 37 week baby. Told you Frank.

The Babe is laid on my chest and I am in awe of our new miracle. How can I have possibly done this again? I cannot wait for Little Man to meet his brother.

This is where things are drastically different from Florida. Our room, is not private. Tip: if you must share a room, try to get the window seat. The bathroom seat means you see every person come in the room and have to watch your roommate every time she uses the bathroom.

There is an snow storm, not pretty sunshine. There are lots of visitors, not privacy. The Babe does not stay in the room with me. He has to stay in the nursery to stay warm as he is having issues regulating his temp. I have to call the nursery to beg them to bring him to me. The time we are together at the hospital we eat and cuddle and talk about brother and life in the tree house. We are both excited to go home. Before we go home, though, The Babe must pass “the car seat test”. Can he make it in a car seat for up to 45 minutes? No. The Babe needs a “car bed’ which is a flat version of a car seat that makes sure that The Babe’s airway is not blocked should he tilt his head too far down. I am ok with this. He can use a regular car seat in a few weeks after he passes a follow up test.

All is well the first few weeks. Christmas is coming and we are excited about the holiday with a 17 month old and new born. Little Man loves his brother and is a big helper with the bottles and diapers. At this point The Babe sleeps a lot so Little Man is not really fazed by him.

Week 3 for The Babe. I am startled by his screaming one afternoon when he wakes. This is a new scream. Pain. I try food first. Scream. Maybe he needs to poop? I take off his diaper while considering a suppository. Daddy comes in while I remove the diaper and says “that is not right”. From the other side of the room Daddy sees the bulge. Hernia. Inguinal. I stay home with Little Man and Daddy whisks The Babe to Peds office. We were away this may happen; The Babe had one ball that liked to crawl up. We had been monitoring it and pushing it back in place if necessary. This one required some effort from the Ped Surgeon. We are scheduled first thing the next morning to operate. Guess who does the happy gas? Same guy that did all the other happy gas. We are really family now. After a double hernia operation The Babe is good as new. His belly button was a littler herniated as well but will grow out of it by the age of one.

The holidays are uneventful and we do the regular run around town. The New Year comes and goes and The Babe is sleeping a lot more. We figure he is sleeping off the cold brother brought home. We decide to call the doc when he begins to not want to wake to eat. Seems The Babe’s cold turned into RSV. Oxygen saturation is 73% at the Peds office. Although The Babe was a little early we, along with our Doc, decided not to do RSV shots because The Babe did not meet the weight requirement; talk about feeling guilty. Back to the hospital we go. We are “quarantined” and spend three days monitoring The Babe. He looks like a science project hooked up to all the hoses and bells. It is nearly impossible to pick him up to feed him and love on him but we do. His saturation rises and he begins to eat well again and gain weight. We are sent home with a monitor to make sure he stays on the track to health. Then the ice man cometh. We spend the next week fighting the SWMO ice storm of 2007. We are out of power for a week and use a generator to get things “back to normal”. It was the scariest time I can remember. Feedings by flashlight. Using a portable cooler to keep his formula. Turning the monitor on before each feeding to check sat rate only to turn off to avoid battery drain. The part of the house that was not heated was 43 degrees. We spent our time in the master bedroom with the gas fireplace on to heat our room and the boys’ rooms. That which does not kill us only makes us stronger.

The Babe is our little tough guy now. Nothing seems to faze him. He can roll off a bed, get his fingers pinched in a drawer and not miss a beat. Then walk over to Little Man and pull his hair. What does Little Man do? Scream bloody murder!

Birth Story Carnival-Ride #1

Thanks to Lotus for this great idea!

The Arrival of Little Man

It was Memorial Weekend 2006. We spent time hanging out with friends in the Florida sun. This was the weekend that my mysterious rash started showing up in the middle of the night. The only thing that would stop the itching and burning of the swollen red patches was to submerge the afflicted area in super cold water. The next two weeks entailed me and Daddy waking in the middle of the night to me itching and crying. My fabulous nurse midwife prescribed some meds that would help with the itching but one evening I had this weird feeling it was sedating Little Man, which was really what the “anti-itch” ingredient did for me. While driving to the ER he began kicking again; to tell me to go back to sleep probably.

About two weeks before my due date my cervix was “swept” at my request and my midwife agreed based on the situation with the inexplicable rash and my increasing discomfort due to it. A sweep is defined as:

Membrane sweeping is done by your midwife or doctor. While internally examining you, he or she will simply "sweep" a finger around the neck of your womb (cervix). The aim is to separate the membranes around your baby from your cervix. This releases hormones called prostaglandins, which may kick-start your labor. A membrane sweep increases the likelihood that labor will start within 48 hours. It has a higher chance of working if the neck of your womb is already softening and preparing for labor. It does not increase the risk of infection to either you or your baby.

This is a debated topic and you will find varying opinions. My midwife told me if I am ready I will be in labor within 24 hours but she highly doubted it would work. I told her I would see her tomorrow. She laughed.

Although Little Man was due to arrive around the end of June but on June 17th I woke around 4am the day after my sweep with what we had affectionately named “The Rash” and went to the office to work. I went back to bed and woke around 9am to some back pain. Lots of back pain. Took a shower. Didn’t tell Daddy yet. More pain. Sit. Stand. Walk. Told Daddy. Three minutes apart! Called my midwife at the hospital. This is where I have to remind Daddy’s grandmother that not all midwives work in the woods; some work in hospitals with doctors. I will not delivery this baby on newspaper in a box.

Patty tells me to call later if still in pain. I was at her office within an hour. The hour included me crying and trying to eat jello; then I remembered in birthing class they said one symptom of labor is nausea. Regular back pain, check. Nausea, check. Get to the hospital and get examined. I was only dilated to a 2 and 70% effaced. I was told to go home. You. Have. To. Be. Kidding. Get in the car. Hit the dash with each knife twist in my lower back. I thought labor pains were supposed to move? At home darling Daddy hurries to get work done; thank God we work together at home. Daddy gets work done and pack the bags. The day includes more crying, sitting on the birthing ball, leaning on counters and watching the clock. Still three minutes apart. By 5pm I am done; this cannot go on. We are at the hospital by 5:30. I am checked in and this is where it gets a little fuzzy. I am still only dilated to about a 2 and 70%; I am not progressing.

I am admitted and begin to vomit. A nurse comes in to give me an IV of anti-throw up meds. She must have been a new nurse; how many times can you poke me arm. I was a little cranky at this point and when the “IV specialist” comes in I asked “can you get it in one try?”. I was kind of kidding. Kind of. I hear one of the nurses say to another under her breath that vomiting usually does not occur until you are further dilated….ok…you girls hear me yet? This baby is ready I don’t care how wide the door is, he is knocking.

What seems like hours pass and Patty finally arrives. She only has one other patient tonight in the room next to me so she will be hopping back and forth. For those that do not know about midwives let me tell you this. They are fabulous. When we moved to Florida in 2004 I needed a new OBGYN. I was referred to a particular office that had OBs and Midwives and chose an OB. After all I need a “doctor”. I soon learned that one particular midwife delivered about 90% of all children in my neighborhood…and there were a lot of kids in this hood of 1400 homes. I had the opportunity to switch to the midwives and took it. Thank god. More on Patty in a bit.

Patty arrives and I ask here where in the hell she has been. She laughed because she knows how funny I am. I did not laugh. Epidural Man arrives after Daddy heads to get the bags from the car. Daddy later tells me he kind of planned it that way; he was not sure he could watch. It took a few attempts to get the epi in my back; I guess I was not cooperating. Epi man gave me a little motivation when he said “honey, this is your last chance, I have other patients I need to tend you so if you want this you better bend over”. I did. I instantly felt like I was back at my sister’s first wedding on the beach in Puerto Rico…dos curevos frio por favor!”

Still not progressing. I am informed they need to break my water. A little discomfort and suddenly I have wet the bed; please change my sheets. Watch and wait. Time passes. Patty tells me I will know when it is time. Here we go let’s push. Either I wasn’t doing it right or Little Man wasn’t ready, after pushing for about an two hours we still weren’t progressing. Patty instructed me to take a break and try again in a few minutes. I am later told that after two hours of pushing with an OB I would have been taken for a C-section; thank you midwifery! I took a little siesta while Daddy and Patty talked for 45 minutes! Remember when I said midwives are awesome? Patty was with us the whole time! She talked with us, rubbed my back with essential oils, played music, dimmed the lights and encouraged me. I wake and realize that it was not time to push earlier, it is now.

I am starting to appreciate the fact that I worked out up until the last week of pregnancy; I am not sure I could have pushed that long without the site up improvement. It took Little Man 5 hours of pushing to come out. That is why you had back labor mama! He was sunny side up! Silly boy. Here comes my cone headed boy. Patty puts a cap on him so I don’t see what looks like a Dan Akroyd in the Cone People skit on SNL. 7.9 lbs and tons of red hair (that will soon turn on me to blonde) have arrived. We laugh, we cry, and we call our nationwide network of family. He is here!

Lee Memorial Hospital in Ft. Myers is awesome. We were taken to our private recovery suite with bed for Daddy and Jacuzzi tub. I am wired. Can’t sleep. We keep Little Man with us at all times. I nurse and sleep. Nurse and cuddle. Reality sets in. It is Friday and we run our own business. Daddy plops the laptop on the bed desk; charge the cards mama, we have to pay for this somehow! I am watching Little Man sleep while I e-mail some of our distributors; what are you doing they say you just had a baby! I know but I can’t sleep and probably never will again. I am filled with joy and anxiety. Almost three years later I still am.

We take Little Man home on a sunny summer day in Florida. He left the hospital a little jaundice and did not improve when we got home. I stopped nursing because he just wasn’t eating. You have to poop the biliruben out bud; better start eating! Back to the hospital after a few days so he can get a tan in the bili bed. Feelings of regret; should I not have asked to be swept? No time for that, there will be plenty of time to second guess my parenting in the years to come.



The Van Zant song below was playing on our radio when we took G home…appropriate.

I was raised on the westside shanty town
I didn't get up until the sun went down
When your back's against the wall
You better get tough
You learn real quick how to swing and duck.

Chorus:I was born in the sweet hot Florida sunshine
Good lookin' women backwoods and moonshine
Learned more about life on the streets then in the school
My sweet mama didn't raise no fool. (That's right.)

Some folks cheat and some folks lie
But I can judge a man from the look in his eye
Don't hand me Jack and try to call it cola
I know the difference between shit and shinola.

Chorus:I was born in the sweet hot Florida sunshine
Good lookin' women backwoods and moonshine
Learned more about life on the streets then in the school
My sweet mama didn't raise no fool. (That's right.)
(I'm talking about mama, oh sweet mama.)

Mama was no angel but she taught me right from wrong
She knew every single word and every single note of every song
She taught me how to gamble, how to roll the dice
If it makes you feel good do it don't think twice.

Chorus:I was born in the sweet hot Florida sunshine
Good lookin' women backwoods and moonshine
Learned more about life on the streets then in the school
My sweet mama didn't raise no fool. (That's right.)

Chorus:I was born in the sweet hot Florida sunshine
Good lookin' women backwoods and moonshine
Learned more about life on the streets then in the school
My sweet mama didn't raise no fool. (That's right.)

Talkin' about my sweet mama
Mama didn't raise no fool...

Who's your Blogger?

I started blogging back in January as a supplement to the journal I keep for my boys. Over the last few months I find myself on line more than with pen and paper. Having owned and operated an Internet based real estate marketing company for the past ten years, I consider myself pretty Internet savvy. With that in mind, I have a new dilemma; although I began my blogging "career" with Blogger, I know there are other platforms out there. I look at this platform thing kind of like Mac versus PC. Am I too analytical for WordPress or Typepad? Am I just far enough along that it is time for me to graduate to another platform? I dream of one day finishing my MBA, teaching at a local university, and hanging out with "the intellectuals" at coffee houses on campus...while blogging about my lectures on my MAC. I have a friend that is extremely talented and artistic; she uses a MAC for design work. I like lists and spreadsheets on my PC. Are there personalities that go with blogging platforms or am I over thinking this. Much like I would love to be a writer or rock star, I know my limitations. Do I know them, or even have them with blogging?

What is your platform personality?

Happy Freakin Easter

Thursday Thirteen

I have what has been called "the memory of an elephant" when it comes to things like names and phone numbers. I can recall birthday's and other trivia that I find necessary in my day to day life rather easily. My wish, however, is to work on the part of my memory that will remember more important things like the following as long as I live. My boys are growing up so fast and I am just so lucky to spend as much time as I can with them to enjoy it all.

1. They way Little Man loves to wake The Babe in the morning by offering him a book while asking him "how his nap was" and if he is "feeling good".

2. The way Little Man likes to play with my hair when we settle down at night and are in his bed for bed time routine.

3. The way The Babe says "cracker" for anything related to food. He says it just like Little Man did; with a little hollow accent that is hard to explain.

4. The way both boys use the sign for more to mean more of anything, not just food. They both have their own version which looks more like one fist pounding the other palm; usually because one hand is full of food.

5. The way The Babe's blue eyes sparkle when he giggles and the corners of his eyes curl up.

6. The way The Babe cuddles and is a mama's boy in ways Little Man never was, and still isn't.

7. They way The Babe wanders with toys and drops them at whim, while neurotic Little Man follows to put them back in their appropriate place.

8. The way Little Man loves his music fast and loud; with lots of guitar.

9. The way Little Man wants to be like Daddy and can't wait to help us in anyway.

10. The way most days I can not tell which boy is following the other around; they love to be together (most of the time).

11. The way The Babe will snuggle up to your neck and says "night night" when he is tired.

12. The way Little Man will place his hand gently on my face during bedtime routine and say "just lay down" to get me to stay a little longer.

13. The way The Babe dances; bend the knees a little and bounce, lift the right elbow, and turn. Then repeat.

For my boys:
My Wish
Rascal Flatts

I hope the days come easy and the moments pass slow,
and each road leads you where you want to go,
and if you're faced with a choice, and you have to choose,
I hope you choose the one that means the most to you.
and if one door opens to another door closed,
I hope you keep on walkin' 'til you find the window,
if it's cold outside,show the world the warmth of your smile,

more than anything, more than anything,
My wish, for you, is that this life becomes all that you want it to,
your dreams stay big, your worries stay small,
You never need to carry more than you can hold,
and while you're out there getting where you're getting to,
I hope you know somebody loves you, and wants the same things too,
Yeah, this, is my wish.

I hope you never look back, but ya never forget,
all the ones who love you, in the place you left,
I hope you always forgive, and you never regret,
and you help somebody every chance you get,
Oh, you find God's grace, in every mistake,
and you always give more then you take.

But more than anything, Yeah, and more than anything,
My wish, for you, is that this life becomes all that you want it to,
your dreams stay big, and your worries stay small,
You never need to carry more than you can hold,
and while you're out there getting where you're getting to,
I hope you know somebody loves you, and wants the same things too,

Yeah, this, is my wish.

Wordless Wednesday-Well Sort of

We drained the pool cover Sunday in preparation and foolish excitement for warm, dry weather. The monsoon that began Monday filled it up again by mid-day Tuesday. Yep, it is almost over flowing. More rain in the forecast. Building an ark now.




Weird dream I had last night had me and daddy driving through what we thought was passable water. It turned out that it wasn't after all. I decided not to take The Babe to Kindermusik tonight. Call me superstitious.

Bad Judgement

While visiting the park with the two tots and their Nana the other day, I witnessed parenting at it's finest.

While walking to one of the slides with The Babe in my arms, I pushed his stroller. Nana and Little Man were ahead of me, as Little Man was too excited to wait for us to get to the slide. I observed a woman in front of me pushing a stroller with a small baby inside. As she pushed her infant she struggled to maintain control over the large leashed lab that pulled her. When I say this is a large dog I would guess this dog weighed more than I do; it was a small horse. The Babe could have asked for a ride on the dog rather than the Merry Go Round. In a split second I thanked God that I had chosen to hold The Babe rather than use the stroller. The mom in font of me was jerked away from her stroller as the leashed dog leaped at a much smaller version of himself walking by. The mortified woman begins to scream profanities to her dog while yanking his leash. The owner of the victim begins to kick the aggressor while bystanders grab their children out of harms way. A man with his young child yells to strangle the dog. There is no stopping this train wreck. Nana takes Little Man away; but I can not help but watch. It was like a test of human socialization and psychology. The poor puppy is screaming and bleeding as the "dog that has never done this before" clamps down on his neck like an alligator would pull prey under the water to drown it. I get away after what seems to be an inappropriate amount of time to be away from Little Man. I wanted to make sure he is not traumatized. After all, just last week he witnessed a kitty meet it's maker.

Daddy arrives at the park with our picnic dinner. As the five of us dine on park fare we see the owner of the "bad dog" as Little Man named him. Not only is she still there, she is crying on a ledge while her dog walks around inspecting and smelling other park patrons. What is wrong with this picture. First things first. Where is her baby? Second. What in the world is she still doing there. As if the glares and whispers wouldn't send me on my way, the thought that it could have been a child would send me to the pound.

So she finally leaves with her dog in tow. As I watch her leave I see a woman with a young girl of about two in her arms. She is calling for her older daughter, about 4 years old, to slow down and wait for her. When the eldest does not hear or chooses to not listen to mommy, the woman runs to the girl and says "don't be stupid dumb dumb" listen to me. Am I being too sensitive based on the dog attack or is it fair to say that speaking to your child like this may begin to have an affect on their self esteem and ability to socialize or remotely excel at simply tasks. I don't mean to offend anyone that calls their kids stupid but if you do, would you be offended that I even care?

** I learned this particular dog was a Newfoundland/Lab mix. This post is not in any way to insinuate that all dogs are aggressive; just that some owners have no common sense (owners of animals or children for that matter)

Time Warp

For those of you that are new here check out this post before reading on. The rest of this will make much more sense.

So it has been almost four weeks since my mom called and told me she had Cancer again. I have not had much to post about this situation because I have no more info today than I did when I found out. Mom had a biopsy two weeks ago this coming Monday. The results showed it was Breast Cancer that had moved to her lungs. The weird thing about this is the fact that there is nothing on her breast and tests come up clear. So the Cancer currently resides in her lymph nodes and lungs; as far as we know. The doctors are baffled at the characteristics of this Cancer and are waiting for a second test to be run by specialists on another part of the biopsy.

Here is where I get frustrated. Weren't the first people to look at the biopsy "specialists" or is that just reserved for certain cases? Shouldn't every patient get a specialist?

Where is the sense of urgency here? It has been almost four weeks and they still have not diagnosed what this is. The sooner we get a diagnosis the faster we can start treatment.

To add to my frustration the insurance company is being a pain in the arse and dictating what types of tests will be run and when. It is unfortunate that my mother's Cancer history causes her issues with future health care. Insurance providers are the devil; I won't even get into my run in with them for one of my knee surgeries.

I try to stay supportive but I want to shake my mom and say "Why aren't you banging on these doors saying give me answers?" She is a grown woman and can take care of herself. Her boyfriend of 14 years can take care of her too. I hate feeling helpless and out of control. I can only imagine how mom feels.

I love creative ways to fight the cause. Mama Source is a community of moms that provides resources for moms on a local and national level. When a new member joins they donate to the Breast Cancer Fund. It is free to join and a great way to join the fight. Many of you already received an invite from me so be sure to forward it on to your friends and family.

For the Birds

So I am sitting at my desk today enjoying some me time; catching up on some work and reading some blogs. Every now and then I would hear a little thud or something coming from the kitchen area. I wasn't sure if the creepy Orkin guy that left a few minutes before was back or if it was the ice maker on the fritz. I get up to investigate and realize I do not have my phone with me; isn't that why I scream at the main character in the horror movie? Take your phone! Don't go upstairs! To my surprise this is what I found:



I only had one window open but it was big enough.

Too bad the boys were not around to enjoy this; it would have kept them entertained for 5 minutes!

I guess the Orkin guy doesn't spray for birds?

Now I am off to clean up the bird poop on my chairs.

Social Climbing

I have been called many things in my time. Primarily red, and anything associated with red hair. A few names I have not been called include, but are not limited to patient, calm, messy, or socialite. The last one is just what I picture myself as one day. The definition of socialite is as follows:

A socialite is a person of social prominence who spends significant resources entertaining and being entertained but is not (at least in the early 20th century heyday of socialites) a professional entertainer. ...en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Socialite

Let's break it down. I have little social prominence and my "resources" are spent with and on my family. Although I do like to entertain and have been know to do my share of karaoke, I prefer to be entertained. The area where I currently live is not at all small but the locals like to refer to these parts as a big little town. We do not have six degrees of separation but about two. I married into an infamous family in this zip code, and most surrounding counties really. It's true. Daddy and I have moved ten times and there was a time on our lives, long before children, when it was a good idea for me to call prior to our arrival to a new county to verify no warrants were out there lurking in the darkness. I later learned to do this on departure as well, in case we ever moved back to that city. Now, of course, Daddy is a responsible citizen that pays parking tickets and drives the speed limit.

I digress, this is, after all about me. After moving back to this small town of about 150,000 I quickly learned you see the same faces in the social pages in our local magazines over and over again. Don't these people have anything else to do? My favorites are 417 Magazine and Signature Magazine. I made a playful "goal" with Daddy that one day, I too would be in the back of the magazines; wine glass in hand, rubbing elbows with our local "elite".

Years have passed and my goal was forgotten like a New Year's resolution to cut back on chocolate is forgotten come February 14th. However, Daddy and I have had a number of opportunities in the last couple of weeks to show up in either of my beloved local mags.

I started volunteering for CASA of Southwest Missouri when I moved back to 417 land. If you are not familiar with CASA and their mission please check them out. The CASA mission is "To recruit, train and support community volunteers who assist the court in protecting the best interests of abused and neglected children in Southwest Missouri." I was assigned my first case in March of 2007 with the goal of not only giving back to my community but having a positive influence on a child that may otherwise not have that opportunity. Many cases involve infants and toddlers that literally do not have a voice but my assigned case involved a fourteen year old that could speak her mind. It was great to see her involved and active in changing the outcome of her future. I wanted to be a positive influence on a child that did not have a good role model and provide that child a voice in the court room. However, what ended up happening was I got more out of it that she did. I met great people that are devoted to making futures better for people thy had not met until they are "assigned" to their case. These individuals included but are limited to other CASA volunteers, GAL, DFS, therapists and more. I saw people give of themselves unselfishly by opening their homes as foster parents. I am humbled to be in the presence of these people and feel like I was not even scratching the surface on what I could do.

So Daddy and I went to a CASA fundraiser this weekend. It was located in neighboring town of Branson Missouri. I describe Branson as Nashville on Vegas. Known for county music shows and lots of traffic, this is a great time of year to visit Branson. Branson is home to the Titanic Museum and CASA chose this as the location for the fundraiser. While touring the Titanic replica, we enjoyed a progressive dinner with drinks. As our group was headed up the fabulous staircase we were stopped for a photo! Yippee! My chance has arrived! The photographer was from 417, and with a small intimate crowd in attendance I think my chances of appearing on the back pages are good, I will keep you posted.

Daddy even got a chance to be in Signature magazine while we attended Diamond Night in honor of Boys and Girls Town of Missouri. Diamond Night is a great fundraiser that offers a silent auction from local jewelers and a chance to win a big piece from the big sponsor. My step mom is a big wig with BGTM so we attend this one ever year. Again, I have never seen so many people give of them self so willingly while asking for nothing in return. Well, other than any parent I have met.

That is it for my social climbing this week, back to the laundry and taking out the trash...shouldn't I have "people" that do this for me?

Baby Talk

During The Babe’s 15 month checkup last week Doc asked the usual questions. When she got to the question about how many words he had, I paused and said “oh, about six”. The look on her face indicated that was not enough. I quickly reassessed my boy’s development and realized that my boy is a little chatter box. What is it about second born or subsequent children that get the shaft when it comes to recognizing milestones? Has the newness worn off or am I too busy keeping the two from smothering each other with love? Either way, this post is an effort to document that my second born is just as brilliant as my first. I am sure I left out some words but this really isn’t about The Babe, it is about making me feel better for neglecting my Babe’s milestones! Babe I am so proud of you! You are an amazing guy and I love watching you grown and learn. Just in case our favorite Doc checks on us via the site here is a list of The Babe’s words:

A
All Done
Adam
Apple

B
Brother
Ball
Boo

C
Cat
Car
Cow
Cracker

D
Daddy
Down
Drink

E

F

G
Gannon

H
Hi

I

J
Juice

K

L

M
Mama
Matt

N
Nana
Night Night

O
Out

P
Puppy

Q

R

S

T

U
Up

V

W
Whiskey Ok not really, just wanted to see how long you stuck around.

X

Y

Z

The Babe is great with non verbal communication as well. Although Little Man was a master of sign language, The Babe uses the sign for More and I Love You. Sign language with Little Man was a life saver! It was so easy to communicate and understand him early on. It was funny to watch people while we were out, especially those of our parents and grandparents generation. They would be amazed with his sign language and curious about why he does it when he does not have a hearing problem. We would explain to them why and they were even more bewildered. There are critics of the practice that say the use of sign language will delay speech development. In our experience it only enhanced it. He will be three in June and speaks more clearly and with more conceptual understanding than some five year olds I know. For parents interested in signing with their baby, there are lots of resources available. Check out this site for general info and items to purchase and check out this one for some signs to practice. For us, the key was patience; we started with one word or phrase and work it until it is mastered. Good Luck!

* The image is of Little Man at about one month. Look at all that hair! He has looked like a little man since he came unwrapped.

Bathtime Banter

Little Man: Daddy there is a bug
Daddy: Get it
Little Man: Daddy you are a tough guy, you get it
Daddy: (giggling) Little Man, when will you be a tough guy
Little Man: (without hesitation) 20 weeks

I reminded Daddy he should be proud; Little Man is starting to understand things like weeks and months, and he thinks Daddy is tough. Way to put a spin on it Mom!

Is this thing on?

Is it just his gender or is there a problem here? Little Man had tubes put in his ears in October 2006. The tubes fell out in November 2007. Since falling out, he has suffered at least six ear infections. To be honest, we, and I mean the pediatrician and ENT included, are not even sure if it isn't just one long infection. He is on antibiotics for two weeks and then off for two weeks, then we cycle again. Other than some whining at times, he speaks like a five year old so I am not worried about speech development. A hearing test shows he is within normal range but why does he like the music so loud and seems to hear me best at a whisper? I cannot have a tone deaf child; I must live vicariously through him when he becomes a rock star! At our one year check last week with the ENT he commented that the ears looked good and removed the tubes that had wiggled out of position. I asked about tubing again due to the infections and he suggested to wait a couple of months and see how it goes. He said if we tube again we will take the tonsils and adenoids. Fast forward one week; ear infection number seven.

There is a difference between listening and hearing. Daddy is not hearing me. What is worse; Little Man constantly on meds or the operation to remove the body parts rendered useless in the last century thanks to modern medicine? My tonsils were removed due to regular bouts of strep throat, which Little Man, at the age of three has had about four times. I am fine, or so I think so, and tend to error on the side of healthy.

So not only does Little Man fight ear infections and strep throat routinely, I am starting to wonder if the reason he gets up two or three times a night is not that he needs us, but that he doesn't feel good or has other medical issues like trouble breathing. Maybe I am just searching for more reasons to rationalize the operation.

My dilemma; how do get Daddy to hear me and make it his idea to proceed with what seems to be best for our Little Man?

Riding in Cars with Boys

Little Man: Mama I see a big bird over there!
Mama: That is a big bird.
Little Man: I want to scare the bird.
Mama: Why do you want to do that?
Little Man: I want to scare birds, squirrels, and trucks.
Mama: What happens when you scare them?
Little Man: They will run away on the tracks and a train will run over them.
Mama: Little Man that is not nice, where did you learn to talk like that?
Little Man: Bobby

Little Man has been out of preschool almost two weeks and the class bully is still controlling him. My decision to pull him was validated once again.

Backstage Pass to the Treehouse

With both boys sick and snow on the ground we stayed inside this morning. What will the afternoon bring?


No, Little Man does not have organ failure. His light green belly is due to a painting project. It is so much more fun to paint skin than paper.

We had to bury the penguin at the sensory station.

Cause of Death: over exposure to the sun while dreaming of tropical vacation.

We learned about spatial relationships. Does this bowl fit on brother's head?

We observed bugs in their habitat on an indoor nature walk.

We studied archaeology while creating a dinosaur park.

We had a picnic lunch in our fort.