Goodbye 2009!

In the car today, Dave says "aren't you going to be glad to say goodbye to 2009?"

And I said no.

No I do not want to say goodbye to this year.

Yes, the last 30 days have been tough. (Yes! January 1st marks THIRTY DAYS of unemployment! - not that I'm counting).


But 2009 was a year of sweet blessings. I watched my chubby 4 year old grow into a 5 year old Big Boy before my eyes. Doing things like learning to swim and **gasp** eating a hamburger. He brings me joy the likes of which I never dreamed.

And then there's Paige. Our lives are so full with this little girl in our family. After only 18 months, I'm left wondering how I ever lived a day of my life without her in it. It's like she's always been a part of me. Of our family. Even before we knew her.

And then there's this man.

Oh Internet, I am so grateful for him.

I've known for 16 years that he was a great man, but the last 30 days have shined a light on his character in ways that I never thought possible. Simply stated, he is good. All the way down to the marrow of his soul. He's just good.

Thank you, sweet readers for giving me this outlet. More than anything, 2009 will stand out to me as the year I found The Internet, and the community therein.

I know for the first time in a long while that I am not alone. I am not invisible.

I am forever grateful.

I hope 2010 is your best year yet. Every single one of you.

What Were Wii Thinking?

Internet, for years - I mean YEARS - we've been saying we should buy a Wii video gaming system. We've always thought it would be fun. And we were told a year ago by William's occupational therapist that a Wii would do wonders for William's motor skills and bilateral coordination.

But, every year we say It's Just Too Expensive. Maybe Next Year.

So when Dave called today and said he'd found a system on sale, instead of saying 'absolutely not! We're unemployed, you crazy fool!' I said 'get it'. Buy it. What the hell.

Yes, we waited until we were unemployed to purchase a $200 TOY.

Now before you start calling Dave Ramsey and my mother, let me explain.

You see, Dave's sweet Grandma sent us some holiday cash this year. Enough for us to buy a Wii.

And I'm not going to lie to you, Internet, the Miserly Scrooge in me thought we should save that money and do something intelligent with it.

Like, oh, I don't know, PAY BILLS. Or EAT.

But, in that moment when Dave called, I just decided we should do it. I decided we should do something nice for our little family. The money was a gift, after all. We were so careful this Christmas. And not just this Christmas, but last Christmas too. We haven't exchanged gifts since 2007.

So we did it. We bought a toy today. An expensive toy.

Besides, we all know we COULD eat the Wii if we had to. There IS such a thing as Ebay, right? Also, Wii remotes taste delicious on a sandwich.

I like my Wii sandwich on toasted rye with a bit of mayo. You?

Set this thing up daddy! Hurry!

Okay! Let's get this party started!

The spastic bowling stance.

The spastic bowling face.

Eye of the Tiger.

Strike, baby!
I have no idea what's going on, but YAAAAY!

Oh goodness we had fun playing tonight. It was delicious.

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Like a Wii sandwich.

The Face of Misery

Poor Paigey Beth.

She's got some kind of nasty virus.

And that nasty virus got so very nasty that momma had to take her to the doctor today.

Let's just say: It wasn't pretty.

I don't feel so good, momma.

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The pediatrician looked her over and said she didn't like the strange rash all over Paige's torso and face. Broken capillaries. Mostly likely caused by coughing, but can sometimes be caused by a low platelet level.

Sorry. That was lots of detail. About capillaries and platelets. Are you even still reading?

Hello?

Anyway. The doctor said we needed to do a blood test to rule out any major problems.

A blood test.

A Blood! Test! On my bay-beeee!

Goodness, I marched my (already very weak and sick) little dumplin' over to the hospital lab and waited for the tech to call our name. I was dreading this little ordeal. Can you imagine trying to find a vein in an 18 month old? Aren't baby veins roughly the size of a human hair? And was I (the mommy) supposed to be the one to hold her down? What if I fainted? Could I refuse? Can they MAKE me torture my baby? Is that even legal? Should I call an attorney?

I tend to worry. I tend to get myself worked up into a froth. Can you tell?

Well, it turns out the sweet lab tech said she wanted to try pricking Paige's finger instead. I was so relieved! 'Course, they had to prick the finger, then MILK IT in order to get enough blood. I swear they squeezed her little finger for two full minutes.

I think I might've passed out.

Ah. But then it was over. And we could head home.

Home: Where Paige can have the privacy to be as grumpy and unreasonable as she'd like.

The milking injury.

OMG, that was exhausting.

The only thing that would make this day any worse: Momma removing my coat.

Do NOT even THINK about it, Momma.

I just want to wear my cooooooooat!

Coat? No! I don't need THAT when I have this CRACKER.

Bribery. Works every time. Even on sick, spoiled, unreasonable babies.

How Long Has It Been...

... since I mentioned the word VOMIT on this blog?

Really?

Well, that's just too long!

I have no idea why I chose this picture for this blog post. No idea at all.

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So today my little family was traveling home from Dave's hometown. The trip usually takes about 2 hours. About an hour into our voyage baby Paige begins to cough.

Poor baby. She has a cold.

And so she coughs. And coughs. And coughs some more.

Until she coughed so hard she vomited.

Yes she did.

Right there in the car. On the interstate. In the middle of nowhere.

And here's where it gets a little yucky: She'd eaten pepperoni pizza and orange juice for lunch.

You can just imagine the scene. The color. The texture.

AND THE AROMA.

Oh my. Motherhood is not for the faint of heart.

So Dave pulls the car over and I spring into action with leftover fast food napkins and the scant few baby wipes I had in my purse.

The entire time we're cleaning her up, I'm grumbling about the smell of PIZZA! mixed with ORANGE! JUICE! and how no two smells could be more disgusting when intermingled then wretched.

And the baby heard her momma say the magic word. The word that she longs to hear each night at dinnertime: pizza.

And she began her hungry chant:

PIZZAPIZZAPIZZAPIZZAPIZZA!

So that was the scene today at 4pm along 1-35 somewhere between Hooterville and Bugtussle.

A momma trying desperately to clean without vomiting. And a baby begging to be fed the very thing she'd just vomited.

I suppose it's funny now. But at the time, I could find absolutely no humor in the situation.

Picture This Post

I blogged earlier about our NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCE.

Read that.

Because, clearly we survived.

And aren't you glad? Because now you'll be forced to endure photographs of my family Christmas.

Arrowhead cookies for Santa. He's part Native American, you know.

Obligatory tree shot.

Farm equipment made entirely of Legos! Clearly Santa got our letter.

Look what I got, Bubby! This Christmas thing is AWESOME!

Did I mention the BLIZZARD? Yes! Blizzard!

Dressing wee children in snow clothes is haaaaard.

Snow sledding with wee children is haaaard.

More gifts! A wee vacuum cleaner. What every girl needs.

A whoopee cushion. Would you look at that face?

A baby. A backpack. Another baby.

Asleep with an unopened gift in his lap. Now THAT'S tired.

Gramma and Grampa modeling purple hair extensions.

Lounging with Cousin Emily.

And this concludes the Boring Christmas Photo portion of our blog post.

I know by now you're secretly wishing we'd been done in by the black ice, aren't you?

Jesus Was With Us This Christmas!

Internet! I almost died yesterday.

No really!

Almost.

DIED.

My husband was still in a bit of a funk yesterday (yes! on Christmas day you all!), so we decided to drive to the in-laws. Because nothin' will get a man out of his funk like seein' his own personal momma.

Now, the trip to the in-laws normally takes 2 hours tops.

Folks, yesterday it took FOUR HOURS.

That seems bad, huh?

But what makes it worse is, we drove much of that time on ICE. Black ice. Black ice in the dark. In the mountains. (ok, I'm not sure if you can call the Arbuckles "mountains", but there were inclines! Inclines with black! ice!).

But, by the grace of God himself, we made it. Unscathed.

Well, that's not entirely true. Our bottoms were hurting mighty bad when we arrived, what with all the CLENCHING. And our jaws were tired, FROM ALL THE CLENCHING.

Oh, and the baby's adorable Christmas dress was soaked. In pee. Because, no diaper can hold 4 hours of peepee and live to tell the tale.

But, I'll take a soaked dress and a sore bottom over DEATH.

And I swear we thought we were going to die. I swear we did.

So, Internet, I know you were probably saying prayers of thanks to God yesterday for sending us the baby Jesus, but he was unavailable to take your calls, as he was busy sitting in the car with my family protecting us from DEATH.

Because, did I mention we almost DIED yesterday? On black ice?

I did? Well, we did.

The end.

Is it Possible To Have an Eye Rolling Injury?

Today started for me at 3am. My husband woke up coughing. Violently coughing. The kind of coughing that jerks everyone out of bed. I ran off to fill up his humidifier and get him some Nyquil. While I was busy running, Dave was busy trying not to tear his spine in half with his coughing.

You see, last week Dave claims he coughed so violently that he broke his rib. I'm serious. The man thinks you can break your rib by coughing.

And I'm not going to lie to you Internet, I didn't believe him. In fact, I might have rolled my eyes when he told me about his broken rib. I might have rolled my eyes so far back in my head that I could see my own hair growing.

But then, I checked on Google, and it turns out that you CAN indeed crack a rib from coughing.

So there. I stand corrected.

And since the coughing today at 3am was irritating his self-diagnosed rib fracture, I decided that I would remove myself from the situation by stumbling up the stairs and crawling into my 5 year old's lower bunk. That way Dave could cough and wince in peace.

And I stayed there freezing (not enough blankets - too tired to get more) in that little boy bed until 6am when the baby woke up.

Yes. I said SIX! A!M!

So, at 6am the baby and I curled up in our upstairs playroom and tried to be quiet and let Daddy and William sleep in a bit. As we sat quietly reading books and listening to the local news, I began to hear reports about the weather.

Now, let me back up at bit here and explain: Oklahoma weathermen are notoriously DRAMA MAMAS. Ev. Ree. Thing is exaggerated. If they say there's going to be a Massive Thunderstorm, we will see an inch of precipitation and perhaps one tiny flash of lightening. If they say there will be a tornado, that actually means a strong breeze will blow a few leaves off of the trees.

So, we never believe them. They spend their entire careers Crying Wolf. So we Oklahomans don't believe the weathermen. Ever.

So back to today. When I heard the weatherman say something about 4-6 INCH snow accumulation in Oklahoma City, I openly SCOFFED. Then I rolled my eyes again. This time so far back I could see my own brain.

Then I called my momma - who lives 40 minutes South of my house - and told her Christmas was ON. We're coming! Put that turkey in the oven because we'll be there.

Dave even got in the car and did a little test drive around the neighborhood, then came back in and said "it's all FINE - tell your mother we're coming".

So, I began Operation Christmas At Nana's. This involves a massive coordination of kids and stuff. Pack bags. Pack gifts. Shower myself. Dress children in seasonally appropriate attire. Pack camera (and accompanying extra batteries, flash, USB cord)

So it's snowing. What's the big deal?
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I had just begun to apply my makeup when the phone rang.

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It was my brother who was also on his way to Nana's. He was already on the road (hey! don't judge - he has no children!). He called to say they'd SHUT DOWN THE HIGHWAY.

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You have got to be kidding!

And then I thought I heard him say there was a Blizzard Warning. Which would be ridiculous, because Oklahoma doesn't have Blizzard Warnings. Ever. Never Ever. And so, for the third time, I rolled my eyes. Oh Puh Leeeeease.


Then I turned on the tv, and saw this:

OMG! That clearly says Blizzard Warning!

So, Dave and I stood there staring at each other trying to figure out a new plan for the day. A plan in which we would not leave our house for any reason. The reality of this new plan swept over my husband and made him feel like sulking.

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You see, he is SO DANG READY for a change of scenery. He is NOT a hang-all-day-in-the-house kind of guy. Plus, he was going to miss out on my momma's cookin' - and honestly, that'll put almost anyone into a dark, black funk.

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And since I'm The Mommy in this house, it is my personal job to (1) Make a New Plan (2) A Plan that Will Make Everyone Happy (3) A Plan that Involves only the items and ingredients I have on hand in my home. (4) and I must Act Cheerful and Happy so as to Encourage Others to GET OUT OF THEIR FUNK.

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And girls, I'm nothing if not resourceful.

First order of business on Operation Cheerup: Hot chocolate. With tiny marshmallows. Is there anything better?

There's nothing better. Don't argue with me.

I thrust that hot cocoa into Dave's hand along with a newspaper. I nestled him into the comfy couch and told him not to worry his pretty little head about anything.

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Next, I began preparing our Christmas meal a day early. Including chocolate cake.

Chocolate cake will make everything better!

While the cake was baking, we decided we'd let the children go ahead and open their Christmas presents. What the heck, right? We wanted them to have something to do, and what better to entertain them than Brand! New! Presents! Plus, gift opening will cure all grownups of The Grumples!

Except, we made the mistake of telling the children before we'd done all the Opening Preparations.

Whoops!

First, we had to gather all the necessary tools for opening gifts.

Those of you who are parents of young children will understand this. Kids toys are packaged in such a way that you need a PhD and the ability to bench press 350lbs in order to open them. There are wires. And tape. And complicated, multi-level cardboard contraptions. It's maddening for both the parent and the anxious child.

All that's missing is a crowbar. And a blowtorch.

Then we had to assemble all items necessary for Recording the Moment. Because, we all know if we don't have pictures and video of an event, it's like it never happened.

But first, let's have some video of the BLIZZARD, because OMG!

Alrighty kids! Let the opening begin!

Hooray! We didn't have nearly enough STUFF.

Opening gifts is a form of destruction. And I am EXCELLENT at destruction!

Approximately 16 seconds after it started, the gift opening ended.

And then the kids played with their new toys for another 19 seconds.

And then they were bored again.

And Dave was grumpy again.

So, I decided to make a delicious meal. Pasta! With chicken! And garlic! And Cheese! One of Dave's favorite meals. And a meal our kids will happily eat. Win/Win, right!?

Then there will be cake! Chocolate cake. That will make everything better!

Except it didn't.

So, I put everyone in their pajamas. (Cute ones. The kind that will look good in pictures tomorrow.) And I let them watch a short movie. And then I put them to bed.

Then I put myself to bed.

Because it's exhausting trying to force everyone else to have a Merry Christmas.

Plus, I needed to give my eyes a chance to recuperate from all the rolling.

I Wuv This Wittle Wigglet

See that woman up there in that picture? The one on the left?

That's my mother-in-law, Pam. And yesterday was her Birthday! She is I will never tell you because she would kill me an undisclosed number of years old.

I have spent the last 16 years of my life admiring and respecting this woman. The woman that raised my husband. And his brothers. All three of those boys are are good all the way to their cores. I'm talking Boyscout good. Yes, they're that good.

And I believe they are good because this woman raised 'um right.

And so it was that I was busy admiring and respecting Pam when Thanksgiving 2009 rolled around. And during our Thanksgiving weekend, my brother-in-law unveiled the above picture.

Scroll back up there and look again.

Did you see that hair?

Are you agog?

Pam explained that EVERYONE was wearing their hair like this in the late 60's/early 70's.

When I inquired as to the physics of this creation, she calmly explained that - to achieve additional height and volume - she was wearing a tiny wig. A wigglet.

DID YOU HEAR ME INTERNET?

I said "wigglet". And if that isn't the funniest word belonging to the funniest item in the world, then I just don't know what is.

And now I've posted a picture of the wigglet (as modeled by my mother-in-law) for all the world to see. So, uh, HAPPY BIRTHDAY PAM!

Uh oh. Did you hear that sound?

It was the sound of Pam returning all of my Christmas presents.

Santa May Never See These

Internet, I don't know how to tell you this, but...
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Um...
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Uh...
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I'm a sugar addict.
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No really. I have a problem. I've sought help in the form of a 12 step program for my addiction.
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But, I'm still hopelessly addicted.

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I'm powerless over it. The Sugar.

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And icing? Well, it's the worst of the sugar offenders. If I were an alcoholic, it would be my vodka.

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So today, I embarked on the yearly effort of making Santa's Cookies. Which, for addicts like me is just an excuse to go on an icing bender.

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My baking always includes lots and lots of "testing". And sampling. And more testing.

And, honestly, I did a crappy job with the Christmas tree cookie cutter today. My "tree" cookies turned out looking suspiciously like Native American arrowheads.

Sparkly, sprinkly arrowheads.

Do you think Santa will care?

Honestly, I hope he turns his little nose up at these cookies.

Because: MORE FOR ME.

Puppies Are Supposed to Make Everything Better

Oh Internet, today was a slog. A whip. A beating.

Well, that's not entirely true. I did eat lunch with Aunt Susie. That's always good.

Oh! And then I visited my friend Alissa.

And my friend Alissa has THIS:

Is there anything cuter?

OMG. A puppy! And who can have a bad day when there are puppies?

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Me. That's who.

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Gracious, my heart was hurting today. I woke up worrying. Worrying about our family. Our future. Just everything.

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You see, I've always had a clear dream for my life. I've always known what I wanted. I've always been able to close my eyes and see clearly where we're headed as a family. I've always had a plan. And not just A plan, but several plans. Plans A and B. And C. And EFGH.

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Well, you get the idea.

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Dave's job loss has changed everything. Ev. Ree. Thing.

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Mostly, I feel differently about money. Having an emergency savings account is coming in really handy for us right now. But, I'm left wondering WHY I needed such a nest egg. Was I THAT afraid this might happen? Am I THAT afraid of everything?

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Yes. The answer is yes.

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And operating out of fear can't possibly be good. Even if the end result is a nice emergency fund.

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What else have I been doing out of fear?

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Or, more importantly, what have I NOT done because I was too afraid?

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Is this the lesson I'm supposed to be learning from all this?

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And if so, can we move on now, God? Because, I hear you - now please FIX THIS so I won't be skeerd anymore.

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Oh wait. I'm still skeerd.

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I guess I haven't learned enough yet.

I Feel Itchy. Oh so Itchy.

I volunteered in William's pre-k classroom yesterday. I helped serve the children their holiday cookies and juice. The whole experience was just adorable.

Well, right up until they did this:

Christmas is about sharing!

That's a picture of my child wearing a Santa hat. Adorable, no? Yes! Yes it is!

Except that EVERY SINGLE CHILD put that hat on during the special "Steal Santa's Jingle Bells" game.

As I was observing the game another mother walked in and said, "Oh great, they're all going to get head lice".

Did you read that? She said HEAD LICE.

The fear of infestation really DOES take the joy out of Christmas, doesn't it?

Eighteen Months of Deliciousness

Paige Elizabeth is eighteen months old now.

And I challenge you to find ANY eighteen month old human that isn't adorable. It's impossible. They're all cute. And squishy. And HILARIOUS.

Kids. They say the darndest things, you know.

And, although I think all children this age are cute, mine is the cutest.

Oh don't argue with me. She is. I'm just stating facts here, people.

See for yourself:

Vienna Sausage Toes. Totally edible. Especially good with barbecue sauce or marinara.

And hands with knuckle dimples.

This single physical characteristic is enough to make the hardest-hearted adult weak in the knees. Knuckle dimples should be used in warfare. Think of what we could accomplish with the Taliban!

And then there's this face:

Good gracious. Do you see what I mean?

Cutest eighteen month old in the history of... of... EVER.

There's just no question.

Delicious Day

When I my firstborn child was only 5 months old I was in a bad, bad place. Hoo boy I had an impressive case of postpartum depression.

Except I didn't know it.

I just thought this was my life. My new life as a mother. And I thought my life was just going to be one bad crying fit after another. All day. All night. Forever.

And my momma knew something was wrong. I don't think she suspected postpartum, but I think she knew something didn't smell right with me. Something was off.

Mommas just know these things.

So she did what any good Southern mother would do in this situation: she suggested we bake.

Oh, you heard me.

She called me up that day in December and said she was planning to take the day off work to do her holiday baking (all Southern women bake for the holidays, didn't you know?). She suggested she come to my house and we do our baking together.

Honestly, I almost declined her offer - as that meant I'd have to take a shower. And maybe carve a path through the dirty laundry and dishes to find the kitchen.

But she came. Momma arrived that day and we spent hours and hours in the kitchen cooking my grandmother's recipes for gingersnaps and pumpkin bread.

In between mixing and pouring, momma would rock and rock my baby and coo at him and tell me he was the most beautiful baby in the history of time.

And I began to believe her.

And I began to feel better. Just a bit. Enough, though, that I think that day was the launching point out of the pit of despair I'd been wallowing in. I didn't fully emerge until I stopped nursing (when my hormones could finally return to normal). But that day was so lovely.

So the next year, I suggested we do it again.

And then we did it again the following year.

In fact, today marked the 5th Annual Baking Day for us. And what a difference 5 years can make.

Bakers with helpers/testers/tasters.

For one thing, that newborn baby boy now weighs 50lbs.

Oh, and he has a sister (who, frankly, weighs almost as much).

The biggest change, however, is that I've never felt that low again. As low as the day we started baking.

I'm sure I could give the credit to the gingersnaps.

Did you need me to sample that cookie, Nana?

And don't get me wrong, those gingersnaps are good.


But momma is better.

And a whole day with her? Well, that's just delicious.

Dear Santa

William sat down this afternoon to write his letter to Santa.

Dear Santa, please bring me the world.

Dave and I stood nearby and tried to Act Casual.

We paced the floor and gave each other worried looks. We wrung our hands. And we ground our teeth to dust.

When William finally (FINALLY) finished his list and handed it over we read it in a terrified frenzy.

Is there anything cuter than 5-year-old handwriting?

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Oh thank God!

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He asked for Actual Toys! Toys that have been mass-produced! Toys that are available in stores nationwide!

And we were so relieved. We were relieved because this year will not be a repeat of last year. Because last year William asked for Frank.

Oh, you don't know Frank?

Well, silly Internet, Frank is a combine. You know, a combine. A piece of farming equipment. And Frank the Combine is featured EVERY SO BRIEFLY in the Disney movie 'Cars'.

And last Christmas my little 4-year-old boy wanted nothing in the world more than a toy Frank. He longed for Frank to plow imaginary fields and protect an imaginary herd of tractors that behave exactly like cattle.

It's a complicated plot. Just trust me on this one.

When William started asking for Frank, we gently explained that Disney did not make a die-cast replica of this particular toy. And do you want to guess what William said? Do ya?

"But Santa can make ANYTHING in his workshop".

And when he said those words, Dave and I responded with silence. And a bunch of blinking. And more silence.

And William walked away from that conversation believing that Santa would be bringing him a Frank.

AND HIS PARENTS DID NOT CORRECT HIM!

Because: We. Are. STOOOOOPID!

The following weeks involved Dave searching Ebay, Criagslist, EVERYWHERE for a dang combine that might pass for Frank.

Finally, just days before Christmas Dave found this:

Someone on Ebay was smart enough to buy up a bunch of die-cast combines, then HAND PAINT Frank's face on the front. Admittedly, this was not a perfect replica, but it was close. Really close.

And our Ebay friend was charging A Small Fortune.

Do you want to guess what we did? We, the parents of a hopeful 4-year-old.

We bought it.

Oh we did. And we were thrilled to pay The Small Fortune.

Christmas day arrived and Frank was positioned on the hearth. We were positioned nearby so that we could see William's little face when he received this toy.

He ran in the room.

He ran right past Frank and began to dig through his stocking.

But wait, little buddy, look there at what Santa brought you!

He looked down at the FIFTY DOLLAR toy.

And he calmly said "That's not Frank".

Which is why we're really happy he asked for Legos this year.