An Open Letter to the Universe

Dear Universe,

Hi. I don't know what I did to royally piss you off, but I am truly sorry. Sorrowful. Regretful. I apologize profusely.

You see, the last six days have proven to me that I did something really, really bad. I mean, Thursday night, when G ate that piece of clear hard plastic cup at the circus? And then the nurse on the exchange line insisted that we go immediately to the emergency room for fear of puncturing something....remember that? But then the doctor said that children can swallow pins safely and he couldn't see plastic on an xray anyway so we were out $100, which is a lot in our world? That would be bad enough, right?

Apparently not.

Because then on Friday, I came down with the stomach flu. And when I told my principal, she reluctantly told me I could leave, but reminded me that I had used my last two sick days on my Arizona trip. So my guilty conscience and I stayed, moaning and running to the bathroom, all day long at work. And that was clearly enough penance. For sure.

Except it wasn't.

Because just as I was feeling back to normal on Sunday morning, L started in with the vomiting and diarrhea. Not only did I deal with puke and poop all morning, I had to cancel our open house and therefore, goodness knows how many showings. Sigh.

But that wasn't all, was it? No. Because although L's belly had appeared to have calmed down, his frequent urges to pee with very little urination had the exchange nurse, once again, telling me to take him to the ER. Fever+vomiting+diarrhea+pee issues = possible bladder/kidney issues.

Aaaand it was another false alarm. Just a little irritation, which as the doctor explained, is "very common in little boys." $100 for directions to apply Vaseline and wear loose shorts. Boy parts. They are nothing but trouble, I tell ya.

And then, Universe, I thought you were throwing me a bone. Because L had been symptom-free at noon, so B stayed home with him yesterday morning and brought him in at noon. No more docked days for momma! Yay! That would have been nice, Universe...if you weren't such a tease.

Because this morning? When L started vomiting and diarrhea all over again? Yeah, that was not cool. Not cool at all. So now, I'm at home, worrying about my little boy's belly, missing work, losing my job, when G and B will get this, missing out on more home showings. You name it, I'm worrying. That's what I do, yo.

So Universe, whatever it is, I'm sorry. I am. Do you think now, you could move on to a mass murderer and cut me a break? Because I need one. Desperately.

Pathetically Yours,
Gina

Sometimes a girl's gotta vent.

Warning: this post is not full of the holiday cheer. It's pretty frickin' depressing. Read at your own risk.


Also...today is the last day to enter my giveaway! So go there if you want a happier post.
**************************


Sometimes my world seems like too much.


And lately, this is the case. You know I love my job. A lot. And I adore my boys. All three of them. A lot. And I really like to craft. A lot.

But right now, I feel like there's too much of everything and I'm hanging on by a thread. A teeny tiny floss thread. Not a big thick rope thread.

The boys have both been sick for days and days. I reluctantly started G on antibiotics (I hate antibiotics, which may or may not be a post for another day) and he doesn't seem to be getting much better. His symptoms? You name it, he's got it. Copious amounts of snot. Productive cough. Clinginess. At least the vomiting has stopped. And I'm grateful for the lack of fever.

And sleep? The boy just doesn't believe in it. Seriously. In the last 24 hours, he's slept SIX of them. Naps are for suckers, according to G. He's lucky he's cute. Because? He's also started hitting. Yesterday, B redirected him, and the little shit walked over and smacked ME!

Then B had a stomach bug on Thanksgiving. Ladies, the Man Stomach Bug is even worse than the Man cold. 'Nuff said, am I right? So we ate...wait for it...frozen tacos for Thanksgiving dinner. Womp, womp, womp.

And of course, it wouldn't be a holiday if L didn't start puking. He's come down with the same virus? Infection? that G has had, and has been stressing me out with his lack of eating and energy. Of course, even though he has the exact.same.symptoms as G, I diagnosed him with cancer/anemia/hypothyroidism/you name it.

And my house. Oh you guys. My house. Partly because of the fact that we are trying to make a shift in the focus of Christmas, and partly because of financial issues, I am making 90% of our gifts this year. The result? Canvases, paints, paintbrushes, Sharpie markers, Sharpie paint pens, wooden blocks, and various other craft supplies littering my house. And because I'm hyperfocused on getting!crafts!done!, the rest of my house is suffering.

I'm not dealing well with it. With any of it. I'm not comfortable putting it out on the web just how poorly I'm dealing, but suffice it to say, it's not pretty. And then I get down on myself for worrying about these stupid problems when my boys are actually relatively healthy. When I have a house. A husband who loves me, even when he's whiny about a stomach virus.

But then? Then, first thing this morning, I have a first grade student come to me, sobbing, because his friends are telling him that The Polar Express isn't real. And not for a single second did I think he was being ridiculous or that his problem wasn't valid. Because to him...it is. So I held his hands while he told me his story. I hugged him and let him cry on my shoulder. And I walked him down to the library to read him a few pages of The Polar Express, promising a few more if he has a good morning.

It's easy for me to show compassion to other people. I need to show it to myself.

So if I'm not around commenting, or Tweeting, or heytelling, or blogging, you know I'm most likely under a mountain of Sharpies and barf buckets and kleenex and acrylic paint. So send prayers. Or a maid.

Namaste.

Right now

* Right now, I am really disappointed because we are missing a class at church, which will most likely ultimately lead to us discontinuing the course. It's only 6 weeks, and since we won't be able to attend on Halloween, only taking 2/3 of the class seems pointless. Especially when they will re-offer the class another time. But...gah...I want to take it now!

* Right now, we are missing the class because both B and L have a lower GI virus. I had it last week. I'll spare you the details (you are welcome), but it's no fun. My mom is our sitter, but is on chemo in an attempt to cure her hepatitis. Even though L is getting over his virus, she can't be around sickies since chemo kills your immune system. So I understand. And I feel even worse, because I am sad when I should be feeling sympathetic. So yeah, I'm stuck in a vicious cycle of self-suckage.

* Right now, I wish I could download the couch to 5K app and go for a run but considering I think I have my own virus settling into my lungs, I don't think a run would be good for this lovely and extremely productive cough.

* Right now, my husband is seriously dumpster-diving. He threw away our old thermostat when he replaced ours and now, apparently coincidentally, our heat isn't working correctly. His friend is trying to fix it as I type but he keeps muttering words like "bizarre," and "confused," so that doesn't exactly look great.

* Right now, L is making G giggle while G finishes his dinner. Right now, the weather is beautiful so we don't even need to worry about the heat for a few days. Right now, I'm looking forward to having a (gluten-free) beer, eating my quinoa pasta, and watching the World Series tonight. Right now, I am reminding myself, as always, that things could be so much worse and that God has a hand in EVERYTHING.

What's up with you right now?

Me neither.

Do you ever have a really overwhelming day at work when every time you think you have the scheduling logistics figured out, someone tells you that you have to change it? So you are constantly trying to get your disorganized attention-deficit self organized while your head is spinning over scheduling changes, and in the meantime your to-do list just keeps growing and growing and growing and you are wondering how on earth you are going to keep it together since you have the biggest caseload you've ever had?

No? Me neither.

Do you ever get so stir-crazy from looking at scheduling conflicts and data sheets and numbers and names that you decide to go to Wal*Mart during your lunch break so that you can buy a pretty binder and a bunch of Sharpie pens with your money from the PTO to make yourself feel better?

No? Me neither.

Do you ever find yourself a little jealous of your husband, who gets to stay late at work every single night? Because just once you'd like to stay a little late to get caught up and have him rush out to get the kids from school and come home to a messy house and have to make dinner and pack lunches for tomorrow and bathe the boys?

No? Me neither.

Do you ever pick up your toddler and have to grit your teeth when his teacher says that the cough he's had for two weeks is now worse because you knew that was coming? And because he's fever-free, eating, sleeping, and playing fine, realize that you'd better take gluten out of your diet in addition to dairy because you're afraid he might have the same allergies as his brother? Have you ever worried about the fact that keeping three people in one house on a gluten-free, casein-free diet is going to be expensive and a bit tricky?

No? Me neither.

Do you ever find the overwhelming sensation to cry and ask God, aloud, to come near, in the middle of your kitchen when you can't figure out what to make for dinner? And have you ever given up and made hot dogs, taking solace in the fact that at least they are hormone, antibiotic, and nitrate-free hot dogs? And when you looked at your preschooler's plate of said hot dogs, gluten-free pretzels, organic strawberries, and vitamins, have you ever told yourself that meal could be much worse, even though you really know it should be much better?

No? Me neither.

Have you ever not had time to blog but you know that it's cheaper than therapy so you go ahead and write a post anyway? Have you ever totally put yourself out there on your blog even though you know some people are going to realize just how crazy you are? Have you ever wanted to apologize to your blog friends for publishing a psychotic post and failing to comment on their blogs, all in the same day?

No? Me neither.

Sunday Night Randomness

I opened up Blogger today to find that I have several new followers. And some of you are of the anonymous variety. I love new followers, anonymous or not, but you know, I won't argue if you peek your head out and introduce yourself. Just sayin'.

I'd love to post something inspirational and positive, but the truth is, I'm having a rough weekend. We've been sick with this cold for three solid weeks, G has reverted back to his newborn sleeping ways, and today, something extra crappy happened.

I realized I lost our camera. Sob. It was a nice point and shoot, and I haven't seen it since I took it outside on Thursday to take pictures of the snowman that L and I built. We have turned the house upside down, and it's nowhere to be found. Granted, with my track record, it could be in the refrigerator or in G's toy box. But for now, it's gone. I'm afraid it was stolen out of our garage, or I left it on my car and drove off.

Not only does that mean that I don't have a camera to take pictures of my boys, it means that we are out a significant amount of money.I was attempting to squirrel away money for something special for this summer. Before the camera loss, it was unlikely. Now, it's next to impossible, barring a miracle.

So.

I'm sad. I know in the grand scheme of things, the loss of a camera is stupid. It doesn't take away my wallowing, though.

Hence the lack of fluff. Therefore, since I am sure that my new followers are just dying to know which of my five statements from this post are true, I'll hook you up.

1. I have a sick fascination with smashing spiders. The less of them there are in this world, the better.

So not true. I am that girl who rescues the spiders and takes them outside. This is especially fun at my work, where I am surrounded by a bunch of women who wig out at the site of a spider. Yeah, I'm also that girl who scares my coworkers with said spiders.

2. If given the opportunity, I'd jump at the chance to hang out with the cast of Jersey Shore for a weekend.

This is the true one. I love me some Jersey Shore...fist-pumping, poofs, and all. I blame it on my Italian heritage. I may or may not have a crush on Vinny, even though I am probably almost old enough to be his mother. I laugh so hard the entire hour of that show that my face hurts upon it ending.

3. I love celebrity gossip but refuse to spend a dime on trashy gossip magazines.

I have a subscription to US Weekly. And when my issues were two weeks late his week, I thought my subscription had ended and I bought another trash rag. Later that day, I got the two US's and got a little giddy over the fact that I could read to my heart's content about how Jake Gyllenhall also buys toilet paper to wipe his arse.

4. I paint my toenails at least every other week.

This one is probably the one that is furthest from the truth. I just painted my toenails today to try to cheer myself up. It had been so long that I had let a pedicure completely grow out, meaning no polish remover involved. Do you realize how long that takes?

5. During the winter, I only shave my legs, on average, once a month.

See #2. That whole Italian heritage thing...if I waited a month to shave my legs, it'd be growing out my corduroys. I shave my legs daily. Really.

And that's that. Only one person got it right, (what's up, Biz?) and I'm not sure what that says about me. Or you.

Here's hoping my week is full of miracles including me finding my camera and/or a big chunk of change.

Or at least some really blogworthy days at work to get me out of this funk.

Namaste.

Way Back Whensday...by popular demand

Some of my good bloggy friends have gotten wind that I once was arrested, and I promised to tell the story.

If you've been reading my blog for any amount of time, you know that I was married to a man who was physically and emotionally abusive. He was also what I have termed "financially abusive." He spent all of our money and constantly knowingly wrote bad checks to get cash. I. Could. Not. Stop. Him. Once, I had to ask my mom for $5 to buy a roll of wrapping paper. And he was cashing in his 401K to buy a tv.

So of course, instead of updating his license plate tags, he spent it on other “necessities.” Because my car was nicer, he constantly took it without asking. One day, while driving his car, I got pulled over for the tags and was written a ticket. I didn’t have the money to pay it, so I simply didn’t. Apparently, a warrant for my arrest was in the mail, but because it was Christmastime, the mail was backed up because of the holidays. I had completely forgotten about the ticket and had no clue I had a warrant.

One night, I was driving home from my job around 1 am and got pulled over for speeding. It took FOREVER for the cop to come back to my car after she took my license and registration. I started getting nervous and it struck me that I had that outstanding ticket. I immediately started crying. Finally, the cop came back to my car and I started blabbering excuses for that ticket. She refused to listen, told me that she was going to have to arrest me, and I lost it. It is safe to say that abusive marriages don’t exactly help make you more emotionally stable. I was sobbing...big, ugly, hiccuping sobs. As with every arrest, she actually handcuffed me, and called for backup. I was mortified. (Side note, in case you are wondering...my brother was not a police officer yet. He was still in The Academy.)

The officers were actually nice, considering I was being arrested. They let me move my car and take my radar detector (which obviously didn’t work anyway), and put it in my trunk. The woman cop was training another officer and the trainee actually sat in the backseat so I could sit in the front seat. All I remember from that ride is crying so hard, and because I was handcuffed, I had to wipe my nose with my knee. I can laugh now, but I assure you, it was not funny at the time…especially to someone who had never been in any trouble with the police.

We got to the police station and they took all my belongings, including all of my jewelry and my shoelaces. I felt like I was in a movie. They did me another "favor"…chained me to the desk instead of putting me in a cell. I was still sobbing so hard that they were taking turns coming and snickering at the hilarious little girl who just got arrested. They gave me my one call and I called the ex, who thought it was a joke. I started crying so hard that the officer had to take the phone and talk to him.

I had to be moved to the county jail, and I was driven in another police car. Apparently I had just missed the van that takes all the criminals together. (Can you imagine that blog post?) When I got to the county jail, they interviewed me to find out about my mental health, which was severely lacking at the moment. They FRISKED me, and I had to stand in some tiny little airtight booth in order to actually enter the jail. I am 5’4” and back then, I weighed about 95 pounds. I was standing between two very tall, very scary men and I was absolutely petrified as the doors shut. I figured these two men were certainly murderers and I was their next victim. With the doors shut tight, they could easily kill me and no one could stop them. Absolutely terrifying. Once I got into the jail, I thought I found one friend, who was arrested for DWI, and seemed nice enough. I was so relieved to have someone to talk to. That is, until she passed out on the bench next to me mere minutes later.

I was still crying so hard that the officer on duty called me up to his little booth and actually told me I really needed to stop crying. He started trying to make friendly conversation with me, but I wasn’t in the mood. I was almost ready to graduate with my master’s degree, and I was absolutely convinced that I’d ruined my life and I’d never get a job. He reassured me that wasn’t the case, and I went back to a chair and sat down, trying to calm down, but still gulping like a 4 year old.

I was amazed at how nice people were in jail. One girl came up and hugged me and told me that everything would be okay. Some guys about my age strutted up to me and asked what was apparently the pickup line in jail... “What are you in for?” They sat by me and talked to me about how great the upstairs of the jail was…you got cots and bologna sandwiches. Sadly, at the moment, that actually did sound heavenly.

Another man with the most amazing mullet I’d ever seen came over and sat down by me when the boys were called to leave. He asked what my bail was (another popular conversation starter), and when I told him it was $100, he told me that his was $10,000! Evidently, it wasn’t his first arrest. He told me the story of what happened; that the police came and got him from his daughter’s first birthday party and boy, was his wife pissed. He talked to me for the longest time, and was the only person who calmed me down. I am still grateful to him and have no idea who he was. Funny enough, I can’t remember why he was arrested. I wonder if I have a guardian angel with a mullet. Awesome.

After almost 3 hours of sitting in the jail, my bail had been paid and I was set free.
Apparently, I had accidentally taken my ex’s keys that night and he had to go knock on our neighbor’s door to ask to borrow their car at 3 am. While that wasn’t quite enough of a payback, it helped a little. Thanks, Karma.

Because it's been far too long since I've posted about puke

Last night, we decided to go to the mall.

B needed to pick up a suit and I needed to find a dress, since we are attending a wedding reception tonight.

So we decided that it would be a good idea for the whole fam to go to the mall.

That was our first mistake.

B brought home dinner from a new deli nearby that has a gluten-free menu. He ordered L's sandwich on the gluten-free bread that we always buy. When we opened it up, we noticed that it looks better than our bread usually does, but we didn't think much of it. And L chowed down. He ate more than I did for dinner.

About twenty minutes later, we began the process of heading out. G's diaper was changed. L went potty. We dug out L and G's jackets. The boys got their socks and jackets on. L found his tennis shoes. Everyone got strapped into their carseats and after a 15-minute routine to get everyone ready, we were finally off.

We stopped at a gas station to fill up, and L started coughing while B was pumping gas. I remembered that we forgot to give him his medicine, and after B finished, we headed back home to get it, as L's cough was getting worse.

We were too late.

Pukefest 2010 went down in the car. Sigh.

Maybe the deli put the wrong bread on L's sandwich.

Maybe he just ate too much and coupled with the cough, had a recipe for disaster.

Maybe the cold air brought on an asthma attack.

Really, though, it doesn't matter. The kid was covered in vomit, and so was his car seat. B literally had to carry him in in his seat and hose the seat off after he got him out.

The trip to the mall was cancelled. I decided to clean the house instead, partially due to the lingering throw-up odor permeating my house. I was not a happy camper. L was crying, saying he wanted to go to the mall. G was crying, demanding to be fed. I wanted to cry, but held back.

And then G went 7.5 hours between feedings last night, went back to sleep without a fuss, and both he and L slept in until after 8.

What puke?

Friday Fails

L had his extended care class party at school this morning (not to be confused with his preschool party on Wednesday). I told the teacher ahead of time that rather than bringing him early, then coming back home, then taking G to his sitter, then coming back to the party, I'd just wait and bring him in at 10:15 when the party started. It'd just be easier that way.

Honestly...I'm lucky to get him to school at 9:00 even though we pay to have him there at 8:00, so I knew I probably couldn't swing that whole 10:15 time.

Fail #1. At least I am being honest, though, right?

So I figured we had tons of time to get to school by 10:15. I wanted to leave by 9:45. When I realized at 9 am that I hadn't showered myself or L, I jumped up and hurried us both into the shower.

45 minutes later, I realized it had been two hours since I fed G and rushed everyone into the car, grabbing a pumped bottle of breastmilk for the sitter to give G instead.

Fail #2. At least I remembered the milk, though, right?

I left G's sitter at 10:12 and realized that I had forgotten the camera for L's party.

Fail #3. At least I remembered L's gluten-free cupcake and Halloween gifts for his teachers (with super cute handmade tags attached, thankyouverymuch), right?

I walked in the door to find that all the kids were already sitting around the table and L's plate had been made extra-special for him. (His teacher bought special gluten-free cookie mix and I gave her some dairy-free butter to make them. Best.Teacher.Ever. She also told me that a parent had brought butter popcorn so I brought in safe popcorn for L. She had everything set up so he had no idea that he was eating anything different than his friends. I love her.)

Apparently, they had been waiting for L. We were a few minutes late.

Fail #4. At least we, um, made it to the party, right?

Two of the three of L's teachers had surprised him by dressing up in Harry Potter cloaks and ties. And yeah...I totally forgot my camera. I whipped out my cell phone and got a cute one, but kinda felt like that mom (you know the one) when they got out the classroom camera for me, took a picture of the three of them, and told me that they'd make me a copy of the picture.

Fail #5. At least I had my cell phone camera, right?

I left the party as it was winding down and went home and pumped. I started to straighten the house, thinking that I needed to leave at 11:45 to meet B for lunch at our favorite sushi restaurant. As I walked out the door, I realized I was supposed to be at his work at 11:45 to pick him up.

Fail #6. At least I remembered lunch, and he only works 10 minutes away, right?

The good news is that the rest of the day went smoothly. I picked G up on time, we got a nap in, picked L up on time, the Halloween teacher gifts (cute pumpkin slipper socks) were a hit, we went to Target, and came home to chill.

Oh. But I didn't make it to the post office like I needed to in order to return G's too-big costume.

And I ate a Super Pretzel, Fritos with bean dip, and candy for dinner.

Fails #7 and #8.

But at least I made all my blog readers feel better about themselves....right?

Tuesday morning in numbers

Times Gray woke up to eat from 8:30 pm to 5:30 am: 4

Times I got up to check on or take care of a coughing Logan: 3

Times I have called the pediatric nurses' line: 2

Breathing treatments I've given today: 1

Times L has coughed even after said breathing treatment: 28975283

Pixar movies I have put in the DVD player before 9 am: 2

Things I have convinced L to eat: 0

Times I have resented my husband for being at work: 7

Times I have cried: 3 (although one was during Sister Wives so it may not count)

Times I have called my mom to come rescue me: 1

Blogs on which I will probably comment today: 0 (but I'm reading, I promise)

Hope your Tuesday has better numbers than mine.

A stream of conciousness post that will serve as birth control in the future

I'm blogging from the couch, from B's laptop. And while neither of those seem note-worthy, they are.

I'm banished to the couch since this morning I had really bad cramping and bleeding, which had seemed to stop. I'll spare you the details, but it was a lot. When I called the OB exchange, the doctor who called me back requested that I stay off my feet today and if it happens again, I have to go to the ER. It was a bit of a bummer, because my cousins have been in town for most of the week and are heading back to Texas today. Bedrest=not being able to go to my mom's to say goodbye to them. And that makes me sad.

But what makes me even sadder is that L *sob* spilled water all over my laptop last night. He was playing on pbskids.org, and took a drink of his water. Just as I was about to tell him to take it into the kitchen, it toppled, and I swear it was in slow motion. I immediately started sobbing, and couldn't stop for a while. B thinks he might have saved it but we won't know for a while. I because quite dramatic, saying that it was my only connection to the outside world at this point. The worst part, though, is I totally yelled at L. Just typing that makes me tear up again. I don't claim to be the perfect mother...far from it, in fact. But I realized last night that I very rarely yell at L. And I feel so guilty that the one time I did, it was for something he did by pure accident.

He also has a little cold, and came over to talk to me about the computer situation and I told him to get out of my face because he was sick. I know I am sleep-deprived and hormonal, but I cannot believe I said that to my kid. (Do you hear that? It's the sound of people unfollowing me. It's okay...I understand.) I am so worried about G getting sick in the first few months (hello, flu season). I'm just as afraid of me getting sick since I am breastfeeding him.

Last night, I went into his room and snuggled him after he went to sleep, telling him how much I love him and how sorry I am. I promised him I'd take him to get snow cones today, but evidently he'll have to get a rain check on that now that I can't get off the couch. Luckily, he hasn't said a word about it so I don't think he remembers. I'll make up for it in the next couple of days.

Breastfeeding is going well, at least. G loves to nurse, and while I know that sometimes he just nurses to soothe himself, for now, I am okay with that. He loves to be held and is so attached to me. In fact, sometimes if B is holding him, he'll cry for me. Then I feel bad about that too. But a little part of me kind of likes it just a little. Sshhhh.

B is being unbelievable as usual. He makes dinner. He does the dishes. He does the laundry. He changes 90% of the diapers. He brushes L's teeth and puts him to bed. I don't deal well with lack of sleep (obviously). I am one of those people who requires 8-10 hours a night, so the deprivation renders me somewhat useless. B just says he knows how hard I am working to keep G fed (boyfriend eats, on average, every 1-2 hours) and he needs to take care of me since I am taking care of our baby. Best. Husband. Ever.

He goes back to work on Tuesday and I'm a little nervous. I'm not nervous about being home alone with G. That, I'm kind of excited about. The silly thing I'm nervous about is getting L to school and bringing G along. Getting there on time...battling a germy preschool...it's a bit daunting. But I'm sure that once I do it one (or seven) times, it will become easier.

I miss spin class. I miss my girls at the gym. I miss my coworkers. I miss being able to run to Target when the world becomes too much.

And the difference this time around (as compared to my postpartum days with L) is that I know these feelings are normal and it's a bit easier to take a deep breath, eat some chocolate, and breathe in the smell of G and remember that this too, shall pass.

A case of the (very pregnant) Mondays

I went to the doctor today, all excited. After my four hours of contractions on Saturday night, losing my mucous plug, and spotting today, I was bound to have made some progress. Plus, I was excited to get the details of my induction. Would it be Thursday or Friday? Morning or afternoon? Squeeeee!!!

Um, yeah. Total buzzkill in the stirrups.

No progress. Zip. Zero. Nada. Still at a 3.

He stretched me to a 4, but explained I'd probably go backwards a little.

That wasn't enough, though. When I asked about my induction date, I got the fabulous news that because I won't be technically 39 weeks till Saturday, I can't be induced until....

....wait for it....

Monday.

Effing Monday.

So now the plan is to hope for contractions that come between 5-7 minutes and if they make their appearance, rush to the hospital and ahem...don't downplay the pain I'm in, if you know what I mean.

And if they don't come?

Go back to get restretched (Yippee.) on Thursday and hope that the third time's a charm.

Oh, and moms in the parent drop-off lane were literally laughing and pointing at me during drop-off duty today.

Laughing. And pointing. You read that right.

Whatever.

Namas-freakin-te.

WTF Wednesday

Never heard of WTF Wednesday?

Me neither.

But it fits, after what happened to me and my good bloggy friend Jess yesterday.

I need to back up a little.

I won Jess' giveaway a while back, which included a cupcake green Vera Bradley all-in-one wristlet and $25 gift card to Panera. I was beyond thrilled. First of all, Jess was taking my Vera virginity, and second, Panera is the one place that we can take L out to eat. So this giveaway was made for me. I had some great luck, winning it.

Too bad my great luck came to a screeching halt yesterday afternoon.

My package came and B handed it to me, saying something about it being open. I wasn't really listening as I opened the (already-open) envelope and pulled out the card. Jess had written me a sweet note inside and after I read it, I realized that there was nothing else in the package.

Nothing.

Nada.

No wristlet. Sniff, sniff.

No gift card. Sob.

Someone had stolen my giveaway prizes! WTF?

I know they didn't steal them out of my mailbox, because I had received some (adorable) headbands from Katie that I had ordered, and another IRL friend had sent me a sweet package too. They were all in the exact same type of envelope.

So someone involved in the United States Postal Service had found my giveaway, pocketed it, and decided that Jess' card was a good enough delivery for me. Not that I don't want her card, but I want my prize!!! And I finally got to talk to her on the phone, which was nice and all, but not under the circumstances. Boo.

And before you ask, no, she didn't insure it (who actually does that?) but she had a tracking number. I guess that won't help either.

Can someone help? Got an "in" with Vera or Panera? Or some advice on tracking down the asshole that stole my prize?

Honestly...WTF?

Cupcake cure-all

You've heard of Murphy's Law, right? Anything that can go wrong will go wrong? On Wednesday, I had one of those mornings. I was all prepared for our day, which included a birthday party for L's BFF that was about 45 minutes away. I had the present wrapped...just had to add the card. I had figured in enough time to stop by the gluten-free bakery to pick up a special cupcake for L. My GPS was sitting on the seat of my car. We were good to go.

As we were walking out the door to leave, L informed me that he had to poop. Glad that the urge hit him before he was strapped in his carseat and we were on the road, I followed him to the bathroom.

And his poor little tummy was obviously not happy because he had a very yucky poop. I'll spare you the details.

So then my mind started racing.

Should we stay home? I hate when people bring sick kids out in public, or around other kids in general.

What if it was nothing, and we stayed home for no good reason?

What if he threw up in my car?

Ew. Car seat puke. I decided we'd stay home for a while and see what...if anything...happened. I figured no more rumblies in the tumbly meant that we were safe to go.

40 minutes later, L had insisted several times that he was fine. I chalked it up to him chugging chocolate soy milk on an empty stomach and we decided to go.

I knew we were short on time. My friend, the birthday boy's mom, had told me that the pirate boat rides were going to start promptly at 10:30.

We took off down the highway, and I silently cursed every red light. (Cursing non-silently has proven to have bad results around my parroting three year old.)

I got about ten minutes away, almost to the highway, and I realized I had forgotten the birthday card. Grrrr.

We got on the highway and my GPS died. I couldn't find the cord. Grrrrr. I started swigging my 8 oz Coke, wishing it was stronger.

I called B, to find out how to get there. He didn't answer. I called again. And again. And he texted me: "in a meeting." Grrrr. I started to panic.

I called the bakery (luckily I had jotted the number down) and they walked me through the directions.

We rushed into the bakery and I asked for L's favorite chocolate chunk cupcake. They were out of them. Grrrr. They did have yellow iced cupcakes, so I settled, paid, and ran.

I got about 25 minutes from the party and realized that it was 10:20. I started calling my friend and her husband. Neither one answered. I called and called and called. Grrrr.I felt my face getting hot and the tears welling up.

My friend's hubby finally answered and I told him my dilemma. He obviously could tell I had reached psycho pregnant woman status and handed the phone to his wife.

As soon as I heard her voice, I lost it. "I had to stop and get L's cupcake and I forgot A's card and my GPS died and I don't know where I am going and I am going to make the boat rides late and I am going to cryrightnowohmygoshI'mjustgoingtoturnaroundandgohome...wwwaaahhhh!"

"Gina. Chill out," she answered, sternly. (She knows how to handle me and that's why I love her.)

She gave me directions and met me when we pulled into the parking lot, pulled L out of his carseat, simultaneously putting on his pirate do-rag, handing him his treasure-collecting bag, and spraying him with sunscreen as she ran him to the boat.

I trudged behind, wiping my eyes and trying to take pictures.

Somehow, everything worked out a-okay. L got the pirate boat ride of his life:


He also got to hunt for treasure:


And although the yellow cupcake proved to be nowhere near as good as the chocolate chunk, we managed. After all, any cupcake is a good cupcake.



And any cupcake makes a bad day better. Take that, Murphy's Law.

The post in which I sound a bit like Sybil.

In an effort to focus on the positive and quit whining, I am going to couple each statement I make with a positive....

Poor L has a fever again and says his ears hurt.

However, he's been on antibiotics for four days, so I don't think it's possible for him to have an ear infection. I know you don't get over bronchitis in 6 days, so this is to be expected.

Waaahhh...I just want him to get and stay healthy.

But he's my kid. We both just get upper respiratory infections. He's happy. The asthma is not life-threatening. He's doing okay.

Poor guy probably won't be able to make it to school on Monday.

Thank goodness my mom has already agreed to take him if he's not well enough.

He's STILL coughing.

The albuterol seems to be helping, and he's tolerating the treatments so much better.

I hate that my posts are all about L and his asthma and I am a hot whiny mess.

I have a much more light-hearted Not Me! Monday post coming....I swear! And good news for my followers...if I don't turn this blog around, you'll have grounds for charging me copays for these therapeutic posts.

Hopefully 2010's posts will get less whiny as the year goes on....

I'll be honest. This year has not had a fabulous start.

Last night, we put Logan down to bed and he started coughing and didn't stop until...c'mon, say it with me....he puked. (Yes, we are very worried about what the acid is doing to his teeth. Because we need something else to worry about.)

I remarked to B that Lo didn't cough at all the night before, when he slept in our bed. We moved him to our bed, and sure enough, he didn't cough, not once, for the rest of the night.

And now B and I are pretty sure that in addition to the water damage in our basement and our shot roof, we have mold in L's window/wall that we'll have to fix before we can put our house on the market. Unfortunately, we are in the crappiest school in a crappy district and don't have a choice about moving before L goes to kindergarten. I realize that is three years away, but getting a house ready to sell with all the problems we have, putting it on the market, selling it, and finding a new place to live will easily take three years. Sigh.

Today, we went over to my mom's house to see my aunt and uncle and their three boys (3rd grade, 4th grade, and 8th grade) who L adores. Too bad in the span of 2 and 1/2 hours L coughed until he threw up three times. Granted, he has bronchitis, and running with his three favorite boys will do that to an asthmatic kid with bronchitis and the world's most sensitive gag reflex, but it doesn't make it any easier on me. Sigh.

I keep telling myself (quite often, out loud), that this is not life-threatening, or even all that dangerous. It could be worse. Easily. It could be worse. It could be worse. It could.

On top of all this nonsense, the stupid girl at the eye doctor (who I also posted about her bitchiness here and here ) chipped my glasses while trying to adjust them the other day. Sigh.

And the reaction that I blogged about last week didn't go away. That means that I can't wear my contacts. So I have to wear chipped Coke-bottle glasses. Sigh.

The girl offered to order me new lenses. BUT as the doctor discovered during my eye doctor appointment, my prescription has gotten significantly worse, to the point that even with my glasses I am thisclose to not being "street legal." Sigh.

I am due for another annual visit in February. So I told her just to wait till then, since I can't leave my glasses with her anyway, and since I will definitely want to pay the extra cash for the thinner lenses next time, but I want to wait to get the right (aka almost legally-blind) prescription, leaving me in my ugly glasses for an entire month. Sigh, sigh, sigh.

So yeah. 2010 has not been the best start of the year. And I keep hearing people say that how the year starts is pretty much how the rest of the year will go. Sigh.

I, for one, am choosing to believe the opposite. Hey, I'm pregnant. And we have a pulmonologist appointment in two weeks. I am going to be positive. Maybe that whole thing about "in like a lion, out like a lamb" works for things besides the weather, too.

Hey, it could happen.

You're a mean one, Ms. Grinch....

On Monday, after our night from hell, my eye was absolutely killing me. I've had these same disposable toric (weighted for astigmatism) contact lenses for ten months now, and I hate them. They always seem to be bothering me, especially my left eye. However, I chalked it up to a night of two hours of sleep and suffered through the day.

When I got home, I immediately took out my contacts, but the pain didn't get any better. So I wore my Coke-bottle glasses to work on Tuesday, thinking that would alleviate the problem. No such luck...as the day went on, I became very sensitive to light and started diagnosing myself with a variety of eye issues, from a scratched cornea to a detached retina to eye cancer.

And then, one of the teacher aides came running to find me to tell me that one of the students with whom I work very closely had pink eye.

I had never had pink eye before, and since by this time my eye was swollen and red, I felt much better about the fate of my eye (and my future ability to go without my hideous glasses).

I made an appointment with my eye doctor for the next day, and merrily went about my day.

Yesterday, my eye had actually been feeling much better, which was surprising, considering by the time I went to bed the night before, even the light from my laptop was excruciating. However, when I left the house to go to the doctor, even the light from the completely overcast sky made me wince.

But once I got into the examination room, even the doctor shining those irritatingly bright lights directly into my eye didn't bother me a bit. I honestly thought I was losing it.

He seemed confused, and then asked if he minded if he dilated my eyes to take a look at the nerve in the back of my eye, which according to him, looked "off." He asked if I had been having headaches.

And the panic set in. My grandmother had a detached retina and ended up going blind. My grandfather had two brain tumors. I immediately diagnosed myself with both conditions.

The doc just laughed, as doctors often do with me.

After they took the photos of my eye, the receptionist who was a complete bitch last time I was at the doctor outdid herself.

She brought the photos up on the computer screen and began, "These were your eyes back in February, and these are your eyes today."

Suddenly, she stopped short, immediately closed out the screen, and said, "Ohh...I'll just have the doctor discuss this with you," and quickly walked out.

At that point, I couldn't decide if I felt more like crying or vomiting. I honestly thought about hacking into the computer to see my photos. I figured that I had something terribly wrong which is what had caused my ongoing left-contact issues.

Twenty long and torturous minutes later, the doc came in and looked at the screen.

Diagnosis: Nothing wrong with my nerve....and the pain is from an allergic reaction.

Suggestions on what to do when I see Ms. Grinch in a week?

The first post in which I drop the f-bomb and have every right to do so.

The following is an account of my night last night. No exaggerations have been made for dramatic effect.

9:00 pm: Logan starts coughing. We give him his inhaler (4th night in a row), he settles down, and falls fast asleep.

10:00 pm: I fall asleep, looking oh-so- forward to a good night's sleep after a ridiculously hectic weekend.


11:00 am: Logan starts coughing again, although inconsistently.


12:00 am: I am still being awakened every so often by a inconsistent cough.


2:00 am: I hear Logan choking, gasping. I jump out of bed, run across the hall to his room, leaving my still-awake and watching-tv husband in bed (seriously, why did God only give us women the super-human eagle ears and motherly instinct??). Logan is in full-blown asthma attack mode. We attempt to give him a nebulizer treatment, and he decides he is petrified of the scary, noisy nebulizer. Brian and I are both at our wit's (wits'?) end (ends?) and end up getting into a huge argument.


3:00 am: Logan is still coughing...badly. I don't know what to do. Did he get any albuterol from that treatment? If so, how much?? Wearily, I call the exchange and speak to a sweet nurse, who immediately calmed me down and coached me through three inhaler treatments, back to back.


3:50 am: Logan finally stops coughing. Thank. GOD.

3:55 am: I realize that Logan has spiked a fever. I take his temperature to find out that he is running 101 degrees. Fuck.

4:10 am: The nice nurse calls back to check on Lo's status and I describe his state. Lo is getting very tired, and beginning to cough again. She explains what to do and I hang up.

5:00 am: Logan is still coughing, still inconsistently. I am supposed to be waiting to give him another treatment. Since by this time B has decided to stay home and I am going to work (solely due to the fact that I am out of sick days), I go to sleep on the couch for two hours.

5:50 am: Just as I finally start to really sleep, I awake to hear Lo hacking, hacking, hacking. Seriously? I go back into the bedroom to find him at his worst state yet. I call the exchange back, in pure panic mode.

6:15 am: The same sweet nurse (God love her) calls me back, immediately calms me down, and decides Logan needs Prednisone. Sheesh. She calls it out and tells me to give Logan yet another breathing treatment.

6:30 am: In a zombie-like state, I get into the shower. I guiltily enjoy not hearing Logan's cough and for fifteen straight minutes, pretend like he's not coughing at all. I find it very hard to think positively and to remind myself that things could be worse.

6:45 am: I get out of the shower and B goes to the 24 hour Walgreens to get Logan's medicine and to stop to get us fast food and coffee a very healthy breakfast. I consider calling that sweet nurse back to see if she can give me the hookup on a caffeine and/or Xanax IV.

8:00 am: I reluctantly leave my sick little man and go to work. I call his pediatrician and inform them of last night's events. I cry.

And here, I sit, at work, begging for suggestions, for "I've-been-there-your-family-are-not-freaks-for-having-all-these-medical-issues" supportive stories, for anything but comments stating that we are always sick. Because I know that. And I keep thinking it. And I am sad. And frustrated. And beyond exhausted. And my contact is killing me, which in the grand scheme of things doesn't matter one teeny bit, but is just making things worse.

Sorry to be so negative today. But hey, maybe it will give you perspective on your life today. Because I am having a heck of a time finding it here.

Friday, please hurry....

My day started with a negative pregnancy test.

During the day, I dealt with two kids in complete crisis. Simultaneously. Honest to goodness...they were both screaming at the top of their lungs, sobbing hysterically, kicking and throwing things...and totally feeding off of one another. The story of how it ended is so unbelievable that I am going to save it for a rainy (aka blogger's block) day.

My day ended with me calling B to ensure he was picking L up from school. He didn't answer. I waited a few minutes and called again. And repeated that cycle again and again and again.

The last I had heard from him was that he was leaving his buddy's house (he had taken a personal day...apparently I should have followed his lead) and was headed to the gym.

I called L's school and he had not picked him up. I raced out of my building, and on the way, called the gym to find out if B had ever made it there. I was on the phone with them as I raced in, didn't say two words to L's teachers (and I admit, I am usually the mom who fishes for every last detail of L's day), scooped him up, and bolted out.

The girl at the gym told me that B had indeed been there about three hours before. The gym is, tops....three minutes from our house.

Let me interrupt this story to tell you that B is the most responsible man I have ever met. Sometimes it's annoying. Seriously. So I was a wreck, to put it lightly.

I tried calling his buddy, whose phone number had been disconnected.

I called B's dad, who suggested that maybe B and his friend were just drinking beer. (B doesn't even drink beer. Argh.)

I pulled into our street and hit our garage door. At this point, I was preparing to walk into the house to see my husband sprawled out on the floor, dead. I was actually planning on leaving Logan in the car so that he wouldn't be traumatized by the sight.

B's car was not in the garage.

As I started to dial Information to get the numbers for local hospitals, my phone rang. It was B.

"WHERE ARE YOU????" I psychotically screamed asked politely.

Apparently, there had been a miscommunication. He thought I was picking L up. He had been at the gym at 1:30...on Sunday. Today, however, he had gone to a gym near his friend's house and was just now heading home.

So forgive me if I am absent from commenting tonight. My large glass of wine and hot bubble bath are calling my name.

Why yes, I would like a little cheese with my whine.

So after a long night filled with tossing and turning and more coughing than a two-year-old should ever do, I woke up this morning and called the pediatrician. Luckily, they got L in at 9:30. I brought him in, starting to feel pretty crappy myself, to find out that L has.....

a virus.

Of course it's a virus. It's always a damn virus. Every time the doctor says, "It's viral," I feel like asking for my copay back. Especially when the medicine he prescribed (a antihistimine/decongestant) is something that I already had in the medicine cabinet from L's last virus back in June.

The good news is that L doesn't seem to notice he's sick. He's still running and jumping and singing and jumping and yelling and running and laughing.

The bad news is that L doesn't seem to notice he's sick. He's still running and jumping and singing and jumping and yelling and running and laughing....while B and I are coughing and moaning and trying to keep from dozing off.

His poor little cough is the worst. He ate his whole lunch today and then promptly coughed so hard that he puked it all right back up onto his plate. (Thanks, Akilah, for letting me know I am not alone in the moms' battle against cough-induced vomiting.) And neither cough medicine nor that antihistimine/decongestant seems to be working.

Then I called the primary care physician who sees both me and B, and they said that the two of us could come in for a joint appointment. How romantic. Only not so much. B literally had to lie down on the table, he felt so bad. L thought the biohazard can was a fun toy and that we were the meanest parents in the whole world for not letting him play with it. I had to leave the room when they tested B for strep because I think throat cultures are cruel and unusual and beyond disgusting. (It's the one time I will always refuse medical treatment.) L thought the doctor's office was the best place to poop (good thing I did not give in to his request to wear underwear today).

After all that....our diagnoses were the same.

Say it with me.

A virus.

The one bright spot in our appointment was the fact that I found out that I had lost four more pounds. I am officially five pounds less than I was when I got pregnant with L!

So while B and L napped, I went to the grocery store to buy ingredients to make chicken and wild rice soup (for the second time since Sunday), picked up Mucinex DM, and stopped at McDonald's for chocolate shakes for our sore chests and throats.(Perhaps I should say I am now four pounds less than I was when I got pregnant.)

And now we are all sitting here watching Harry Potter for the 295793265th time. L just announced, in a pathetically hoarse voice, "My belly hurts up here," pointing to his chest. I feel the need to go to work tomorrow and support my coworkers who were stuck with all of my difficult students without me today. I also feel the need to lay on this couch, eat leftover soup, drink Gatorade, and whine.

Stay tuned to find out which of my exciting options will win out tomorrow. And for a less whiny, pessimistic post. I promise.

Somebody's got a case of the Mondays.

Remember that book, Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day?

Alexander ain't got nothin' on me today.

I woke up with cramps.

L had a tantrum before we even left the house to go to our respective schools. Screaming. Kicking. Hitting. I don't even remember what caused it.

One of my students fell asleep in the middle of my therapy sessions. Guess I'm not as fun and exciting as I thought.

I went to P.E. with another student, who thought another student illegally tackled him (but actually accidentally bumped his shoulder), which angered him enough that he ran out of the gym, leaving me with no other choice but to chase him around the school.

Soon after that, I was stricken with a migraine headache. Imagine that. I was forced to fall off the no-caffeine wagon, which I'd proudly been on for a week. That reminded me that I forgot about free-drinks-for-teachers Monday at Starbucks this morning. Grrr.

After lunch, I took a deep breath, ready to enjoy my plan time and re-organize my classroom (and my mind), only to get a call that the "runner" from this morning was taking a few more laps around the building.

Forty minutes later, I re-entered my classroom just in time to finish the day with my last group of students.

After school, I was discussing our little track star with two of his other teachers and I realized I was going to be late to pick up Logan from school. I raced out of the building and flew down the road....just as a police officer drove past me, then immediately turned around. My heart sank as I heard the "whoop whoop" and saw the flashing lights.

Fortunately, the officer took pity on me (thanks to my tears and our mutual friendship with a teacher in the building) and let me go without a ticket.

I got to L's school ten minutes late, rushed up to the woman in charge, pleading my case. She informed me that there is a ten minute grace period that I had no idea existed. Whew.

Upon getting home, L proceeded to tell me that he had kicked a child in his room....who has Down Syndrome. According to him, his teacher had gotten very angry with him and told him that I would be sad. Indeed I was.

I called his school several times, but his class was outside and no one could answer my call. I waited, heartbroken. When his teacher called me back, she gave me an explanation that I was not expecting....

L did not kick anyone. He totally lied to me. Out of all the kids in his room that he could have said he kicked, he chose the one with a disability!!

Guess who's breaking out the wine for the third night in a row tonight.