No WONDER they scream and pull their ears!

Hey there. I haven't written in a while. Why, you ask? Could it be because the kitchen project we optimistically started two weekends ago has taken over our entire lives and turned our little house into a national disaster area? Is it because my job has sucked me completely dry, and I can barely muster the energy to channel surf, let alone get on the computer and write at the end of the day, even if I was sharp enough to think of something interesting to say? Or, did the nonstop energy of my two little boys finally drive me into a temporary coma? None of the above, although all three are basically true. No, the reason I haven't written is because, for the first time in my life (or, at least, the first time I remember), I had an ear infection.

If you've ever had an ear infection, you are nodding your head up and down vigorously in empathy, and your eyes are watering at the very memory of the excrutiating pain you experienced. Yes, there is a reason our little ones with ear infections cry nonstop, cannot be soothed by any of the usual means, won't eat, can't sleep, and do everything they can to claw their ears right off of their heads. Ear infections hurt like you wouldn't believe! I seriously thought my head was going to burst open on one side, sending the offending ear flying across the room and spilling brains all over my living room carpet. It was so, so bad. Like labor, but in your ear. So, on Saturday afternoon, as I lay curled up in the fetal position on the couch, my hands grasping my head in an attempt to keep it from flying apart, moaning, my loving husband said, "Honey, we'd better take you to the emergency room." I looked up at him from between my fingers, tears pouring down my face, and sobbed, "Are you crazy?!!! We are NOT going to the emergency room! It's a seventy five dollar co-pay. I can wait until Monday!" Did the love of my life accept my answer? Not quite. He found a walk-in clinic that was still open, put me in the car, and drove me there. Then, in order to spare me the ordeal of trying to keep it together in front of my worried little boys -- a battle I was clearly losing, anyway -- he told me to call his cell when I was done, and he took Spencer and Foster to the playground to burn off some energy. My hero!

Luckily for me, the clinic wasn't packed full of people wondering if their cough was actually the Swine Flu. In fact, I was the only patient, so they got me in pretty quickly. The lovely young doctor, who looked like she could've been one of my middle school students only a couple of years ago, took out the thingie doctors use to check your ears and took a look. As I tried to avoid actually piercing through the denim of my jeans with my fingernails at the intense pain this caused, she clucked her tongue and said, "Oh, honey. We're going to get you some vicodin right away." As it turns out, I didn't technically have an ear "infection", although she said the symptoms are the same. No, I have something called an ear "effusion", which means that, instead of my inner ear being packed full of pus, it's packed full of mucous (Gross, huh?), causing my ear drum to bulge out, resulting in tremendous pain in the ear, as well as the head, jaw, and neck. The treatment? Decongestants, pain management (Thank you, vicodin!), and time. So, I got to spend the rest of the weekend hopped up on pain meds, semi-conscious, just waiting for things to get better. It's taken five days, but I'm finally starting to feel more like myself. I couldn't take the pain pills at work, of course (A school counselor on narcotics? Not such a great idea.), so it's been a long, long haul this week. And, it's only Wednesday...

What's the lesson in all of this? Well, my advice would be this: If your pediatrician tells you your children have ear infections -- give those little ones anything they need or want to feel better. Lavish them with love and affection. Take them to the dollar store and let them pick out five things that will make them smile. Let them eat nothing but their favorite foods, even if that means ice cream three times a day. Jump through any hoop to take their minds off of the pain. Because the poor little kids are in agony. Truly. I've been there... Cheers!

And clench, and squeeze, and turn, and clench, and squeeze, and brake...

If it wasn't for my car exercises, I'd weigh 400 pounds. I'm not kidding. In this economy, a gym membership is out of the question, even if I could find affordable childcare, so I could actually squeeze in a workout somewhere between the mad dash to and from Spencer's bus stop, the mad dash to and from Foster's preschool, the mad dash to and from work, and the constant mad dash around the house and around town after work to do laundry, cleaning, grocery-shopping, bill-paying, doctor appointments, dog poop patrol, and everything else that goes into keeping a family together these days! Whew! Now, with that said, there are plenty of hard-working Moms who manage to do yoga in their living rooms, or throw the kiddos into a jogging stroller and hit the sidewalk for a workout. So, I realize that there are probably creative ways I could carve out a little time to work on shrinking the size of certain body parts. But, the truth is, by the time the kids are snoozing, and I'm done with everything that has to be done in a typical day, I'm completely exhausted. All I want to do is collapse on the couch with the remote control and a glass of wine and kill brain cells watching mindless T.V. until hubby comes home. And, while there are many women who are willing to eat nothing but carrots and cottage cheese to stay skinny...I'm not one of them. I don't want to live in a world without red wine and big, heaping helpings of pasta. Not worth it.

Thus, "Beth's Car Workout" was born. What is it? Well, it basically consists of almost constant butt squeezes and tummy suck-ins (Suck-ins? You know what I mean!) as I cruise all around town. (And, when I hit a red light, it's Kegel time! Gotta keep those other muscles fit, eh? Too much information? Too bad. We should all be doing them for our health, anyway, and a red light is a perfect place to get in a few squeezes...) Then, when the kids aren't in the car with me -- and sometimes, when they are, but they're driving me nuts and I need to tune them out -- I add in some loud music accompanied by laughable dance moves behind the wheel. Oh, yes. I am THAT woman! The one you pull up next to and see boogying in the car seat and singing at the top of her lungs. I'm not even embarrassed by it anymore. If I catch someone staring, I just give 'em a huge smile and keep. on. boogying. Screw 'em if they think I'm crazy. That craziness is what's keeping me from going up another pant size. (Unfortunately, it's not enough to keep me in the pant size I'd like to be in...heh, heh.)

So, the next time you pull up next to a crazed woman, dancing behind the wheel of the car...give her a wave and a big grin. She's probably just doing the best she can to get in a workout!

Cheers!

Everything's better with a little horse slobber!

Fall is my favorite season. No contest. The other seasons don't stand a chance with me. I love the way Fall smells, the way it looks (all those gorgeous leaves), the crispness in the air... I love breaking out the turtlenecks and scarves and sweaters for the season... I love spiking my hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps and snuggling with my sweetie to watch football... I love that Fall means making great family memories on Halloween and Thanksgiving, and the anticipation of Christmas on the way... I love it all. And one of the things I love the most is Family Farm Day. What is it? It's actually a weekend in October, when farms throughout the county basically throw a giant open house for the public. They have free samples of their goods (as well as lots and lots of stuff you can buy, of course), activities for the kids, tours, mazes, hay rides, etc... Every year, I get online and print out the map of the farms. Then, in my completely anal retentive way, I figure out the exact, best route we can take to maximize our Family Farm experience. (My hubby just rolls his eyes and goes along with whatever I decide.) There are two absolute musts on our Family Farm Day. We must visit the Double O ranch, which is the farthest away, in the most beautiful location imaginable, because they have the absolute best hayride AND they have horses, and we must visit the Dairy Farm, because they give out free chocolate milk and ice cream bars. But, with around 16 farms to choose from, there are lots of other places to visit as well.

This year, Family Farm Day was the best one ever! Why? Because everything's better with a little horse slobber thrown in, don't you think? You see, I am a horse freak. I was the 12-year-old girl taking horseback riding lessons, Breyer horses lining every shelf and horse posters covering every space on the wall (except for the one space that was taken up by a poster of Harrison Ford as Indiana Jones, with the hat, and the leather jacket, and the whip...sigh), dreaming of the day I would be riding bareback across the field of my very own ranch...aaaaah. Life turned out a bit different than I had planned, eh? Anyway, I still have four big boxes of Breyer horses sitting in my closet, because I just can't bring myself to part with them. I don't dare pass them on to my little guys, because the horses wouldn't stand a chance. I can just see those delicate legs breaking one by one as my boys stage a raging stampede across the backyard...It makes me shudder, just thinking about it.

Sooooo...back to my story. We got to the Double O ranch, which, in many ways, is the ranch of my fantasies. Every time we've visited, their horses are somewhere off in the distance - beautiful and untouchable. Not this time. Oh, no. This time, one of their horses was right up by the fence and looking for love. We were waiting for the hayride, when I saw her up ahead, and I was gone in a heartbeat, heading for the fence. Kids? What kids? Oh, they'll be fine with Daddy. There's a horse that needs my attention! Oh, it was heaven for me. She wanted to be scratched and rubbed and fed grass. She nickered and pushed me with her head and licked the salt off of my palms. It was glorious! John snapped my picture with a huge grin on his face. He said it was just about the perfect image of me, because it captured a moment of total, complete, happiness.

Finally, the mare took off for the other side of the field. SIGH. We had missed the hayride,(sorry, boys) so we wandered over to check out the barn before the next ride, and...OMG!...not one, but two, Clydesdale mares were tied up in the barn, just waiting for me to shower them with love and affection!!! I couldn't believe my eyes. So, abandoning my family once more, I headed straight for the horses, threw my arms around their necks and inhaled their wonderful horsey smell...I scratched behind their ears and rubbed underneath their chins...I could have stayed there all day, sandwiched in between those two horses, just loving life. John practically had to drag me out of the barn by my hair to get me to come along on the hayride. And, here's where the slobber part comes in. I plunked myself down on the hay bales, grinning from ear-to-ear, when John suddenly pointed and said, "Ewwww...what is that on your scarf?" It was horse slobber. A big, wet spot of Clydesdale slobber all over my scarf. Giggle. The icing on the cake! What a Family Farm Day! I can hardly wait until next year... Cheers!

I'd like to nominate myself for the "Just Doing the Best I Can Right Now, So Deal With It" award, please.

Now, I have never (and will never) describe myself as a Super Mom, Domestic Goddess, Earth Mother, or any other title that would somehow indicate:
a) That I know what the heck I'm doing most of the time,
b) That I am particularly talented at any aspect of mothering or housekeeping (with the exception of tickle fighting, at which I truly excel), OR
c) That anyone who knows me would ever use my name in the same sentence as Martha Stewart or Rachel Ray, unless it was to laughingly point out the differences between us.

With that said, I do make valiant attempts to assure that my little boys are happy, healthy, confident, polite (OK, OK, still working on that one!), bold, curious, relatively clean, friendly little guys, who know that they are loved beyond measure, even when they're pushing every single one of my buttons. For hours. And hours. And hours... Most of the time, I think I pull it off fairly well. Occasionally, I even manage to do that and clean the house and take a shower. But, there are days when I just can't do it anymore. You know what I'm talking about? Those days where something at work is so stressful that it's giving you high blood pressure and nightmares, or your significant other says something incredibly insensitive at the worst possible time of the month, or you are just so overwhelmed by the number of balls you are trying to keep in the air, that you can't do one...more...thing?

Yeah, that's kinda been this week for me. Something had to give...So, what did Spencer have for lunch yesterday? What did his loving, caring mother make for her sweet little baby to eat at kindergarten? What nutritious, delicious, healthy foods did she provide to nurture his body, mind, and spirit?

SPENCER'S LUNCH:
1. A packet of those ritz cracker sandwiches with peanut butter goo in the middle
2. A string cheese
3. A packet of strawberry-flavored fruit snacks
4. A juice box

I can't help wondering what his teachers and all the volunteer lunch Mommies thought of Spencer's less-than-gourmet meal. I can imagine them shaking their heads and thinking, "Couldn't she, at least, have thrown together a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a banana?" "Oh, that poor little boy. Did you see what his mother gave him for lunch? Tsk. Tsk." "No vegetables? What kind of mother sends her son to school without any vegetables?" "Has anyone met that skinny little boys' mother?" SIGH...

So, I'm nominating myself for an award. I'm calling it: "Just Doing the Best I Can Right Now, So Deal With It" award. And, the winner is..... Me! (Cue the clapping and cheering...) By the way, today, Spencer had a ham and cheese sandwich, some cranberries, milk, and a granola bar for lunch. So, I'm not doing that badly...

And, speaking of awards, I'd like to thank two lovely ladies for giving me a shout-out on their own blogs. First, to my blog buddy at 2 Toddlers and Me, who not only gave me an award, but who also leaves me thoughtful, encouraging comments, no matter how nutball my postings may be, AND who emailed me to tell me how to take an award and cut it, paste it, and do all the stuff you're supposed to do with it, after you get it. (Which I tried this afternoon. Couldn't figure it out, in spite of her idiot-proof, step-by-step instructions. I'm not lying when I say I am technologically-impaired, folks.) Anyway, you should check her out for insightful, funny, touching stories, as well as some really cool ideas on how to keep your little ones happily occupied. I'd also like to thank Leigh at Leigh vs the Laundry for the award she graciously bestowed upon me. She is hilarious and intelligent, and I get so excited when I see that she's written another post. If you haven't checked her out yet...do it. Guaranteed giggle. And, if I can ever figure out how to get the awards over here on my blog, I'll do it, and I'll pay 'em forward...

Now, I am off to sing bedtime songs, tuck in little hands and feet, and shower my boys with their nightly hugs and kisses. So, as they say to me every single night: "Good night. Sleep tight. Don't let the bedbugs bite. Love you more than you love me!" Cheers!

OK, the wall is gone. Now what?

Sooooo...yesterday was weird. Started out like any other Sunday. The kids woke up at 6:15am (just like every other day of the week - sob). John dragged himself out of bed, because I lay there stubbornly pretending that I was asleep, ignoring the cries of "Mommy, I'm hungry!" "Mommy, come look at the Lego robot I made for you!" "Mommy, Foster poked me in the butt!" "Mommy, Spencer stuck his tongue out at me!" Really, I'm on morning duty every other day of the week. Daddy can have Sundays. Anyway, he got the boys breakfast, raved about the Lego robots, and refereed a major wrestling match. Then, he plunked them down in front of a Disney movie, brought me a fresh cup of coffee with JUST the right amount of Splenda and milk (perfection), and snuggled back into bed. Around here, Sunday is "Disney Movie Sunday" -- a morning routine hubby and I invented, so that we could actually have a little alone time in bed to (nope, sorry those of you with dirty minds) drink coffee while we watch Face the Nation, George Stephanopolous, and Meet the Press. Yeah, we're weekend news junkies. Can't help it. We love it! We get all fired up. We debate. We argue. We commiserate with each other. It's GREAT! Usually, the movie winds down right around the time we've had all the news we can take, are totally disgusted by our own country's partisan bickering, and are planning a move to Canada. The kids join us in bed for a major family tickle fight, and then the day really begins...

So, yesterday, I innocently said, "Honey, I know I said this before, but I really think we should make a pass-through from the kitchen to the living room. It would really open up this tiny little space, y'know? If we're going to replace the laminate flooring, anyway, maybe now would be a good time to do it." Now, normally around here, home improvement projects start with me broaching the idea. A few weeks go by...I broach it again. Some more time goes by, I do a little internet research on how it's done and crunch the numbers...I broach it again. Eventually, if I haven't given up yet, the project might begin. It starts. It stops for a long period of time. Then it starts again. Then it stops. You're getting the picture, right? The problem is that I'm an overly enthusiastic "idea person" married to someone who generally feels pretty content with things the way they are, and isn't particularly experienced with, or excited about, home improvement projects. On top of that, I'm not handy. At all. I'm more of a big picture kind've a gal, which means it's up to hubby to make it happen, with me cheering him on and eagerly wielding a hammer, screwdriver, or any other tool he puts in my hand. (Hey, we make it work, somehow. We've managed to tear down a dog run, uproot a giant, rotten tree, re-do a driveway, landscape a yard, rip off an old roof, install new countertops, build a front deck, do a mini-remodel on a bathroom, and put in a backyard drainage system. And, we still love each other when each project ends, though we're not always feeling the love during it...)

Anyway, I brought up the pass-through notion at about noon. By 5:00pm, we no longer had a wall between our kitchen and living room. Well, we still had the frame of a wall, but all the drywall was gone, John had boldly declared, "Forget the pass-through. I'm just going to take down this whole section of wall. That'll REALLY open up the whole area!", and I was heading out the door to grab fast food we could eat in the living room, because I had no power in my kitchen, and there was a pile of drywall, nails, staples, and wood as high as our kitchen counter taking up the entire dining area. Gulp. Be careful what you wish for...

So, in two weeks, my parents, along with my sister, brother-in-law, and niece are coming up to celebrate my Mom's birthday. Will we be sitting down, eating a lovely dinner at the kitchen table? Or, will we be balancing plates and beverages on our laps in the living room? Hard to tell. I'll let you know... Cheers!

Nobody wants to go on a playdate looking like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer!

OK, first things first. Playdating is just as nerve-wracking as real dating used to be when I was single. I know that I need to put myself out there to meet the other Kindergarten parents. Spence is making friends and wants to get to know them better, so I've got to bite the bullet, right? So, I bravely emailed a few of the other parents from his Kindergarten class, and the playdating dance has begun. In fact, my first new playdate was supposed to happen today. We set it up two days ago, and I actually found myself worrying about what I was going to wear today. Seriously. Like it matters if I show up in sweatpants, work clothes, or "Mommy Jeans." But, I've actually been having thoughts like, "What if they don't like me?" "What if they live in a mansion and then come over to our teeny little house and think we're not worthy?" "What if the other Moms are all skinny and have perfect make-up and do Pilates?" "What if I don't fit in?" Notice that these questions are all about me and my insecurities? I have total faith in Spencer. He's a lovable, friendly kid. No worries there. Nope, all my anxiety is about my own potential unworthiness. What if we have a first playdate and then they never call me again??? I am having serious flashbacks to adolescence here. Ahhh, the fear of rejection!

So, today was supposed to be the first one. The big day. Spence was excited. I was nervous and excited too. But, I woke up experiencing side effects from the cortisone shot I had on Monday afternoon. I made it through work, and then I got online at home to look up my symptoms. (Thank goodness for Web MD.) And, lucky me -- I have two of the most popular side effects. First, I have something known in the medical community as "cortisone flare." That's the intensely increased pain which some patients experience for 48-72 hours after their injection, before the promised relief begins. Yeah. So, it's actually worse than it was before I got the shot that's supposed to make me quit limping around in constant pain. Fun, fun, fun! Second, I am one of the roughly 15% of patients who also get "facial flushing" after receiving their shot. Now, that really doesn't sound so bad, right? You're picturing a nice blush spreading across my cheeks, leaving me glowy and dewy-loooking, perhaps? WRONG! It started this morning with bright (and I do mean bright) red spots on each cheek. And, my skin felt HOT! Then, as the morning wore on, my face got redder and redder and redder. My secretary actually looked up at me and said, "I can actually see your nose getting redder. Does it feel hot, too?" Yes, actually. Every part of my face is boiling hot. I look like a rock lobster... One of my students stopped by to see me and said, "Mrs. B! Dude! What's wrong with your face???" Then, when I met Spencer at his bus this afternoon, he said, "Mommy, you're all RED! You look funny." Thanks a lot, kid. Way to be supportive.

Needless to say, there is no way I'm going on my very first playdate with a new family looking like Rudolph-the-friggin-Red-Nosed-Reindeer and feeling like my face is about to melt right off of my head. Not. Gonna. Happen. So, I called and postponed it. The other Mom was lovely about it on the phone, so we'll try again next week. And, maybe I'll have time to lose a few pounds before our playdate... sigh. Cheers!

Mix together a green monster and a cortisone shot, and you get...4:00am insomnia!

It's early. Really, really, really early. (At least for me. I'm not one of those moms who manages to drag myself out of bed at 4:00am to do yoga and have a little "me time" before the kids wake up at 6:00 and the 15 hours of daily life, work, and parenting chaos begins. You know that mantra we all read in parenting magazines and see on Oprah and hear from numerous filthy rich airbrushed celebrity moms who probably have multiple nannies to help lighten their load: "Take care of the mother of the household, or the household will fall apart." I agree that you have to take some time for yourself to maintain your sanity, but getting up at 4:00am BY CHOICE is not taking care of yourself, in my mind. It's not "Me time." It's robbing myself of precious sleep that I will never, ever get back! I digress...) So, I haven't been awake since 4 in the morning because I am about to embark on some sort of exercise program or meditation or any of the other things I keep hearing I should be doing. I'm awake because of the green-eyed monster...

Just before 4:00, I woke up to hear Foster's small, scared voice from Daddy's side of the bed. "Daddy, I had a bad dream. It was a green monster with a green eye. And you and Mommy were there too, but you were green." Daddy's half-asleep response? "OK. Well, it's just a dream (pat, pat). Go back to bed." Sorry, babe, that's just not gonna cut it for this Mommy. You don't hear that frightened, shaking little voice and just send him back to bed with a pat on the head. You also don't ever, ever send a 4-year-old, who just had a nightmare, back to bed without first going potty. Not unless you're planning on washing sheets in the morning. And, let's face it. The one throwing sheets in the washer before rushing out the door in the morning would NOT be Daddy... It would be me. SIGH.

Anyway, I sat up and whispered, "Sweetie, you're safe. You're awake now. I'll get up and meet you at the potty, and then I'll come and tuck you in." Then I got out of bed. That's when I remembered that I had a cortisone shot in my ankle joint and heel just a few hours ago. Oh, yeah. Blinding pain. Forgot about that. Really, it's a testament to Motherhood (cue the angelic background music) that I even woke up at the sound of my little one's voice. Two extra-strength pain relievers, a glass of Cabernet, and a Benadryl should've knocked out a horse (even a horse who just had a cortisone shot in her ankle joint) for at least 8 hours, don't you think? Have you ever had a cortisone shot? I had my first one in my ankle and heel 3 months ago, and I uttered a word that I don't even think of when some idiot on her cell phone cuts me off in traffic, causing my travel coffee cup to go flying and spill coffee all over the only pair of work pants that's actually clean enough to wear to work and still fits my expanding rear end, and making me think of some very creative words I'd like to yell at her, but can't, because my kids are sitting right behind me....A. Very. Bad. Word. And I said it loudly. To my orthopedic surgeon. Whose son goes to the school where I am a school counselor. Yikes.

What is my point? Bear with me, folks, I'm sleep-deprived, and my ankle feels like it's actually resting in a lit BBQ. My point is this: It really hurts. My other point is this: It doesn't matter how much it hurts, because, when your little one is terrified and trying very, very hard to be a brave boy, you limp over to him, you snuggle him, you take him to the potty, and then you tuck him in and let him tell you all about his dream (including the part where, not only am I completely green all over, but I have a bird beak instead of a human mouth -- What is that all about?) until he feels safe and secure again. And, I'll tell you, while I was lying in his bed, with my arms wrapped around him, I couldn't feel the pain in my ankle. All I could feel was his little body shaking, his heart pounding, his skinny little arms gripping (and I do mean gripping) my neck, and then that wonderful feeling when he started to relax, to breathe a little bit easier, then gave me a kiss and said, "I love you so, so, much, Mommy." Cortisone shot? What cortisone shot?

But, now I have insomnia. There's no more sleep for me today. I tried to watch some T.V. earlier, but we only have basic cable (Damn recession!) My choices were CNN (which I actually watch fairly regularly, but not at 4:00am), the shopping network (sorry, nice lady from Texas, but I actually don't need a gaudy ring the size of an actual chicken's egg to wear around the house, in spite of your insistence that it will make me really, really happy), a weird old movie on the Canadian T.V. channel, or a variety of infomercials designed to make me feel bad about myself and spend lots of money erasing my wrinkles, firming my abs, "lengthening my thighs" (Will that make me taller?), fixing my thinning hair, or buying a vacuum cleaner that will miraculously make my house incredibly clean, and "It does all the work for you". Yeah, right.

Think I'll head out to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. And, maybe I'll grab a piece of the leftover Domino's pizza John and I were eating while we watched The Biggest Loser last night (I know. It's wrong on so many levels). It's just after 5:00 now (I took a break from writing to take a couple more Tylenol and stare out the window for a bit), so the early, early, early show should be coming on soon, and I can get the news before anybody else gets up. Hey -- I guess I'm having some of that "Me time!" Cheers!

Ahhhh....The way they see the world!

I am constantly amazed and delighted by the way my boys view the world. Whether it be the total concentration they'll give to a teeny little bug I would've stepped over without even noticing, or the creative and incredibly detailed shapes they see in the clouds, or their endless fascination with all things having to do with the potty, or just the wacky things that come out of their mouths -- they always surprise me (and occasionally gross me out as well). Well, earlier today, Spence and I were heading out to pick Foster up from preschool, and he said, "Hey, Mom. I know that I was born, but I can't remember exactly WHEN I was born. Do you know?" So, I told him his birthday, and then he said something that was really adorable. A huge grin broke out over his face, and he said, "Mommy, thanks so much for finding that memory for me!" Cute, huh? In his view of things, he had lost the memory of his birthday, and I found it for him. I just love the way he thinks!

Cheers!