Urbane Chaos

Dear Dr. Blahdy Blah

2011-04-15T09:12:00.009-05:00

(This is the way I wish I could write it. I will edit out the snark and keep it grown up and professional when I send it. I may hurt myself in the process.)

Effective immediately, we are moving our children to another pediatric practice. Since you were unwilling to hear what I had to say during the last five years, I decided to put into writing the reasons why. I hope that you take the valuable advice I am about to give you and pull your head out of your ass.

At Youngling's 18 month well check, I voiced concerns about his development. My biggest concern was his never ending tantruming. You brushed me off as a neurotic mother, telling me to put him in time out. I asked you if you had children, because putting an 18 month old into a time-out is akin to drinking water out of a sieve. You admitted you did not, but that is what you would do if you were a parent. Wow, thanks.

At his 3 year check-up I mentioned I had concerns about his development again. He had lost some words, and the tantrums were even worse. You told me he was hitting all the developmental milestones in the books, that I wasn't structured enough in my home, and that there was nothing wrong. I told you as a seasoned mother of three (one of those three already diagnosed with SPD) that he wasn't. But you stayed up all those extra nights in college so you were right and I was wrong.

At his 4 year checkup I mentioned that I had concerns about his development and now so did his teacher. I had already heard from you how I sucked as a parent, and now his teacher was telling me, too. Both of you were so helpful giving me books about discipline! Gosh, maybe if I read all those books for the tenth time, the information would sink in the way it hadn't the previous nine. Words couldn't begin to express how thankful I was for all your help! By the way, in case we aren't clear Dr. Blahdy Blah, this is called sarcasm. At this visit I brought up a very difficult word for any parent to think, let alone say aloud. This word starts with an A and has a very famous logo that looks like puzzle pieces. You again treated me like a neurotic mother (thank you so much for that, it did wonders for my self-confidence) and sent me on my way.

Finally, at an emergency 4 1/2 year well check you gave me the referral to the specialist I had been asking for. You only did this because the school district had evaluated him and found SEVERE developmental delays. You know, the delays I had been asking about for the last three years. Since these people were professionals with fancy degrees and titles, you listened.

When I went back to the regular 5 year well-check with a diagnosis firmly in place for anxiety disorder and SPD, I waited patiently for an apology. An apology which you failed to give. In your mind, you followed the textbooks and the guidelines and you did nothing wrong.

I am here to tell you that you did do something wrong.

You undermined the confidence of a concerned parent. You delayed getting an amazing boy the services he needed. You delayed getting a family the support they desperately needed and deserved. You? Were epic fail.

Now, here we are almost five years later and I am finally hearing experts say what I suspected all along. He is autistic. I finally have validation. After 5 years I can believe I'm not a bad parent, and I don't let my children climb the walls like monkeys and slop out of troughs like pigs. I felt that way because of you. What happened to "first do no harm"?

Respectfully, Dr. Blahdy Blah, what would have been the harm in the referral? Worst case scenario, I would have paid a few extra bucks out of my pocket to hear I was wrong. Youngling would have had a few extra performance tests. So what? I, as a parent and patient, was willing to do that for my child.

I may not have a degree in child development (ironically, I am working on that now) but I do have a degree in parenting. I minor in compassion. You are lacking in these two key components. Might I suggest that in the future you take a moment to recognize that it is painful for a parent to admit to themselves that something is wrong with their child? Might I also suggest that you take a moment to listen? Even if a child is hitting the milestones in a book, there could still be something wrong. Listen.

So, Dr. Blahdy Blah, I want you to know I have lost my confidence in you as a health care provider. I will be taking my children to another practice that treats the whole child, not just the boo-boos you can put Band-Aids on. In the future, please realize there are other hurts, and those hurts run much, much deeper.

Also, pull your head out of your ass. (Yes, I said it at the beginning, but I was verbose and you may have ADHD. You never know.)

Sincerely,
Kirdy Chaos

The journey continues....

2011-04-15T07:39:00.003-05:00

Youngling is autistic.

Do we have a formal diagnosis yet? Well, yes and no. We go back to the specialist in May. Reading his evaluation from the specialist I see phrases and hints of things I wasn't ready to hear a year ago. "Pervasive developmental problems" is one. Hello?! PDD-NOS anyone? I went to college, got a degree in English, and I completely missed that? Obviously, in the area of reading comprehension we can safely assume I was stamped with a big, fat "FAIL" in red ink.

I mean, I've suspected it for that year. The kid is massively, consumingly obsessed with Legos. And Star Wars. And Lego Star Wars. He lines things up in rows. He repeats silly noises that he hears. Has no volume control. Is obsessed with Legos. No. Really, really REALLY obsessed. And can have like an hour long conversation about them.

At his IEP review last night the district psychologist told me she suspected he had Asperger's a year ago, but I clearly was not ready to hear it. Slap some ginormous feather on my ass and call me an ostrich. (No, seriously, please do....it might hide some cellulite.) But here we are a year later, my head is out of the sand and I am able to type those first 3 words without having a box of Kleenex at the ready.

It's a beginning. The first solid step I've taken into our future. Thankfully, it wasn't on a Lego.

Ghosts

2010-04-14T07:44:00.005-05:00

Contacts though fleeting
Mold me, shape me, pain for me
Releasing the scars

Where to begin?

2010-04-03T17:09:00.002-06:00

So once again I've treated this blog like a redheaded stepchild, or worse yet, much like my relationship with faith and God, only there when I need it. So....

Looking back it's been almost 2 years since my last post. Things are a bit different. Cman has blossomed and is doing amazingly well. He is very close to testing out of speech therapy, and we will have an IEP review in 2 weeks. He is a straight A student and was elected to Student Council this year. He is obsessed with all things Harry Potter and video game related. He no longer needs his leg braces, and we still go for the yearly neuro visits, which are brief, quick and to the point....kid is fine, see you next year.

LMD is in 1st grade. She is reading, writing, drawing and SOCIALIZING! Girl wears me out with all her playdates and such. She is a good friend with a heart as big as an Arizona summer sky. I call her my sunshine....she brings love and joy with her everywhere.

Which brings us to Youngling, and the reason for my post today. We are rapidly realizing he's....different. Now don't get me wrong, I adore his quiet solemn observations of the weather...."Mother is angry today. Her wind is blowing and biting." I mean, what 4 year old says that kind of stuff? Mine. In my heart that makes him pretty freaking cool. But yet.....

There are the other days. The days when his 4k teacher tells me that he melted down for a full 2 hours and disrupted the entire class. The days when he hits, or pushes, or calls kids names. Or even the days when the phone is noticeably silent, as he begs for playdates like his older brother and sister have. He's 4, I tell myself. Those days will come, I tell myself. He's an active, rambunctious 4 year old boy with lots of extra energy, I tell myself.

And still that's not the whole story. I haven't yet mentioned the nights I cry myself to sleep, wondering if I am the right mother for him. Could I be failing him? He's such a sweet, loving boy who tries his best, yet most days seems to just fall short through no fault of his own. He tries. At times I can see his body quiver from the struggle to comply, to follow, to "be good". Somehow, he just can't.

So, here we are again two years later, more testing, more screening, new IEP to come. I am relieved to know that professionals see what I see....that he's good, that we are doing our best, and that we all need help. I no longer look at myself in the mirror and see condemnation and scorn looking back at me. I see a resilient mother who is trying her best, who loves with her whole being. I see one tough biotch who is finding her stride. And finally, I believe that mom is going to be ok.

Best of all, since she will be ok, so will Youngling. I believe this. I have to have hope.

My Friday Anthem!

2008-07-18T08:44:00.003-05:00

Youngling woke up dry today!!!! NO MORE DIAPERS! C'mon people, sing it with me! Hold those lighters up high! (yeah, dating myself, but do it anyway.)

Time to give Youngling a new nickname. He's a big boy now!

When life gives you lemons....

2008-07-17T18:06:00.004-05:00

Remember the post a few months ago talking about Cman's new diagnoses? (Is -es the plural for diagnosis, or is it diagnosises?)

We have a new one.

On top of all the other things mentioned in that post, Cman has now been ordered to wear orthotics to prevent him from toe-walking. While his heel cords are still flexible right now, they could tighten down the road and need surgery, so he needs braces to break him of the habit.

Yippee.

The whole hour ride home from the specialist, I kept thinking, "Damn. Why him *again*? When is he going to catch a break? Why must he always be different? Why is life so unfair to him?" (yeah, peevish. Totally. Now shut up.)

In the midst of my pity party, Cman pipes up from the backseat.

Cman: Mom?
Me: Yeah, bud.
Cman: Will these braces really make me run faster like the doctor was saying?
Me: Yeppers, dude.
Cman: Sweeeeeeeeeeeeeet.

Cman picked out braces with flames on them the following day so he can run "smokin' fast".

I sure do learn a lot from that kid.

P.S. As for the bad news a few months back, it seems his cholesteatoma may be recurring. He has a follow-up in early August. I'll keep you posted.

Some Guys Have All the Luck

2008-06-12T20:03:00.001-05:00

I got bad news today....

2008-05-08T17:33:00.001-05:00

and I'll post about it later. In the meantime, this will help cheer me up.

Whew.

2008-05-07T07:33:00.004-05:00

Most Gen X'rs hear the phrase "special ed" and they think of short buses, kids with severe disabilities....kids who struggled desperately in school and kids who got mercilessly teased.

Boy, how times have changed.

Cman has been referred for special services. No big surprise, considering that for the first 4 years of his life he had endless ear infections and a cholesteatoma. He's been evaluated for speech so many times, it's amazing he doesn't have half the testing memorized by now. But he *finally* has qualified for services. Can I get an amen?

The surprise of it all is what he was also referred to testing for....sensory processing disorder. I had suspected it for years, but accepted my guy for who he was, quirks and all. I decided to let him find his way and not pursue any testing until it became an issue. Imagine my surprise when the OT sent home a sensory survey after his fine motor testing last Friday. Maybe I did get that doctor degree in college after all. Heh.

It's an exciting process for all of us. Cman is thrilled to pieces he has something new to do in school. I am very excited that his teachers and school understand him and care for him enough to make all this happen. Mr. Chaos admits he understands very little of it, but that it will be good for Cman.

Mr. Chaos *also* admits he is scared for our boy. I have to admit I am, too. As he gets older, his quirks become more obvious. We are both concerned how this process will affect him socially. Right now he's the kid who moves to his own music; the kid who is oblivious to the fact that other types of music even exist. I am proud of the fact that he is comfortable in his own skin. The fact that he doesn't bend to peer pressure heartens me greatly. Yet he is a sensitive child, and cruel words will cut him deeply. Everyone's goal in the process is that we get him help before the teasing begins.

But...........whew. Seeing the words "special education" on his IEP form, well, it hurt a bit. I mean, I could whine and rail (and ok, I will). This kid has never had a break, y'know? First the spina bifida, then the cholesteatoma, and now a processing disorder? Not to mention that a sensory disorder usually dovetails with other learning and developmental issues such as dyspraxia, which he is showing some signs of. I know, I sound totally heartless when there are kids out there with cancer, or have severe disabilities, I know, I get it, ok? But I didn't plan on learning words like "myelomeningocele" and "cholesteatoma" and "dyspraxia" and "tactile defensive" when I started this parenting thing. I mean, "playgroup", sure. "Car seat" definitely. "Mastitis", maybe. And besides, those are someone else's kids and this one is *mine* and sometimes I just get pissed at the unfairness of it all. Not that he has any clue. In his mind life is fair and sunny.

So anyway, back on track after my rant. Mr. Chaos had a much harder time with all of this than I did. Yeah, it stung for me a bit to hear he has more disabilities, but again, these are things we can fix, or help him find ways to cope with his world. He will overcome it just like everything else in his life, with optimism and joy. I know this. But Mr. Chaos *really* had a difficult time accepting it all. It hit him hard.

Until yesterday. Yesterday was Cman's IEP meeting, and during that meeting we were told that Cman is being referred for additonal special ed testing. He was being referred for GT. I knew instantly what it was, and I was delighted, but Mr. Chaos steeled himself and said, "Dare I ask what GT is?" I don't think I can describe the look on his face when the staff told him it was gifted testing.

Yep, back to the original point, these days GT is special ed. Hee. I would have been special ed as a kid. Some say I still am, but that's a post for another day. So, lucky for Cman, he has a special ed mom, too. One who is excited with another parenting challenge. I've dutifully ordered a cadre of books from Amazon regarding SPD, and came home armed with several websites to whet my appetite for research until the books get here.

I am confident we'll all get through this. Labels and all.

And on my mind this afternoon....

2008-04-09T13:52:00.000-05:00

On my mind this morning....

2008-04-09T07:27:00.000-05:00

Cancer Sucks, Part 2

2008-04-08T14:45:00.006-05:00

Shortly after I wrote yesterday's piece, I stumbled across an obituary of an old college friend.

Okay, a boyfriend. A boyfriend with whom I had a fiery, passionate relationship. Our lives together were fraught with the drama of make-ups and break-ups through the years. I met him my sophomore year of college, and parts of that time I remember quite fondly. Other times, it was downright scary how awful we were to each other. I'm not sure if it was because we were so similar as people, or whether we were just two really great people who were really awful together. But either way, we both definitely enjoyed the roller coaster we were on.

We lost touch during school, but shortly after I graduated, I tracked him down. I was living in another state. We were a full 8 hour drive apart from each other, yet we re-ignited that relationship, and made the trek one way or the other nearly every weekend.

Looking back, I'm not sure if graduating had really mellowed us, or whether we were acting calmer toward each other because we thought that's what you do when you start growing up. Either way, things between us were good. Healthy, even. We slowly began to plan a life together. We talked of places to live, who would move where, how to find jobs, etc.

One weekend he invited me down to visit him and he planned to really take me out. He took me to a place I knew he couldn't afford on his new job, and I bought a dress far too expensive for my meager budget. Yet there we were, gazing at each other across a table with promises in our eyes. I remember going home with him that night, my head swimming with future possibilities.

The next day he took me into the city. I began bitching to him over the rumble of the El about the job prospect I had been offered in International Falls, MN. It was way too cold there, too far away from him, etc. I was in full blown rant when he interrupted me.

"Hey, does this look weird to you?"

He pulled his collar back and tilted his head to the side. At the base of his neck I saw a lump the size of a golf ball. Swallowing bile I calmly replied, "I don't think it's looks *awful*, but I think you should definitely get that checked."

He did, and within a week we had a diagnosis....Hodgkins Disease. Talks of apartment hunting shifted to talks of loving him without hair, whether I'd be ok if we couldn't have babies, or whether I would be willing to be artificially inseminated, since he would be undergoing radiation.

I tried to get down there for his surgery, but I was too new on my job. He insisted that he didn't want me there anyway. He would be under, so why bother coming? I thought about him a great deal that day, wondering how things were going for him. Imagine my surprise when I had a call come in from his father. I had never spoken to him before, and quite honestly, up until the diagnosis, I don't think he knew I existed. We had a great talk that afternoon. Surgery went well, his son was in good spirits but not able to talk yet. Just as we were hanging up the phone he said, "I really look forward to meeting you."

He never did. I was a young 24. A painfully young 24. Life was about parties and bars and good times. It wasn't about things like babies and hospitals and cancer. So I did something I have been profoundly ashamed of my whole life. I stopped answering calls, quit returning messages, and never once gave an explanation. He deserved that explanation, and it was thoroughly shitty of me not to give one.

I'm embarrassed to tell you how easily I put him out of my life. Shortly after this I met someone else, and we spent two years together. Two years of my life I'd rather get back (though thinking back on it now, maybe that was my penance for being such a bitch). Time passed, I met hubby, had kids.

I often wondered about the ex, though. I wondered if he had beaten the odds. I imagined his life with someone better for him than me, with two cute little kids. I googled his name off and on through the years, hoping to find information on him. Nothing ever turned up, so I assumed he was okay.

The death of my aunt brought a lot of these old memories back. I decided I was going to find out once and for all what happened to him. Imagine my surprise....after years of searching in vain for him, the first thing that popped up yesterday was his obituary. Phrases like "family will be receiving friends" and "service celebrating a life" punched me in the gut. And the word "was"? Fuhgeddaboudit.

35. He was 35 when he died. A number that used to sound so lame, so fuddy-duddy, so old now just sounds extraordinarily young. Shockingly young. It amazes me he lived with his disease for 11 years. I try to imagine how it changed him, not knowing if it even did. I hope he made peace with things before he left. I hope he forgave me.

But the phrases that were so jarring were nowhere near as jarring as omissions. Things like a wife, or kids. He never did marry. I can't help but wonder why, even though I will never find answers. It doesn't do me any good to obsess. I know this. I can't stop.

So I'll finish this post with a song. A song that meant so much to both of us. I find these lyrics so haunting today:

He left this song on my voice mail the last time he called me. If I could talk to him today, I'd tell him I will never forget that night on the roof, and it will never be easy. I hope he rests in peace.

Cancer Sucks.

2008-04-07T13:32:00.003-05:00

Saturday my aunt lost her battle with cancer. I wish I could find the words to express everything I am feeling....deep loss, regret, thankfulness, the list just goes on. My heart is such a jumble of feelings these days I can't possibly untangle the threads.

My aunt was a terrific woman. She was a vibrant positive force of energy. She was the lady who filled every room she entered with her ebullient personality. I loved her almost as much as I love my own mother.

And today she's just.......gone. It's easy enough to write those words today, because today I still can't comprehend the meaning. I feel like I could still pick up the phone, call her, say hello. The call I promised months ago I would make, and never did.

Shame on me.

So today I will say all the things I wanted and have been meaning to say, even though the time was never right. Things like "I love you" and "I will miss you" and "How unfair is life that you left all of us?" But even those things aren't the things I really want to say.

Though she never heard it said, I depended on her. I relied on that positive force always being in my life. She contributed so much just through her existence. She shaped who I am in so many ways. I loved Arizona because it was where she lived, and because of that love I abandoned an abusive relationship twelve years ago to move out to a land where the skies were open and life was finally free.

Because of her, I moved to Arizona and met my husband. Because of her three gorgeous children exist. Children that if I were to take a second to try to imagine my life without, I would become breathless from the pain of it. Because of her I love, am happy, content. Because of her, I hurt so deeply today. Because of her, I cry.

And that still isn't saying enough. For once in my life I am without words, and am left feeling inadequate.

I wish I had said all those things to her, wish I could have expressed how much she meant to me. Sadly, my memories of her will be forever tinged with regret.

Please pick up the phone today and tell someone how much they mean. Please.

Edited: Shortly after I wrote this piece I discovered an old college friend of mine died from cancer. That will be a separate entry for another day, but now cancer sucks even more.

Um, Where Was I?

2008-03-13T12:23:00.002-06:00

I have literally been living with that repeating in my mind for the last two weeks. Between doctor visits (all good and healthy), kid events and trip planning, I fully expect to meet myself coming in the door one of these days. I hope one of us will have the wherewithal to invite the other in for coffee. I sure could use a break. Oh, and I hope the cute, thin, togetherly-organized Kirdy that I'm sure is out there somewhere brings a couple cream filled longjohns, 'cause I could use a few of those, two.

I made the decision along with my doctor to wean off the Wellbutrin I had been taking for over a year. The decision was based on several factors, not the least of which was irritability. But I also really missed my blogging, and for some reason the Wellbutrin has snuffed much of my creativity. While it slows my mind down enough to think, it also slows it down enough where my internal editor's voice gets a bit too loud. Or something. Anyway, a week after I stopped completely, my fibromyalgia came back with a wicked vengeance. After two days of pain, both Mr. Chaos and I remembered me commenting a year ago that the Wellbutrin seemed to take much of my pain away. One call to my doctor confirmed I need to go back on it. If I'm not depressed now, living in a chronic pain state will put me there, and I don't want to be there.

So you my dear readers, must suffer. All two of you.

As for my last post, the doctor told me all is healthy and nothing to stress over. You know that study that made me go utterly apesh*t? Yeah, well, turns out that study found it increases your risk by 3-4%. And if I hadn't been such a raving basket case of hypochondria and just chilled the heck down and Googled the stupid study, I could have found that out, too. Dumbass, thy name is Kirdy.

We leave for a week long visit to Arizona in two days. Yep, all 5 of the Chaos family members will spend 26 glorious hours in the minivan. I ought to get a blog post or two out of that, right?

Just....damn.

2008-03-04T07:53:00.002-06:00

Bleary eyed from sleep, I sat down at the computer this morning to log into my Yahoo account. On the main page, I see the following headline....

"New research links folic acid to an increase in colon cancer"

I watched the accompanying video which talked about the rapid rise of colon cancers in young women who have taken prenatals for years while trying to get pregnant.

The $50 question of the day? What about women who took those prenatals PLUS 10 times the standard daily dose to make sure their other kids wouldn't get spina bifida? Anyone?

I had a dream two weeks ago that I was dying of cancer and leaving videos for my kids.

I just went back to Yahoo to see if I could find a way to link the video, and it's gone from the front page.

Someone is trying to send a message from somewhere. I'm making the appointment today.

Yo. Yo.

2008-02-25T19:10:00.002-06:00

Looking for some silly on your Monday? You found it.

Say what you want about Bloodhound Gang, but they are genius when it comes to lyrics. "No I'm not black like Barry White, I am white like Frank Black is"? Classic.

And this vid is work and kid safe. All the MFs have been edited out for your listening pleasure. Enjoy.

No, It's Not Coming...

2008-02-16T11:07:00.003-06:00

spring, that is. Anytime soon. We have now officially reached the time of year when Kirdy begins bitching about all things winter.

Snow. Tomorrow. Again. Currently I'd say we have about 36" on the level. Yep, as in three feet. I embraced my inner dude yesterday and used the snow blower for the first time. I had no choice. Mr. Chaos was out of town and I got the minivan stuck in the driveway.

Yee haw.

The system coming in tomorrow has forecast to dump another 6-10", but they may have to increase those totals if the system has more moisture.

In other words, Kirdy is screwed.

It makes me grumpy, particularly if I stop to think what these systems might be doing if it were spring. You know how much energy a winter system requires to produce thunder? I had heard thunder during snow twice in my life before this winter. Now I have heard it four times.

And to keep this mundane post a bit exciting, a preview of tomorrow's funfest:

Wisconsin Winter Frolics | Funny Jokes at JibJab

It's coming! It's coming!

2008-02-11T17:15:00.000-06:00

Starting in 2007, daylight time begins in the United States on the second Sunday in March and ends on the first Sunday in November. On the second Sunday in March, clocks are set ahead one hour at 2:00 a.m. local standard time, which becomes 3:00 a.m. local daylight time. On the first Sunday in November, clocks are set back one hour at 2:00 a.m. local daylight time, which becomes 1:00 a.m. local standard time. These dates were established by the Energy Policy Act of 2005, Pub. L. no. 109-58, 119 Stat 594 (2005).

Not all places in the U.S. observe daylight time. In particular, Hawaii and most of Arizona do not use it. Indiana adopted its use beginning in 2006.

* In 2006, daylight time begins on April 2 and ends on October 29.
* In 2007, daylight time begins on March 11 and ends on November 4. [New law goes into effect.]
* In 2008, daylight time begins on March 9 and ends on November 2.
* In 2009, daylight time begins on March 8 and ends on November 1.

Many other countries observe some form of "summer time", but they do not necessarily change their clocks on the same dates as the U.S.

This friendly social studies lesson was brought to you by the numbers 3/9, the letters DST, and the Kirdy Loves Spring Association.

(hey....if it was -37 where you were for a windchill the last two days, you'd be grasping at any sign of impending warmth, too)

Monday Flashback

2008-02-11T09:12:00.000-06:00

Something to get you up and moving today. This song always makes me want to move.

Diva-isms

2008-01-24T16:40:00.000-06:00

Since I have just enough time for a drive-by post, I thought I'd share some of the diva's misinterpretations, or rather, re-interpretations of words and phrases. I will give extra credit to any one who can decipher them all. I warn you, some are very easy, others are tough.

"See ya later, crocodator!"

college cheese

shark juice

diamond flash

Extra credit: "mom, why did you call me buttface?" (buttface is the twisted word here, and it has something to do with diamond flash)

Good luck! Answers posted tomorrow!

The Bucket List, or Day Zero Project

2008-01-22T10:12:00.003-06:00

Hopefully at the age of 36, I am nowhere near needing a bucket list. Yesterday's post got me thinking that none of us really know when the time will come. And then, I found this.

In keeping with the whole "carpe diem" thing, I have decided to create my own 101 list, which I will share with you.

1. Paint my basement
2. Take the kids fishing
3. ~~Plant and actually maintain a garden~~
4. Go geocaching
5. Watch all of AFIs top 100 films
6. Finish our basement bathroom
7. Run a 5k
8. Have a yard sale
9. ~~Clean out all the kids' closets and toys~~
10. ~~Read "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" (I never read it in college and always meant to)~~
11. Start donating blood
12. Find and attend a church on an ongoing basis
13. Stick to our monthly budget
14. Potty train Youngling
15. ~~Teach Cman and LMD to ride their bikes without training wheels~~
16. ~~Take the kids to the zoo~~
17. Write a post at least weekly
18. Go to Bay Beach
19. Take the kids ice skating
20. Lose 20 pounds (again)
21. ~~Send cards to loved ones instead of just buying them and leaving them to sit~~
22. ~~Organize the file cabinet~~
23. Have the kids' friends over to play at least 4 times a month
24. Update the baby books
25. ~~Get all the digital pictures from the last oh, six years printed~~
26. Start scrapbooking
27. Bake something from scratch once a week
28. Clean out my closet
29. ~~Decorate Youngling's room and transition him to a bed~~
30. Find old movie posters for the basement
31. Go visit Canada
32. ~~Join flylady....I know, no comments, please~~
33. ~~Join a book club~~
34. ~~Attend at least 1 MOMS event a month~~
35. Complete the framed family tree
36. ~~Steam clean my carpets~~
37. Go camping with the kids
38. Limit the kids' TV time to 1 hour a day
39. Ride a train
40. See the Northern Lights
41. Catch fireflies in a jar
42. Take a family trip to Chicago
43. ~~Take a family trip to Arizona~~
44. Take a family trip to the Happiest Place on Earth
45. ~~Make a CD for Mr. Chaos with songs that remind me of when we were dating~~
46. ~~Find a babysitter~~
47. Go out on dates with my husband again (at least once a month)
48. Drink 8 glasses of water a day
49. Write a letter to each of the kids to open at a future date
50. Send Mr. Chaos a love letter a month
51. Finish the kids' playroom
52. Complete decorating the game room
53. Complete decorating the family room
54. Take an art class
55. Build a deck for the backyard
56. ~~Sign up for the Debeers Class Action~~
57. Do my best to finally see a tornado
58. Build a snow fort
59. Have a snowball fight
60. Set up chore lists for the kids
61. Complete the floor plan sketches
62. Obtain builder's permit
63. Work out at least 3 times a week
64. Take family trip to one national monument or park.
65. Attend a State Fair
66. Eat State Fair food for one day without any guilt the next day
67. Take the Jelly Belly Warehouse Tour.
68. Tour Leinie's.
69. Adopt a pet
70. Go to the dentist
71. Take the glucose fasting test
72. Get Lasik done
73. Go to Summerfest
74. Hike at Devil's Rock
75. Go on a picnic
76. Go golf 18 at least once
77. ~~Register LMD for kindergarten~~
78. Register Youngling for preschool
79. Sell old TV
80. Perform a random act of kindness at least once a week
81. Finally let Mr. Chaos teach me how to play tennis
82. Set up the hammock this summer
83. Take at least one nap in that hammock
84. Tour the Packer Hall of Fame
85. Say "yes" to one of my kids' requests at least once a day. Even if it's just reading a book at the time they want me to do so.
86. Take a cooking class
87. Take a cake decorating class
88. Try 10 new fruits or vegetables
89. Take a neighbor cookies
90. Take a CPR class
91. Become a trained weather spotter
92. ~~Attend a ballet~~
93. ~~Attend a live theater event~~
94. Attend a concert
95. Take a family trip to the Mall of America to see Lego store and the Underwater Adventures Aquarium and the Dinosaur Museum
96. Attend a Green Bay Packer game at Lambeau Field
97. See the Badgers play football at Camp Randall stadium
98. Take the kids bowling
99. Go to the neighborhood party in summer
100. Cut eating out to twice a month
101. Stretch for 5 minutes every day

A special thanks to Gina over at There's N.O. pLAce Like Home. She just put this up on her blog and it's where I first heard about it.

The C Word

2008-01-21T15:00:00.000-06:00

Dictionary.com defines it as the following:

can·cer /ˈkænsər/ [kan-ser]

1. Pathology.
a. a malignant and invasive growth or tumor, esp. one originating in epithelium, tending to recur after excision and to metastasize to other sites.
b. any disease characterized by such growths.
2. any evil condition or thing that spreads destructively; blight.

There was a third definition about a zodiac sign, but that doesn't fit today's discussion, so let's choose to ignore it.

Cancer has touched the Chaos house not once, but twice now. My aunt is fighting and winning her battle with colon cancer. She is my mom's sister, and as early as I can remember, I have felt like one of her own. In her mid-60s, she unapologetically dyes her hair a bright, shocking red. One of the most upbeat and dynamic individuals I know, hearing her news was a punch in the gut. It left me reeling with uncertainty for her future as well as mine.

My aunt found out her news in a shocking way. One night her temperature became dangerously high. After being admitted, it was discovered her bowels had ruptured, her insides were gangrenous, and just like that she had cancer. One moment seemingly well, and then not so much.

I admit I have been selfish in regards to her illness. I root from the sidelines, choosing to get sanitized updates via my mother. I wear my Livestrong bracelet in support of her battle. Yet I can't bring myself to call her on the phone. It would make the word too real, too present to ignore. It's difficult enough hearing secondhand that she is wanting to give up;hard to hear she doesn't want to have any more of the medications that will save her life. As I sit here and type this, I can tell you which number chemo treatment she is on (seven), how many more she has to go (five), and how her overall outlook is (the doctors are optimistic they will soon be able to say cancer free). What I can't tell you are the things that humanize the battle. Do I know if my aunt, who has been a hairdresser all her life, still has her hair? Shamefully, I do not. I don't want to hear how tired her voice sounds or how defeated she is after her latest chemo treatment. And once you finish reading this post, you will understand why my shame has been doubled.

A few months after we got the news on my aunt, Mr. Chaos received a call no one wants to hear. His mother called to tell us a spot was found during her annual mammogram. She was upbeat and dismissive, telling us it was most likely nothing, even though all of us knew the urgent manner the doctors had when setting up her biopsy date was not a good sign. Biopsy came back positive, which led to MRI. MRI showed spots on the spine, which led to nuclear scan. Nuclear scan showed lesions on the spinal column, skull, several ribs, and an arm bone.

And now here we are. Words and phrases are being thrown at us all over again. Words like "Femara" and "metastasized" and "3% survival rate". Words that individually can be dissected and defined. But as a whole, those words become an incomprehensible jumble of angst that is immobilizing. How can someone continue to want to fight after hearing 3% survival rate? Thankfully, my mother-in-law is looking at things in her cheerful way. Even more thankfully, she is choosing to ignore the things the doctors are not saying. Like the fact that although she has had her diagnosis for over two months now, no doctor has talked about surgery on her breast.

Mr. Chaos has been dealing with things in his usual way. He bottles everything up within himself, believing with every fiber of his being that ignoring it will make it all go away. I remind him on a daily basis to be gentle with the kids as they do not yet know. Not that he isn't gentle, but more that he isn't his usual laid back self. I feel that I am floating adrift with this news, and I feel the need to anchor myself. Yet I respect his need to find his own way to acceptance.

Meanwhile I have been busying myself with things I can handle for him. I spent an entire day organizing the vast quantity of CDs, video games and DVDs into binders....a job Mr. Chaos has been promising to do over a year now. I made the phone call to the plumber to start our bathroom remodel. Tomorrow I plan on reorganizing our file cabinet. I started the job today, but was waylaid when I found something I had been wanting to discuss with him. In my quest for order in our lives, I found her will.

The will was drafted six years ago. I took it out of the manila envelope, and read her final wishes as I still crouched on the floor in front of the file cabinet. Yet again I found a life summarized by things said and unsaid. I now know my mother-in-law wishes a memorial service at a certain church. No heroic measures will be taken in extending her life. She wishes to be an organ donor. In the event of Mr. Chaos' passing before her, she wishes all worldly possessions be left to Cman. LMD and Youngling weren't born yet. That omission was what finally made me weep. Not because they had been left out. In reality, they hadn't, if the phrase "and any future children of my offspring" was any indication.

At that moment I truly began to realize all the things cancer will be taking, from all of us. As it continues to eat away at her body, it is also eating away a mother, a grandmother, and a warm human being. She won't be at the weddings of the chaos kids. She won't see Youngling in school, meet Cman's first girlfriend, or witness any of LMD's dance recitals.

What muddies the waters in this are the things she will be gaining. My mother-in-law is loving and kind when her medications are working. Not the cancer ones....the ones for her bipolar disorder. There have been times where for the sake of the kids or for Mr. Chaos, where contact has been limited. When my mother-in-law is ill with her bipolar, she tries to hurt everyone she can. We have worried on more than one occasion for Cman's safety. So with this cancer diagnosis she will be gaining dignity and most importantly, peace. She will be free to be the person we all know she can be after she passes. It's hard to begrudge her of that. So, all the losses aside, I do feel that she must be looking forward to release. I have been able to watch this all from an emotional distance. In the past whenever issues with her health arose, Mr. Chaos and I dealt with them together eventually.

This time I have been increasingly frustrated with how completely I have been shut out. Any mention of "that word" in this house leads to a change of subject or a change of scenery on the part of Mr. Chaos. I will admit as the weeks have gone on I have become more terse in my interactions with him. I failed to understand why he couldn't discuss things with me, or at least acknowledge the necessity for making certain decisions.

Yet today, in writing this post, I have realized a few things. He calls her on a daily basis to see how she is doing. After years of intermittent communications, he has forgiven her and is making himself available to her as much as she needs it. He may not want to face the details, but he has been able to make himself emotionally raw. Instead of hiding with excuses of distance and commitments like I do with my aunt, he is not only facing her cancer but their troubled past. He is braving it all to help them both find peace.

As for me? When I hit submit, I think I'll be making two phone calls. One to my mother-in-law, and then one to my aunt. I think it's time we talked.

A Letter to Youngling

2007-08-24T07:22:00.000-05:00

Today you are two.

You are the last of my children. Watching you grow and discover has been bittersweet for me. I know this is the last time I'll experience the joy of toddler adventure. I won't miss your growly temper tantrums, but I'll miss you learning your first word (cow, of course).

And growly temper tantrums aside, you are the mellowest of the clan. You take changes in schedule in stride, showing us your wide, gap toothed grin. I love watching the little dimple on your cheek each time you smile. Your whole face lights up with your gentle good nature. You put your all into everything you do. Your body just shakes when you see something new and exciting.

This morning, I went into your room and watched you sleep. I don't get to do that very often, as you are a light sleeper and were never a cuddler. While your brother and sister didn't ever want to sleep in their rooms, you wanted yours from day one. You may be gentle, but you are also a fiercely independent child who craves his own space.

I stood over your crib and listened to your snuffly breathing. Long gone are the days of yummy baby smells. This morning you smelled of sweaty headed boy. I smiled down at you asleep, and said goodbye to the baby you were.

Now I'll say hello to the great man you will be. Thanks for making the last two years so easy on your mama. I love you.

Dear People I Live With....

2007-08-22T11:52:00.000-05:00

Effective today, I will no longer do the following:

1. Pick up after you. With the exception of Youngling, you are all big enough to know where things go. Quit arguing with me and put them there.

2. Find things for you. I never did take an archaeology class, therefore, it is not my job to find your things. Remember where you put it, and remember it's not my problem.

3. Buy you stuff. Money does not grow on trees, and if you break it, I will not "buy you a new one". Use your own money, if you think it's so expendable.

4. Fix you snacks. You are old enough to fix a PB&J and pour a glass of milk. The refrigerator is the big white thing with doors on it in the kitchen, and it houses tasty snacks like pudding, apples and juice. I would be delighted to draw you a map if you require one.

5. Be your event coordinator. If you are bored, go pick up your room. You will be amazed at how many toys you have once you unearth the layers of detritus. Play with those.

Failure to comply with the following rule changes will result in a very evil mother. Since you all seem to hate me in such a bad mood all the time, then I expect you to comply.

Sincerely,
Management

ETA: I reserve the right to continue edits as I see fit.

It's 106 miles to Chicago....

2007-07-26T12:53:00.000-05:00

...we've got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark, and we're wearing sunglasses.

OK, so it's more than 106 miles, I no longer smoke and I'll be driving during the day, but I am headed to Chicago this weekend! Kirdy is off on a whirlwind adventure of a girls' weekend in Chicago. That right, Mr. Chaos and the kids are staying home.

The friends I am going to meet are some of my closest friends. I've known them for years. We've been through divorce, birth, drama and good times together. Yet I've only ever met one in person.

These friends are internet friends, and once most of my "real life" friends get past the Dateline NBC fat man fresh out of prison jokes, they grudgingly admit they wish they had friends like I did.

I know full well how lucky I am to have met these ladies, and I can't wait to squeeze each one of them in person.

Oh yeah....I'm ready to hit it.

Your Tax Dollars Hard At Work....

2007-07-25T19:51:00.000-05:00

Someone from the Federal Reserve Board hit my blog a few days ago. Their search words?

The infamous 34DDD.

I'm demanding a larger refund this year. Or maybe a lowering of the prime rate.

Sounds In The Car

2007-07-12T21:52:00.000-05:00

Heard today while running errands....

LMD: Ew...who tooted?

Youngling: COOOOOOOOOOW!

Cman: No, Youngling, I think that was me.

Youngling: COWIE, COW-COW!

LMD: Cman, you tooted? Mom, Cman tooted...I wanna sit with you.

Youngling: Cow. Cow cow. Cowcowcowcowcow. COW!

Cman: LMD, you toot all the time and you really stink.

LMD: I do not. You know who really stinks?

Youngling: Yeah, cow.

They make me so proud.

Brought To You By The Letters P and G...

2007-07-10T12:30:00.000-05:00

and the letters 1 and 3.

Mingle² - Online Dating

hurt and pain are dinging me. Imagine. I talk boob size, we have dammit posts, and I get dinged by hurt and pain. Huh.

Curses! Tagged Again!

2007-07-06T06:40:00.000-05:00

Honestly, I don't mind being tagged....much. It gives me something to write about on days the muse has left the building. Since she's checked out for a while, I'm taking Blog Antagonist up on her tag. Here's eight things about me, in no particular order.

1. I am deathly terrified of water and bridges that go over water. Quite a few people are, but what makes my fear unusual is that I'm a veritable fish. I learned to swim by the time I was four and was water skiing like a pro by six. Yet anytime I swim in unknown water or drive over a bridge I tense. In fact, ten years ago I was driving in the San Francisco area and made a wrong turn, taking me over this bridge. My leg was cramped in the driving position for two days.

2. I have food issues. Not the kind that send you to the bathroom after eating, or the kind that have you living on air. No, I'm much like a picky six year old. Eating has rules. The first rule is I must be able to see what I am eating. If Mr. Chaos and I go to a romantic restaurant where people dine by candlelight, I'll leave. I don't trust food I can't see.

3. I've lost 51 pounds since the birth of Youngling almost two years ago. It's been a slow process, and I still have another stubborn 14 pounds to go, but I finally think of myself as healthy again. Sometimes I live by my old "fat" rules, and think I can't wear something or do something because of my size, then I remember. I understand why people put weight back on, because it's very difficult to change your mindset. Mr. Chaos pointed out I have lost the equivalent of one Cman. That helps keep things in perspective a bit.

4. Totally stealing this one from BA, so BA, my apologies, but your Ivanhoe item reminded me of this. I read "The Old Man and the Sea" for a book report in fourth grade. My teacher didn't believe I read the book and quizzed me ad infinitum. She finally called my parents to confirm I had read it. All I remember about it is the old man catches a huge fish, struggles to keep predators from eating it, then dies. I have no idea if the fish is a metaphor for our life's struggle, or what. I think it deserves a reread now that I am older.

5. After that incident, my teacher recommended to my parents that my IQ be tested. I remember meeting with a flaky, yet funny guy at the school and taking all kinds of fun tests. One of the tests was a reading test. I had trouble with a word in the text..."Sioux." The counselor told me when I was done the word was pronounced "soo" and not "see-oox." I was utterly mortified I had gotten it wrong. He tried to tell me I just read an excerpt from a 12th grade textbook, but all I heard was I got Sioux wrong. No one will tell me my score, they will only confirm I tested at genius IQ.

6. I learned to drive a stick shift first. When I got to Driver's Ed class at school, I had no clue how to drive an automatic. I sat behind the wheel stymied and asked my teacher where the stick was. He laughed and showed me how to drive it. I'm eternally thankful I learned how to drive a manual.

7. I once broke my pinky toe putting on a pair of underwear. The explanation is nowhere near as funny as you could imagine, so I'll leave it at that.

8. Finally, I am a self-confessed shopaholic. Doesn't matter if I need it, if it's a good deal, I'm buying several. This is difficult, since I am married to an accountant. Honey, if you are reading this, I just got home from buying party supplies for LMD's party tomorrow. You may want to work over time.

Tagging: Het cause I know she loves memes, and she's about the only person I know who reads this blog with any consistency who hasn't yet been tagged.

Days Of Wine and Roses

2007-07-02T08:02:00.000-05:00

The night Mr. Chaos proposed, I not only celebrated our pending nuptials, I celebrated the end of a life I was relieved to leave behind. I no longer was a single gal stumbling through the dating scene. I knew who I would be kissing on New Year's Eve for the next sixty years, and I loved it. I always wished I could handle the dating scene with the aplomb Carrie Bradshaw does, but alas, I was more of a Charlotte, desperate to find Mr. Right. When I snagged him, I was thrilled.

I never imagined I'd begin dating again 8 years later at 35.

Now don't worry, fair readers, Mr. Chaos and I are doing just fine. I'm not cheating on him in any way. You see, now that we are fully settled here, I've embarked on a new type of dating scene....playdating.

Honestly, in retrospect, I had no idea how great I had it. Men don't pay attention to what you are wearing, unless it's cut low enough to give them a great fantasy, and then they don't give a fig what you say. They don't interpret subtle nuances in how you say thank you. Not to mention those dating rules were fairly simple and straightforward. I knew how to play *that* dating game.

These days, I just feel lost. Getting ready for a playdate with someone for the first time is a nerve-wracking process. Here's how things transpired for one last week.

Kirdy (in bathroom): "Are you trying to look like a whore? Tone it down on the eyeliner. You aren't going clubbing, you're going to the sandbox, ferchrissake. Are you INSANE? Lipstick in the middle of the day? Are you trying to scare her away? Gloss, use gloss. And in the name of all that is holy, don't use anything other than light pink."

In Closet: "Those jeans are too tight. Yes, they make your ass look fabulous, but let's tone it down a bit for the park, shall we? Do you have a khaki skort? Nothing says soccer mom like a khaki skort. Just a T-shirt today. No, not that one, it's too tight. No, that's the wrong color. Don't you have anything suitable in here?"

I won't even get into how much I obsessed with the kids' outfits. Suffice it to say it took us four hours to get ready to go. Play. In the park. Where everyone would get dirty anyway.

The good news is our first play date was a success. But now I am left wondering what the rules of etiquette are. Who calls to schedule the next playdate? How many days should that person wait to call without seeming needy *or* disinterested?

Better yet, how many days until my children are old enough to orchestrate their own social calendars?

In the meantime, what does one give as a token in the play dating scene? If romance in the real dating world is wine and roses, what would the equivalent be in the sandbox circuit?

Handiwipes and PB&J?

Editor's note: Today is LMD's fourth birthday. I would just like to give a quick shout-out to the Diva who makes so many of these posts possible. No, no, no....I love you. And oh yeah, you win. Happy birthday, honey!

Phoning It In

2007-07-01T11:23:00.000-05:00

Kirdy is currently frantically preparing for LMD's 4th birthday tomorrow. As a result, she is reprising her very first post on this blog, dedicated to LMD. She promises she won't take as long a hiatus as she did last year. Enjoy.

At risk of being judged, branded and labelled....

allow me a moment to discuss potty training.

My middle child had a NASTY poo a few weeks ago. This poo came with it's own set of bragging rights, as far as I am concerned. Women sitting around a table regaling one another with birth stories will fall to awed hushes when my daughter walks in and says, "That's nothing. I passed a poo at the age of two that was as big around as a tennis ball, and I did it WITHOUT MEDICATION." Literally. Lest you think I am exaggerating, I pulled on one end while she pushed on the other. Yes, that is now #38 on the list of "Things I Never Knew I Would Do As A Parent."

So, anyway. This poo came with it's own set of issues. At the tender age of two my child was now afraid of the potty. Not a problem, right? So she regresses a bit, she goes in her pants a while, life goes on.

So I thought. She would scream, rend clothing, channel demons and generally be pissy for the full hour leading up to an event. Then, a quiet would settle on the house as she took to the task of taking off her clothes and dumping poo. I would go into the bathroom, totally exasperated with her, only to see her bravely trying to clean up with tears in her eyes. She knew it was wrong, but she just couldn't bring herself to tackle that porcelain hurdle.

I let this go on for three weeks. I was convinced if I didn't make an issue of it, then she would eventually make in the potty. Until last week. That day it became truly ugly. She cried, carried on, and reached a whole new level. I think I can safely define the phrase "shit fit" because what I saw that day definitely qualified. She raised pissiness and divadom to a whole new level. And this went on for a full. 24. hours. straight.

I finally took my child firmly by the hand and did something I swore I would NEVER do as a parent. I held her. Forcibly. On the potty. I used every encouraging word, face and tone known to mankind. I was sure I was scarring her for life. I was evil. Cruel. A heartless wench destining her daughter to a life of therapy. Her hair flew in a crazed nimbus around her reddened, tear stained face and finally........it was done. And to her amazement, it didn't hurt.

The next day, she fought me even harder, but after 5 minutes, she sighed, stroked my hair and whispered, "I love you much" as she went. The rest of the day progressed peacefully. Which left me wondering........

Was all of this a desperate act on her part to retain the place of the baby in the family? I have no doubt initially she hurt and was frightened, but after 3 weeks I think this morphed into a classic baby/big girl power struggle. My heart broke and widened for her all at once when I heard her whisper "I love you much." Yet another thing I never knew as a parent....you can be sad and proud all at once. I am proud of her for facing her demons and "working them through", yet sorry she had to give up her babydom.

Sweetie........I love you much. Enigma that you are.

The Internet Is A Funny Thing

2007-06-27T07:20:00.000-05:00

I get a big giggle out of how people find my website. Search keywords have included "34DDD" (YEah, and *those* people were sorely disappointed), "urbane shoes" and "kindergarten killer Cho". That one disturbs me a little, and Person, if you ever come by again, I hope you were doing research for a paper. Otherwise, I think you might want to seek help.

So anyway, I could have predicted the 34DDD would get a lot of hits, but I never would have predicted the one post that gets the most hits is this one. "Hep, hep" has gotten my website more hits than any other. Go fig. Strangely enough, the majority of the hits have been from Europe. I wonder if Weezer just released "Island In The Sun" over there?

So if one is trying to drive traffic to a blog via keywords, how do you do it? Sure, you could go blue and post things like "viagra", "penis", or "hot sex for one dollar". But then you just never know what kind of element you are attracting. I suppose I could start writing about Paris Hilton, she's probably a hot search word, but again, I'd be disappointing those people.

Eh, I guess I'll stick with the way things are run. I couldn't keep up with crazy web traffic anyway.

In Late Breaking News....

2007-06-26T19:46:00.000-05:00

Turns out there really was a Celtic pagan celebration known as Bomis. Here's more:

There is an ancient pagan/celtic irish holiday called Bómis, which was a tribute to the supreme god in the Irish pantheon, The Dagda. It was celebrated on the last full moon before the summer solstice. They would sacrifice a convicted criminal (preferably a murderer, but oath-breakers would do, in a pinch) by boiling him in a huge cauldron after first incapacitating him with large quantities of mead; the sacrificial victim was guaranteed a clean slate in the afterlife, so he usually didn't protest much. The flesh of the victim was fed to pigs (usually associated with The Dagda), and his rendered fat was made into a candle which was lit each day leading up to the summer solstice. On the summer solstice, the pigs that ate the sacrificial victim were ritually slaughtered, and the town would have a feast.

All donations for LMD's therapy bills will be accepted.

Happy Bomis!

2007-06-26T09:10:00.001-05:00

A very Happy Bomis to you and yours. The Chaos family celebrated with Bomis pancakes (chocolate chip and Cool Whip) this morning. Later we will have a cookout and cake.

How will you celebrate Bomis today?

In The Still of Mid-Afternoon

2007-06-20T15:35:00.000-05:00

Right now in the Chaos house, no creature is stirring, not even.....anyway.

This is a rare occasion, one which I am not oft met. Cman and LMD rarely take naps anymore, and the Youngling has been fighting his like hell.

Take this afternoon, for example. Cman and I were down in the basement listening to Youngling on the monitor. Youngling often runs through his repertoire of verbiage before falling asleep. We often hear him yelling "COW!" as loud as he can, then hear him giggling at his mighty lung capacity. Today was a tad different, because we instead heard him yelling "OW!" I thought little of it, as this is a new word, and one worthy of exploring. There are many subtle inflective differences a person can use with a word such as that. Besides, it wasn't accompanied by loud thuds, cries of pain or silence, so I let it go.

Shortly after I heard him muttering "car". Again, not earth shattering, he has a few cars and trucks he plays with in his crib. Youngling had a brief discourse on the pros and cons of all things transport, then became silent. Cman and I had a chuckle over how active and chatty he was during nap time today.

Suddenly, I heard the unmistakable crinkling of cellophane. It began quietly at first, almost surreptitously, much like a child trying to sneak a bit of candy. It gradually built until finally it became a deafening crescendo of crumpling and gleeful crowing from the baby.

At that point it hit me. Cars, trucks and trains are all approved nap time toys, but never once has Youngling slept with paper. Curious, I went upstairs to investigate.

I opened the door to find Youngling sitting in the midst of his floor, surrounded by a jumble of toys, shoes and baby wipes. The ~~little stinker~~ resourceful child managed to climb out of his crib then pull a box of wipes off his dresser. Thus the mysterious crinkling sound.

He is now asleep in his room. I can only assume he is in his crib, though based on the omnious, albeit brief, sound of a bell I heard shortly before the silence, I wonder.

Which leads me to ask....what do I do with a ~~drunken sailor~~ adventurous tyke who refuses to remain put? You would think I would have had experience with this by baby three, but the other two miraculously never attempted to break out.

Ducks and Robes and Things That Moo

2007-06-18T12:52:00.000-05:00

Mr. Chaos and I just celebrated seven years of wedded something. Bliss at times, yes. Other times maybe a deep seated resentment tinged with just a hint of tolerance. Most of the time we are quite happy and busy getting caught up in the coaster of life.

This last weekend we escaped from the kids for two whole days (thanks Mom and Dad) and went to stay at the B&B we stayed at during our honeymoon. Most of the weekend was spent shopping, sleeping and eating what we wanted. Really. But there are a few special memories that I will never forget from this past weekend.

The first was on Friday night. As Mr. Chaos will be the first to tell you, he's not a big gift-giving kind of guy. He gives them, and I like them, but it's usually something I told him I wanted, or sent him an e-mail link to buy, or left a cut catalog page laying around sort of thing.

This year he did something so very special I will never, ever forget it.

The weekend after he proposed to me lo those many years ago, he "kidnapped" me for a getaway. That is to say he packed my bags for me, cleared a few days off with my boss and took me here. I ended up falling asleep on him around 6pm, killing any romantic ideas he had for that evening. I woke up the next morning telling him I had the best night's sleep I'd had in years. He hid his disappointment well, and was truly happy I'd managed a decent night's sleep, something I don't do often.

Throughout the years I've wondered what cosmic forces lined up to cause such an excellent sleep. Was it knowing I was with a man I truly loved and admired? Was it that I was secure in the knowledge that he loved me as deeply in return? Was it the sea air? The sound of the waves? Or was it simply this?

Yes, it's true. Over the years I became convinced that this robe was the reason for that sweet slumber. It was the plushest, thickest, softest thing I ever wore, and I coveted one. Frequently.

So you can imagine my reaction Friday night when I opened my gift. Mr. Chaos says first he saw the joy on my face when I realized he remembered I needed a new robe. Then my face crumpled when I saw that famous logo. I bawled. After seven years the man who I have crawled through fire with still cared enough to remember that night 8 years ago. It was a night he'd probably rather forget, wrought with frustration and disappointment, yet he chose to remember it the way it was for me.

In a strange way that gesture touched me more than many other large and small gestures he has made. It sort of summed up the last seven years in a neat little package of 100% Egyptian cotton. All the mundane daily details of the last seven years haven't diminished his love. Suddenly I understood what he had been trying to tell me throughout our married life. That my stretch marks don't matter, the weight gains or losses don't matter, even the fact that I occasionally curse his existence doesn't matter.

What matters is our love. Deep underneath the day to day, it remains. The quality has waxed and waned throughout the years (and I'm still not sure which the moon was on Saturday, sorry hon) but it's there, along with our commitment to one another.

As for the other moments....I think I'll keep them to myself. Not because they are embarrassing or corrupt, but because they are ours and ours alone.

In keeping with my promise...

2007-06-05T11:57:00.001-05:00

I've created a new blog to track my fitness progress. Any of you that are interested can find it here.

But, but...I Have Good Reason....

2007-06-04T18:19:00.001-05:00

The last two weeks were the weeks from hell. I made 4 trips to ER, two of which were while Mr. Chaos was in Seattle.

First trip was for me. I'm over it, you're over it, and let's move on, shall we?

Second trip was last Monday. LMD tripped and fell leaving Cman's baseball game. She face planted on a mighty sharp rock, and she cupped her little hand to catch the blood. As soon as she saw the blood she stopped crying and began asking questions such as, "Why is there a lot of bleed?" She required 4 stitches, didn't cry (not even when they injected the novocaine into her cut) and asked the doctors questions about how they stitch it up as she watched. The ER docs were amazed at how brave she was. I bet she is one of those women that does like 10 days of labor without pain meds and then pops out a 12 pound baby someday. You can just see it, can't you? Or maybe a surgeon. Or maybe she'll perform open heart surgery while in labor popping out that 12 pounder. She's that tough. Holla.

Saturday we were back at ER getting said stitches out around 1pm.

Saturday night around 8 PM I was back with the Cman, and they actually greeted me by name at that point. Erg. Cman spiked a temp of 103, had a severe headache and sore throat. We were sent home with meds and a diagnosis of strep throat. Sunday morning the boy was better, temp gone, eating and playing normally. Monday night the temp was back, so I kept him home from school Tuesday.

By midday Tuesday Cman needed me to carry him to the restroom. He was too weak to walk and began complaining that "something felt wrong" when he breathed. Doc said bring him in right away. Long story short, he was severely dehydrated and an hour away from an overnight stay. The docs actually called Wednesday morning to check on him. He was that ill, evidently, and they seemed perplexed as to what was wrong. The kid had dropped 7 pounds in 5 days. He's fine now and back at school, so we'll call it a virus.

Anyway, that what's up with the Chaos clan. The Youngling has been keeping mom sane by not getting sick, hurt or maimed in any way and just being a good guy.

Wow. Just Wow.

2007-06-04T17:59:00.000-05:00

Today was LMD's second to last day of school. This is a bittersweet time of year for me. It's exciting watching her grow up, yet it tugs at my heart just a bit to get a confirmation that she's growing up. I walked her into class today with that sense of sadness.

We walked into the room and her teacher, Mrs. S greeted us with a bigger than usual smile and said, "Thanks for all the help you were in class this year!" She handed me a potted fuschia.

Let's be clear. Yeah, I "helped". I went on field trips so I could participate in my kid's joy. I brought snacks on several occasions, again, for the kid's benefit and joy. I even *gasp* gave funds to the school for special goodies and activities. I was just being a mom who loves a kid. Honest.

I was so touched by that gesture, though. It was absolutely, completely unnecessary, yet it spoke volumes. Those tiny flowers indicated how much this woman cared for my child those few hours every day. Suddenly, the pot in my hand was a symbol of the connection she had forged with my daughter this year.

I hope I don't kill them.

My Solemn Vow

2007-05-24T14:31:00.000-05:00

I promise you, dear readers, that I will not turn this blog into a fitness blog. I'll either create a new blog for that, or something.

But I just gotta brag.

Monday I ran my first non-stop mile ever. I did a 12:40 mile and I thought it was just about the most amazing thing I had ever done. I felt empowered and strong. I felt like a runner. Me. Can you imagine?

Today I did 3 miles in 37 minutes. This is a HUGE accomplishment for me, mainly because it means that my short-term goal of running a 5k by the end of summer is attainable. Hell, I ran a 5k today!

My long-term goals are a half marathon and a half-tri. I never would have thought myself capable of running a 5k just two months ago, so why not?

Mememememe.....

2007-05-15T18:29:00.000-05:00

BA over at Blogs Are Stupid has tagged me with a meme. Today's assignment is chock full of quirky goodness. Ten of 'em.

1. If I see someone driving in a car that looks sort of like me, I often find myself wondering if maybe it is me in some sort of alternate universe. I then concoct outrageous stories of what my life would be like as that Alt-Me.

2. I wonder if being in someone else's brain for a day would be as painful as I imagine it to be. I think trying to follow other people's thought processes would twist my mind. Then I wonder if my mind would seem boring and mundane to others, or whether my brain sharer would struggle to keep up with me.

3. I dissect words in my head. I'll count the number of letters in a word and then split the letters in the word up into the different groupings. For example, permutations would become permut-ations, perm-utat-ions, per-mut-ati-ons, and pe-rm-ut-at-io-ns.

4. I spend my day obsessively adding numbers until the sum is a three or a multiple of three. I'll use dates, times, phone numbers, etc. I find it calming for some reason. Probably because it keeps my mind busy.

5. When I worked, I kept a spotless desk. Everything was neatly filed and organized. Folders were purged regularly. Yet my house........yeah, not so much. I still haven't figured out why I'm anal one place and not another.

6. I'm not sure how quirky this one is, but one of my migraine "tells" is my skin literally starts to feel like it's crawling. For hours before I get the head pain, my skin gets itchy and I can't stand to be inside my skin. If I could shed it for a few hours, I would.

7. I love shoes. I have purchased pairs that go with nothing I own. I've also picked up pairs I know I will never, ever wear. I just buy them because I like them. Think of it as poor man's closet art. Seeing my shoe collection every morning gives me great joy.

8. I'm a chick gamer. There aren't many of us out there, but I could happily spend an afternoon playing video games. I prefer RPGs, but I'll settle for pretty much anything. Right now I'm almost done with Legend of Heroes on the PSP, and I'm trying to finish Final Fantasy X-2 on the Playstation 2.

9. Touching raw meat skeeves me out. Once it's cooked I'm fine, but I can't stand to touch raw chicken or beef. We eat a lot of crock pot meals in this house because I can simply dump the meat directly into the pot without touching it.

10. I have an addiction to beauty products. I just went and counted how many products I have in my shower. There are currently 22 bottles of bath gel, shave gel, shampoo, conditioner, body scrub, etc. Number of those products belonging to Mr. Chaos: 1.

I tag anyone reading this. I know it's a cop out not to name people directly, but after reading how nutso I am, I'm not sure anyone wants me to name names here. Plus everyone I know has been tagged. Off to go find a bottle of brain bleach to wash away my crazy!

Life is unfair....

2007-05-14T09:52:00.001-05:00

OK. First off I want to say that I know what I am about to whine about is totally petty and most women would be jealous of it. But of course I am going to bitch anyway. Totally. Read at your own risk.

I went yesterday to get refitted for bras. I could tell I had been losing weight and even my sport bras were getting too big, so I was due.

When I started this whole process I was a 38C. I was thrilled to finally be in a C cup. Bye, bye, big tatas.

So I thought.

Yesterday I got re-measured and I am now a......34DDD. WTF? Why can't I just lose weight in my chest like normal people??!?!??!? I was so looking forward to buying cute little lacy numbers at Victoria's Secret, but oh, no. Instead I am subjected to buying the ugly ass industrial strength bras that come in the triple "holy shit are those things for real size."

Damn.

What I Want for Mother's Day by Kirdy

2007-05-02T14:38:00.000-05:00

1. A maid. Self explanatory.

2. A chef. Ditto.

3. Chauffeur for these kids. (see a pattern?)

4. A palm pilot so I can keep everybody's %&*^%( schedules straight!

I sat down this morning to log in doc appointments, baseball games, swim lessons....it's insane, y'all. Until school is out, we have activities for two kids three nights of the week. We are literally booked solid until mid June. I can't even squeeze in a playdate for these kids.

I always swore I'd never be one of those moms that puts the kids in tons of activities, yet here we are. I swear, these kids have busier schedules than I did when I was working as a corporate trainer. I had 10 states in my region, and there were times back then when I would call down to the lobby in a foggy morning haze just to find out where the heck I was.

As a result, I have had to cancel my yearly physical (which I've been putting off since Youngling was born), a dental checkup (which I have conveniently forgotten about for the past 3 years) and have had to reschedule a haircut four times (Dammit, a girl has her priorities!).

Or maybe instead I'll just ask for #5. A big ass bottle of champagne and a night off.

Can I Get Depends With That?

2007-05-01T15:48:00.000-05:00

I've been offline the last few days tending to a minor medical emergency. This was of a slightly embarrassing nature to begin with, and then the doc comes and says:

"As we women age...."

Uh, huh?!!?!?!? I may have the body of a 35 year old, but in my mind I'm still 21. OK, 25, tops. I'm not aging. I'm not! *stomp* Sure, the gals sag a bit and need a bit more support than they used to. Yes, fine, I do have a few fine lines around my eyes, but those are squint lines from years in the Arizona sun, and everyone there has them. I swear. Everyone. Really.

I was doing reasonably okay with the aging process until I heard this. I can deny lines in the mirror, I can overlook a bit of sun damage. But to have a doctor tell you that things are going to stop functioning the way they used to....well, suddenly my back was creaky and my joints ached. Damn. The final indignity was the doctor was in her early fifties and was lecturing me on age. The hell?

Mr. Chaos was wise enough to adamantly deny he noticed any differences. He insisted I was sexier than ever. Mainly in order to insure his sleeping place stayed in our room and not on the couch. I ate every last bit of it up, though.

Then I got to thinking. Would I really age as gracefully as I had hoped? I've always had visions of myself in my sixties with a tanned, wrinkled face and a silver french braid cascading down my back. Yet it was obvious I wasn't ready to accept that as my ideal. Hell, I drove home from the doctor that day contemplating plastic surgery. Really.

So, evidently, the mid-thirties are a crossroads. At least they are for me. I can either let myself go, so to speak, and become the quirky bohemian I have always envisioned, or I can fight like hell, treading the dangerous line of becoming a cougar. Does aspiring to milf status make one a cougar if you are happily married and not trolling? Anyone?

Suddenly I become defiant. Who makes these damned rules, anyway? Why am I doomed to a life of a drab caramel haircolor with beige highlights just because I'm "not as young as I used to be"? Why can't I wear a miniskirt if I want? I've worked damned hard to get back in shape. Shouldn't I enjoy my hard work by wearing what I want? Then a tiny voice inside whispers, "Because you'll look ridiculous. Who do you think you are fooling?"

I'm still not sure where I sit on the debate. But I got my ass to the gym and ran my first mile nonstop. Suck on that, doc.

Dear Cartoon Network,

2007-04-26T12:18:00.000-05:00

I am writing to express my unending gratitude at your wise decision to air the last Ed, Edd and Eddy show tomorrow. I'm not sure what kind of crack induced goodness you pack into this show, but all three Chaos kids bounce around the rooms like super balls whenever this show is aired. We had to ban your show in this house because our walls could no longer take the strain.

Once again, thank you. I now no longer have to search for the remote to change the channel, and can leave your programming on continually as an effective form of babysitting.

Sincerely,

Kirdy

Now For Something Completely Different

2007-04-25T20:42:00.000-05:00

The Chaos family spent yesterday getting our yearly reality check. For those readers who don't know, Cman was born with spina bifida. We have been extremely blessed and lucky. He walks, runs, has full bladder and bowel control, does not require a shunt...in other words, he's a "normal" kid. That is, aside from the yearly visit to the neurologist. These visits are necessary because he runs a very real risk of developing a tethered cord as he grows. The sooner a tethered cord is discovered, the sooner surgery can be done to keep the child from losing sensation, function, etc.

This year's reality check was a bit more involved than most. Usually we go in and the neurologist has him hop on one foot, touch his nose with his eyes closed, that sort of thing. This year Cman had an MRI. The MRIs are done every couple of years to help monitor the cord. His last one was performed in late 2002, so he was definitely due. Unfortunately, this did not sit well with Cman. For weeks leading up to this, he became teary at the mere mention of the doctor. The kid was terrified the scan would hurt. Needless to say, Mr. Chaos and I woke up yesterday morning with great trepidation. We were worried how Cman would cope and we were also nervous about the results. As we entered the hospital, I was in hypervigilant Mom mode. I was dialed into my son's emotion, and I was determined to do whatever it took to keep him calm.

Turns out I needn't have worried.

Cman was so incredibly brave. He sat with the child life specialist who explained to him in detail through pictures, model and video exactly what would be happening. When she was completed he said, "Okay, let's go." That's it. All of us fully expected he would need a mild sedative for the procedure. We walked down to the MRI waiting room waiting for panic. The panic never came. Cman picked out the CD he would listen to and walked out the door without even saying goodbye. We were fine with that, since we didn't want to upset him.

He'd been in the room about 10 minutes when a tech walked in. I braced myself thinking she was coming in to prepare a sedative. Instead, she smiled at us and said, "Is that your little boy in there?" We said yes. Then she gushed, "He's such a sweetheart! He got teary eyed because he forgot to say goodbye to you both. We told him he'd be right back out. He's so polite and sweet....and so well behaved! He's perfectly still in there."

Any parent would be proud to hear words such as these, and we were. Yet at the same time, Cman has an uncanny ability to engage people. Anywhere this kid goes, he puts smiles on people's faces. We've gotten used to hearing it, though never have we taken the sentiment behind it for granted. We smiled and thanked her, and shortly after Cman came back in. We grabbed a quick lunch and came back an hour later to get the results.

The doctor came in and said the words I have dreaded hearing for 6 years. Cman sat in my lap as she said, "His cord appears to be tethered." Those few words sent my world into a tailspin. I felt physically ill, and my grip on Cman must have tightened, because in the tiniest and most forlorn of voices he whispered, "What's wrong with my back?" The doctor smiled at him and said, "Nothing. It's the same as it's always been." Then I realized she was talking about the previous surgery. We had told his cord would always be slightly tethered, and she was referring to that. We left with a clean bill of health and a very proud boy.

On the hour drive home, I became somber. I often think of the "what ifs". I remember pushing Cman in the stroller as a baby watching children bike through the park, wondering if he would ever be able to bike ride.

We are working on removing his training wheels this summer. Did I think of this? Hell no.

The doctors told us when he was born that he most likely would struggle in school. He's doing second grade math and is participating in the school's Science Fair.

Instead of focusing on the positives, I became melancholy. It wasn't fair that such a fantastic boy should have to live on the finest of threads. Why my boy? I am embarrassed to say that I railed internally at the unfairness of life. Did I look cross-eyed on a Tuesday? Drink a drink before I knew I was pregnant? Why had this happened to us? Frustrated, I found tears welling in my eyes when I heard Cman tell his daddy from the backseat, ".....and that's when I kissed H on the bus."

WHAT?

I couldn't help but giggle, then chastise myself. Once again Cman had managed to point out the joy in life. Instead of spending the ride home telling us all about his experience, he decided to share a different new experience. Turns out he's been smooching a girl on the bus for well over a month. Not only did I have no idea, but it's not even the girl I thought he had a crush on.

We spent the ride home talking about little things. Cman likes gym class, loves playing tag with his friends, and apparently kissing on the bus when he thinks the bus driver isn't looking. He couldn't have cared less about the MRI, or the doctor.

Suddenly, neither did I. Thanks, Cman.

The Wind Cries Mary

2007-04-23T11:04:00.000-05:00

The Chaos family hiked to the park this weekend to fly kites. It was LMD's first time flying the kite by herself, and she was thrilled as she watched her Barbie kite dip and twirl in the sky. As it inevitably happens, the wind began to lose it's strength about a half hour after we started.

Me to LMD: "LMD, we'll have to go. You can't fly your kite anymore. The wind is dying down."

"No, Mommy, it just has a boo-boo."

Unable to argue with that logic, I watched her struggle to fly that kite for another 20 minutes. I savored every second of it, knowing her childhood will be as fleeting as that wind.

I Would Like To Thank The Academy

2007-04-21T07:11:00.000-05:00

Blog Antagonist has given me a Thinking Blogger Award. I consider her blog insightful, often funny and very thought provoking. Getting this award from her is a huge honor and one I'm not sure I am worthy of, but I'll get over it.

I want to nominate Gina over at There's N.O. pLAce Like Home. Gina lives in New Orleans and writes about her life and her city's long path to recovery after Hurricane Katrina. If you are like me, you forget people are still trying to get back on their feet. She's my reminder that people perservere in the face of adversity. Please go check her out!

I also want to nominate Moe Berg over at Simon Metz. Moe blogs about most anything, including his kids culinary eccentricities and general daily observations. His witty insight into daily life is entertaining and refreshing. Plus, any guy who puts his kid in a MD 20/20 t-shirt as a wry joke is okay by me.

You Have Been Warned

2007-04-20T13:23:00.000-05:00

This week's carnival topic over at Crazy Hip Blog Mamas is Favorite Beauty Secret/Product.

Oh my gosh...those that know me know I was born to write about this. I have more beauty stash than Donald Trump has combover. I can't pass a beauty counter, shop, drugstore without buying at least one product. It's a sickness, and I'm working on it. That having been said, these are the things I come back to again and again....

1. Bare Escentuals foundation. Yes, it really is everything you've heard it is. It's goof proof, quick to apply, gives your skin a gorgeous glow without screaming makeup. Say goodbye to clown lines on your face when you use this stuff. Plus it has SPF 15, so you can skip the sunscreen. This is the original mineral makeup that started the trend.

2. Lip gloss. I'm currently addicted to Goldie's lip gloss because it's not tacky or sticky and smells divine. Every time I put it on I get a whiff of vanilla buttercream. It feels so indulgent, especially when you're perpetually dieting like me. The site says it smells like dolce de leche, but who cares either way? It smells GREAT!

3. Olay Regenerist Microdermabrasion and Peel. I use this twice a week to keep my skin dewy and youthful looking. Since I started using this six months ago, I get the best compliments on my skin. It gets rid of a dull, lifeless complexion and leaves your skin glowing and radiant. Really. Use this with the serum daily and you'll love the results.

4. Blinc Mascara. I know it's a lot to pay for one tube of mascara, but since I started using this, I will never use another brand again. This mascara coats your lashes with tiny little tubes of color that are buildable before they dry. It adds length, and it stays put all day. No more raccoon eyes with this. Just a little water and it comes right off.

These four (okay, five) items are my basic must haves. I keep coming back to them no matter what else I try.

Cman the Entrepreneur

2007-04-20T11:07:00.000-05:00

Last night coming home from karate class, Cman and Mr. Chaos had the following conversation:

Cman: "Dad, what makes people get a lot of money?"

Mr. C: "Well, if you study hard in school and get good grades..."

"No Dad, I mean a LOT of money."

"...then you go to college and study to become a doctor or a lawyer..."

"NO, I mean a lot a lot of money. *pause* Hey! I know! I'll open a lemonade stand! Then I'll be filthy, STINKING rich!"

I'm still not sure where he came up with the "flithy, stinking rich" line, but Mr. C and I are both greatly heartened by Cman's new endeavor. Last month he told us he wanted to be a pizza delivery guy when he grows up, so this is a move in right direction. Baby steps little man, baby steps.

Beware the Ides of April

2007-04-19T15:41:00.000-05:00

What is it with this time of year? Columbine. Virginia Tech. Oklahoma City. Branch Davidian standoff. Hitler's Birthday. See a pattern?

I know most of the incidents happening in schools this week are kids desperate for the same level of attention Cho is getting. Realistically I know in my heart this is true. My knee jerk emotional reaction is to pull Cman out of school and homeschool him.

I remember when Columbine occurred. I was a working woman in my late twenties. Mr Chaos and I were newly engaged, and I remember coming home from work that day in utter shock. He and I sat on the couch drinking beer and watching news reports. A tear trickled out of my eye. I hastily wiped it away, but it soon became a torrent. I railed at Mr. Chaos that to bring children into a world such as this was madness. It was the height of vanity. I vowed that we wouldn't have kids with the world that messed up. Bless his heart, he agreed, though I am sure he knew it was a fleeting fancy.

Cman came along in 2000, and while Cman and I were visiting my parents, the unthinkable atrocities of 9/11 occurred. I sat holding my nine month old son, tears pouring down my face again. This time my heart hurt looking at my innocent little boy. It pained me to know that I couldn't protect him and if evil wanted to get him, it would. I was thankful that I didn't have a child old enough to understand how horrific people can be.

Then the incidents of this week occurred, and I had the difficult task of trying to explain yet shield Cman from the events at VT. He knows a man shot people, lots of people. I'm not sure he understands it was at a school. At least he hasn't shown me he's made the correlation. Though now that I think on it, maybe he has since he's been crying and not wanting to go to school the last two days.

I sit here typing now and there at least two incidents in the news. One is in Florida, where a boy said he wanted "an even higher death toll than Virginia Tech". Another is in Tempe, AZ where a suspicious package has been found in a bathroom.

My God, when is it enough? When will this stop? Has our society become so enamored with fame that some will do anything to achieve it? Loner kids want attention, and unfortunately this is a great way to get it. All I know is until we figure it out, it's all I can do not to keep my kids home for the next few weeks.

Today I Betray My Own

2007-04-19T15:16:00.000-05:00

Spring finally started thawing the Frozen Tundra today. I guess my bitching about it's absence the other day was enough, because today it is sunny and gorgeous. You know how else I know it's here? I saw my first garage sale sign. Forget daffodils, robins or green grass....puh. Here spring is heralded in by the appearance of orange and black signs popping up on every corner.

I used to feel foolish going to yard sales with my mom. I thought that yard sales were for people who were in need. Why would you buy people's used stuff when you can get new? Then I had kids and I realized the joy of something new is far outweighed by the joy of a bargain. LMD loves going with me, hollering out each time she sees a sign as we drive. We saw our first sign today, so off we went in search of a deal.

I struck up a conversation with the woman running the sale while I browsed. We found out our children both attended the same elementary school, were both in kindergarten, and even were in the same class. This is where the betrayal of my first born began.

Me: "So, who is your daughter?"

Her: "Unbearably Cute One."

Me: "OH! Really? Cman has been talking about her all year! He has the biggest crush on her."

Her: " Really? I'll have to ask Unbearably Cute One about Cman."

Me: "Cman came home last week and said he told Mrs. G that he is in love with Unbearably Cute One. But Mrs. G said that we don't love in kindergarten, we are just good friends, so she's my good friend."

Uch. I know! Can you believe I went there? Instantly I felt dirty and wanted to scrub my skin raw in the nearest shower. It used to be so cute talking about his crushes and girl buddies, but I was completely unaware that it's not so cute anymore until those words left my mouth. I committed the most heinous of sins...that of embarrassing my firstborn. Moms have been doing it since the dawn of time. It's practically a rite of passage for both parties. Kid realizes he is growing up because mom mortifies him publicly; Mom crosses line into uncool mom territory. Can you see those high waisted mom jeans in my future? AGH!

I meekly handed over my $10 for a Columbia jacket for Youngling and got the hell out of there. The only thing lessening the sting of my faux pas is that Cman is completely unaware. Lucky for me, he was in school today. Since I'm sure there will be a next time, I'll just have to accept it. But I know I'll be wearing yummy mummy jeans when I do.

Better Than Sasquatch

2007-04-18T10:56:00.000-05:00

Recently I started up an exercise regimen. I figured since the last kidlet was born almost two years ago, it was laughable that I carry around baby weight. So I've been hitting the gym 4-5 times a week for the last month. I hadn't really noticed much of a difference in the way my clothes fit, and the scale wasn't moving, either. Yet I felt healthier, less stressed and more energetic, so I stuck with it.

I was resigned to this process not resulting in any weight loss or effective change. I stuck to my routine of quickly running past the bathroom mirror after I got out of the shower, carefully averting my eyes from my flabby mommy body. Seven is far too early to stare that in the face, er...flabby tummy, er....saggy butt.

This morning as I was darting by the shower, I saw it. Something so magical, so mystical, it had previously only been rumored about these past seven years. Glimpses of this mythical creature have been as rare as sightings of bigfoot since I started this crazy motherhood business. I gasped, amazed. I was frightened to move lest I scare it away.

Waist, how the hell have you been? I missed you!

A Moment of Silence

2007-04-17T18:20:00.000-05:00

Bullets had barely stopped flying at Virginia Tech before the media began throwing salvos of their own. The situation was still unfolding during the first press conference Monday; I don't think there was even a clear number of victims at that point. Yet Chief Wendell Flinchum was already accused of not acting promptly enough to save lives.

Now, before we go any further, I do agree this needs to be investigated, and they need to find out where things went wrong in order to avoid these tragedies in the future. Was I the only one who thought that afternoon the focus wasn't precisely where it needed to be? What about those victims? What about the families involved? I realize the media has a job to do, but it could have waited a day. The police would have time to investigate and the media could turn focus where it needed to be...on the victims.

Thirty-two people are gone. Most families had barely been notified at the time of that press conference, yet the media had already discarded them in their search for the juicy bits, the gory details. Flinchum was lambasted for not having acted quickly enough. I'm sure he had played what if scenarios in his head at least 100 times before that press briefing. Meanwhile families throughout the country were waiting in agony. Most got news their loved ones were fine, the equivalent of a lottery winning. Thirty-two families got the tragic news their lives had been drastically altered. One mom this morning said she didn't get word until 11 pm that night. Several survivors gave graphic details to the press by this time, adding vivid pictures of last moments to the grief.

Yesterday during the convocation, Governor Tim Kaine heralded the VT students for the shining example of community and optimism they set for the country. VT students understood their peers deserved to be remembered. The community came out in vast numbers to show respect. Outpourings of love and loss must start before healing can begin, before answers can be demanded. Too bad that story was lost on the media.

What Are Words For?

2007-04-13T08:08:00.000-05:00

Our society sits at a crossroads. You know what I'm talking about. Words were used in an offhanded manner that hurt. People are talking, defending, condemning. Pundits on both sides of the issue are overly heated, sparring with verbal missiles. As an adult, I clearly understand both sides of the Imus debacle. Would I if I were a child? I wonder.

In the Chaos household, we talk about the power of words. As a writer I find myself fascinated by what makes people choose the words they use. Some of it is upbringing, in other cases, it's personality. The way a person strings words together tells you about them. On a smaller, though no less important scale, we talk about "bad words". Words such as stupid, duh, dammit, and yes, even the "n" word, which Cman learned at school last year. We talk about the impact those words make. Cman and I conversed several times about the way words hurt; the way they can leave a bigger impact on a person than we intended. We choose the words we use carefully for that reason.

Personally, I don't give a flying fig which side of the debate you fall on. Americans should learn a very important lesson from this. Certain words are not ok, no matter who you are. Be you black or white, male or female, straight or gay, there are certain words NONE of us should ever use. They are disrespectful at best, damaging at worst. Kindergartners understand this. They understand that it is definitely NOT ok that Mommy gets to say "dammit" when they don't, and they'll reprimand you in a heartbeat for it. What do we as adults lose along the way? When words are equal for all, they lose their power. The issue is simple. The lesson is simple. We as Americans have a fantastic opportunity to make something great come from all of this. Let's teach our kids an important life lesson.

Do as I do, not as I say.

Do What Now?

2007-04-12T15:13:00.000-05:00

That's one of those quirky Southern colloquialisms I picked up while living in Georgia. For you Northern folk, it's loosely translated as "What?"

LMD is watching Strawberry Shortcake DVDs in the other room and they just broke out into song. It sounded like they were singing "Itchy, Bitchy Scare". In our house, that would be me during PMS. I get hives from chocolate, crave while PMSing.....ah, never mind, it loses too much in translation.

Anyway, I bolted out of my chair, and as I was lunging for the power button on the TV, I realized they were singing, "Itty Bitty Scare". Jeebus, more like gigantic one, you mean. Remember when LMD wouldn't forget dammit?

Wake Me When It's Spring

2007-04-12T06:59:00.000-05:00

So yes, technically that calendar says we started spring over a month ago. That calendar can perform an anatomically impossible maneuver.

I woke up to 6, count 'em, six inches of snow today. It's funny that I'm complaining about it, really. After a 10 year hiatus in warmer climes, we came back to Wisconsin last August. Our first fall here I was giddy with excitement each time it snowed, and I was gleeful when the kiddos had snow days. I would spend days wide eyed with wonder, admiring how everything looked like a Currier and Ives print. Obviously the patina wore off quite quickly.

In my defense, those of you who live in south need to know the contributing factors. For instance, do you have any earthly idea how long it takes to get three kids bundled up to go outside? I think the Chaos record is 45 minutes. This includes at least one harried search for a missing glove while the child whines at me to hurry up. Also, one pant change because the diva forgot to pee before getting in her snow pants and we couldn't get them off in time. And you have to do this anytime you go anywhere. Granted, the snow pants don't factor in, but hats and gloves do. Did you know toddlers are genetically programmed to loathe hats? Yup, it's true. So when you do finally get all the kids strapped in their car seats looking like Mini-Michelins, your in-flight music is the low whine of the toddler. Lovely!

And dirt? Let me tell ya, you would think snow would be clean, right? After all, it's just frozen water. Yet not only does the rain freeze, it becomes polarized to attract any sand, salt and rocky mud within a 5 mile radius. I don't care how meticulous you are in insuring the kids take their boots off on the entryway carpet, either. As soon as that snow melts inside your house it magically reverses polarity and the muck, sand, rock et al redistributes itself throughout the house. This requires twice weekly mopping on our tile floors. Did I mention I hate to mop?

Finally, here in Wisconsin, spring is an evil temptress. Two weeks ago we were blessed with two sun-filled 80 degree days. I opened the windows, we aired out the house and the kids played outside. We drank up that sunshine like we'd been shipwrecked for weeks without water. For two glorious days the sun warmed our pale skin. The kids loved being outside, and I loved attempting to reclaim the house as mine for an hour or two. Winter came back only after the kids remembered how wonderful it is to be outside without winter clothes. Now they are stir crazy and cranky.

Yet I stoically hold my head high, and remind myself that warmer days are ahead. Spring always comes, on her terms. I just hope this year it will be by LMD's birthday......in July.

In "Who Gives a Shit" news....

2007-04-11T13:42:00.000-05:00

So. Hi. How ya doin'? Been a while since you and I pulled up a chair, isn't it? Want some coffee?

I suppose I do owe you an explanation.

It all started a year ago when Mr. Chaos was offered a fantastic job less than 2 hours from where I grew up. We didn't hesitate and packed all our stuff to move to the Frozen Tundra. We stayed with my parents (thanks, guys) and they have painfully slow dialup. Like 16K on a good day, y'all. Swear. So I was offline for six weeks while we house hunted and finalized our move.

In retrospect I should have posted a "See ya, I'm going away and won't be back for a while" post, but I didn't. Mainly because like Kevin talks about here, I, too scoffed at those "Goodbye Cruel World" posts. It is frowned upon in the message board strata of the nets, so I figured Emily Post would say the protocol was the same for blogging.

And when I came back, y'all deleted me. Even those of you who knew why I was gone. Realistically I know it was because I hadn't posted. Who wants to link stale material on their blogs? Not me, no siree. Gotta get my blog fix every other day, or every three days at the outset.

But am I ever realistic? Getouttahere! Soon that tiny voice that I try not to listen to started to get louder. "You are one of THOSE blogs. You know. One of those blogs that thinks it's inherently funny and witty and insightful, but is really boring as hell. It's self-aggrandizing bullshit! Who the hell wants to read your stuff? Loser! You are totally fooling yourself!" So I slunk off with hurt feelings and hid away like Gollum, certain no one in Blogworld would miss me.

Lately a few very kind souls have been encouraging me to write again, so here I am. Let me 'splain where I've been. No, there is too much, let me sum up. We moved to the Great White North, aka Frozen Tundra, aka Place of my Birth. Cman started kindergarten and is doing amazingly well. LMD is in preschool and loves it with a passion. Youngling is now walking and getting into all sorts of mischief.

As for me, I am in a much different place than I was a year ago. Is that good or bad? Well, I guess that's for you to decide. I do know that I am a lot more accepting of myself and where I am as a mom. Before my posts were cloaked in humor to hide my fear that I was fucking my kids up irreparably. I am in a much happier place physically and mentally. And yes, we are rapidly backsliding into that BS I discussed earlier, so I'll stop.

Anyway, how have you been? Today's assignment is to give me an update on you. Go.

Now THERE'S a game show I'd watch!

2007-04-11T10:30:00.000-05:00

During my freshman year of college, my roommate and I religiously watched one show every day. We'd rush back to our dorm room after class, pop some popcorn and settle in to watch our favorite show, Supermarket Sweep. Feverish with excitement, we'd yell things at the TV like, "Go for the hams! Hey, stupid! Everyone knows you go for the hams. Baked goods?! Lady, are you crazy?" We'd gleefully soak up that half hour, learning all the while how to rack up a grocery bill in the quickest way possible.

Oh, naive child.

It struck me when I was at WalMart today just how wrong that show was. I wasted hours of my misspent youth watching a show that gave me virtually no life skills. Hell, my advanced calculus classes prepared me more for life than that show.

I want a show called Fantastically Frugal. This show would show moms frantically trying to feed a family of five on a tight budget. The shopping experience would be replete with pitfalls. The contestant would have to draw a setback card, and these setback cards would have additional difficulties such as "cranky baby" or "picky eater". The mom would then have to craftily juggle her shopping list to meet these additional demands all while staying under budget. If the mom completed these tasks she would earn bonus points. The moms would be judged on nutritional value, variety and creativity also. Think of the learning potential!

Unfortunately, this will never happen. People watch TV to escape reality and this show would be way too realistic. Unless it was promoted as reality TV. That could work, right?

Nah. With the overly charged PC world we live in these days, it still wouldn't happen. It would be deemed sexist and voted off the air. You ever see a dad with three kids at the grocery store?

The Diva turns three.

2006-07-02T17:27:00.000-05:00

Today was LMD's third birthday. I think back to how much my life has changed in the last three years, and 95% of those changes were due to her. She is an amazing little creature full of much joie de vive, complexity and downright southern charm. What she lacks in stature, she makes up for with her exuberance and spunk. Life is hers to take by the tail. I for one, have no doubt she will grab it, swirl it around in the air a few times before slamming it on the mat. Anyone who knows her would wholeheartedly agree.

She gave me a lovely present today, too. Those terrible twos and threes were gone today, and she showed all of us what an amazing young woman she will be. My heart melted to see it. I know without a shadow of a doubt she will do me proud.

Happy Birthday, LMD. Your mommy loves you with a depth you will begin to understand when you have ones of your own someday. In the meantime, never, ever doubt I love you.

And oh yeah, you win. ;)

Happy Bomis!

2006-06-26T20:25:00.000-05:00

LMD woke me up this morning. In all my bleary eyed, matted haired glory, I cracked open one eye. She cheerfully greeted me with "Happy Bomis!" Without thinking, I immediately wished her a Happy Bomis as well. "No, mommy, I can't have Bomis, I a girl."

Well, okay then.

But all day long I have been thinking.....what are the rules of Bomis? First off, is it a major holiday, or merely a late observance of the equinox? Should I give something up for Bomis, assuming it lasts 40 days? Who will I offend if I don't celebrate Bomis? Which cultures hold the Bomis-tide most sacred?

I asked LMD what we celebrate on Bomis and she said, "Well, it's almost my birthday, so let's eat cake."

Atta girl!

Then I started thinking even further. Holidays are about well wishes, happiness, and sharing with loved ones. The Chaos family embraced Bomis with full gusto. We called grandparents and merrily wished them a Happy Bomis. We put Bomis into sentences whenever and whereever we could. I still think Mr. Chaos took things a bit too far by buying each of the kiddos a small token of Bomis, but nevertheless, the spirit was there. It felt like a holiday, when there heretofore was none.

So, with that having been said, a very Happy Bomis to each and all of you. Unless you are a girl, who does not have a Bomis, but feels totally okay with accepting a small Bomis gift anyway.

Memo to car seat manufacturers:

2006-04-16T13:58:00.000-05:00

I'm onto you. So are the "Freakonomics" people. (Read more about it here.)

Look, I consider myself an experienced parent. I have three kids, been installing car seats for 5 years, worked at Babies R Us, (discounts, hooray!) and even took a few car seat safety classes. No other kid gear intimidates me more than the car seat. I'm still never fully certain if I have ours installed correctly.

Would it be too much to ask if you could simplify things? I can break down a Pack N Play in my sleep, can strip down any highchair on the market...I can even walk and chew gum at the same time. What I am trying to say is that I am an educated, quasi-intelligent consumer, and I struggle with the seats. Surely there must be a better way.

I understand where y'all are coming from. Any changes made must be thoroughly tested before introduced to the general populace, especially in our litigious society. I get it. I am willing to pay more if I can rest well knowing that damn thing is in right. Yes, I know there are car seat inspectors. It's about the convenience factor. I am a mom to three....do you have any idea what it takes to get them loaded up and ready to go? Furthermore, do you have any idea what it takes to get your product installed in my vehicle? Again, willing to pay BIG money for an easy to install correctly seat. Big, BIG money.

LATCH was an improvement. But like a hot-to-trot frat boy on a Saturday night, I need more. I need a seat that buys me dinner first. Hell, I'd even settle for one that didn't act like a recalcitrant two year old constantly refusing to do what you expect it to do.....get in the car like a good little seat. It is completely appalling that I need a shower every time I install one. Y'all are just trying to get me naked like that frat boy. Well, I got news for you....the show ain't all the great anymore, so the joke is on you.

Please, I beg of you. Make a seat that's easy to install correctly. Or I may have to resort to drastic measures.....

You really don't want to see pics of me naked installing the seat. Trust me.

It wasn't supposed to end up this way....

2006-04-16T11:55:00.000-05:00

I always swore that I would never do it. My mom did it to me, and to this day I can't look at anything with a ruffle or flounce. I am just now starting to wear shirts with ruching, and I'm 34.

Nope, I was not going to make my daughter a girly-girl.

Well, this morning LMD woke up and asked if the Easter Bunny brought her a "Princess Basket". (Yep, he did.) She then gleefully went outside and collected all the pink eggs in the yard, telling me the other colored eggs were Cman's.

She was resplendent in pink pjs, pink dress-up shoes, and pink earrings. I had a fully coordinated diva workin' it at 7 am.

I wonder if she can give me some fashion coaching?

Hep, Hep.

2006-04-15T15:58:00.000-05:00

Today the Chaos family spent a perfect afternoon. The two older kids played on a Slip N Slide while Youngling napped. The hubby and I soaked up some sun and drank some brew. The scent of Hawaiian Tropic was in the air (yes, it's bad for you, but I am sorely lacking in Vitamin D). Flashback songs were cranking......"Radio Free Europe" reminded me of college, "Good" reminded me of an ex I was glad to be rid of, and then on came "Island in the Sun" by Weezer. No song could better describe the Chaos family Saturday afternoon. The kids' kites were gently aloft in a warm spring breeze. I realized yet again all the reasons I madly fell in love with Mr. Chaos, and for brief moments I felt like I did before kids.....carefree, young and vital.

Mr Chaos and the kids came back to the house to play on the Slip N Slide. We were all trying to get Mr. Chaos to slide, since he never had before. (Can you believe it? And what's up with that, anyway?) Cman was lifting his daddy's shirt when I heard:

Cman: Whoa, daddy. That's a LOT of back hair. (It's not, really.)
Mr. Chaos: Thanks, bud. (Meanwhile I am giggling hysterically)
Cman: And ear hair.
Mr Chaos: *grunt*
Cman: And NOSE hair. Does that mean you are old?
Mr Chaos: Yeah, bud, guess it does.

I am rolling in my seat, people. Do you have any idea how funny it was to listen to Mr. Chaos get dressed down? Then I hear......

Cman: But not as old as mommy.

*insert sound of record scratching across lp here* Wha? Me? But I am young! Vibrant! Playing on Slip N Slide! And only 6 months older than daddy. What gives?

Cman: Yep, mommy is WAY old. (Et tu, Brute?)

Shit. I am fairly certain Weezer never wrote about this.

Welcome to My Nightmare

2006-04-14T19:00:00.000-05:00

There is a reason I haven't written in just about forever. I had a truly horrific nightmare about a month ago, and every time I sit down to write, all I can do is flashback. I have tried unsuccessfully to shove this evil dream into a padlocked box, but it keeps leaking out the keyhole in a blackened, acidic cloud. In a desperate attempt to feed my muse, I'm finally going to write about it.

The Chaos family was at a cabin in the Wisconsin northwoods with Grandma and Grampa Chaos. It was early evening. The fireflies were just starting to flicker in the darkening sky. I could hear the waves gently lapping the shore over the quiet crackle of the campfire. Pines towered over us, blotting out all but a few stars beginning to flicker in the sky. The night air was heavy with the scent of dew. Life couldn't have been more idyllic as the kids ran around the campfire. I remember I breathed a deep sigh of contentment.

Then LMD tripped. I watched as time stretched, twisted and melted. My fair haired beauty had fallen headfirst into the campfire. It roared with a ferocious hunger, lapping at her hair, devouring her pale, tender flesh. She twitched a few times, screamed briefly, and fell still. My darling peanut, a source of neverending frustration and joy, was now nothing more than a shrinking, blackened hull. Not only did my mind and body go numb, but I felt part of my very soul wither and die as I watched.

I don't think that part has come back upon waking. I'm horrified that part of my maternal mind has become defective.....to think I had dreamt such a vivid demise for one of my own! Surely someone must need to revoke my mom license. Isn't the uterus supposed to kick out hormones that make mothers fiercely protective? Are mine going haywire?

After much soul searching, google searches on dream analysis, and talks with friends both online and off, I am relieved to discover dreaming of the death of a child is symbolic of death of a childhood dream. This nightmare took place the night of my storm post. It fits. Scarily, eerily so.

Now if I could get the image out of my mind and the smell of putrid smoke out of my nose, I may be free to write. Muses? If you please.

Tagged? Moi?

2006-04-14T10:18:00.000-05:00

The Antagonista herself tagged me. Wants me to list six weird things about myself. Here they are, in no particular order....

1. I have a hangup with numbers adding up to three or multiples of three. I will look at the time, for example, and if the numbers don't add up to three or a multiple of three, I will look around me to find other numbers to add until it happens. Yes, it's a sign of OCD, but I swear, it's the only symptom of it I have, and I think it makes me unique. Plus, I can hide it rather well.

2. I can reach and scratch anywhere on my back with ease. I can also grasp my hands behind my back and bring them around to my front without letting go. This makes applying self-tanner a snap, but has very few other practical uses.

3. When bored, I will break words down in my head, and the longer the better. For example, the word antagonist is a 10 letter word, so I will break it out as an-ta-go-ni-st or antag-onist. Twelve letter words become quite fun with all the permutations. In this case, I am completely ok with the words not having letters that are multiples of three. I do it to entertain myself when I am waiting in line at the store.

4. I must sleep with something covering me. I don't care how hot or humid it is, I must have at least a sheet covering me, or I can't sleep. It drives Mr. Chaos, the human furnace crazy, and it was extremely uncomfortable while nine months pregnant with LMD in the depths of Arizona summer.

5. I rarely use recipes. I will for baking, but for dinner.........fuhgeddaboudit. I use them for ideas, or for a springboard, but I tweak them relentlessly to make them my own. I don't know how weird that is, though.

6. This probably only qualifies as annoying, but I end sentences with prepositions all the time. And, I like it.

Now then........let's continue the weirdness factor. I tag MB and Het. How weird are you sickos?

Where I desperately attempt to get something done

2006-04-12T18:28:00.000-05:00

Anything productive. Seems I am having one of those weeks (months, lives?) where I just can't pull it all together. Cman is back at school after Spring Break, so I should be clicking on all cylinders again, but I just can't. Everytime I turn around there is a new mess, a new problem, a new wrinkle in my perfectly planned day that makes it all go haywire.

Example? I go in the bathroom because LMD has flushed a whole roll of paper down the toilet (again). While mopping up bits of what appears to be a paper mache project gone horribly awry, I realize it's too quiet. Go in living room to find LMD has given Youngling oreo cookies. Proceed to clean drooly cookie shmoo off baby, which requires a complete change of clothes. While in Youngling's room realize I don't see LMD. Find her in living room dripping melted popsicle on the oatmeal couch. Curse self for believing the saleswoman who promised stains would blot right off the microsuede. Send LMD to room while mopping up the couch mess. Find Youngling trying to eat remaining cookie goo off the carpet. Put LMD in time out and Youngling down for nap. Go to bathroom to get 5 minutes to regroup and find......

the paper mache gone horribly awry.

Is it any wonder I haven't been blogging?

Tomorrow I promise I will lock myself in here and let them run amuck. Well, more than usual anyway. In the meantime, any donations of maid or nanny services will be quite welcome.

Toto, we aren't even IN Kansas....

2006-03-20T21:25:00.000-06:00

Those who know me well know I am a self-professed weather geek. I obsessively refresh no less than 3 websites during any major event that comes through our area. During hurricane season I go on 2-3 hours of sleep a night, surfing websites, tracking NOAA buoys, watching Weather Channel and Jim Cantore. Honestly, if I ever saw him in my backyard, I'm not sure whether I would dance with glee or experience pucker factor. Anyone who tracks this stuff knows he always seems to just miss the big ones, though, so I'd probably do a Snoopy dance and ask for an autograph.

Mr. Chaos has been approached about a possible job transfer to Kansas. I couldn't be more thrilled...this is an amateur storm tracker's dream. He hasn't been sure. Says it's "tornado country". Actually, it's Alley, but we'll cut him some slack. He grew up where bad meteorologists go to die. How hard is it to predict weather in Arizona? Sunny and hot.

Tonight I was tracking a storm front building in Alabama. Each time I refreshed the page I got more excited. All the elements were coming together to form a really promising weather scenario....headed right for us.

Long story short, it did hit here, but we are all safe. No damage. I'd estimate 70-80 mph winds, some small hail, but minor. Kids were scared and difficult to get to bed after bedtime got pushed back an hour from being in the storm shelter. Cman was crying about getting his tush wet from sliding on a wet slide at recess today. Juuuust a wee bit overtired. They are all sleeping now and I am free to think.

I'm not sure I want to move to Kansas now. Why?

Kids wouldn't let me watch the damn storm! Anytime I tried to sneak out to ostensibly check the TV reports, they would scream and cry, certain their mommy would meet a horrific fate.

The torture of having great weather without being able to experience its fury is pretty much my hell on earth. Nothing like the torture they would have growing up without a mommy, though.

I hate growing up.

Really?

2006-03-19T12:55:00.000-06:00

You Are Los Angeles

Young and fun, you always know where the best parties are.And while you tend to keep things carefree and casual...You certainly can glam it up when you need to.
Famous people from Los Angeles: Tyra Banks, Jake Gyllenhall, Freddie Prinze Jr.

What American City Are You?

Kirdy has joy in life.....

2006-03-15T20:28:00.000-06:00

That is, assuming anyone is interested.........

Youngling has 2 teeth and sat upright for 20 seconds on his own today. GAME ON!

LMD is drawling even more.........way cute for a budding southern belle.

Cman is learning to read. He sounded out "poop" yesterday. Could a mom be more proud?

Mr. C is the best Mr. C has ever been.

And......

Kirdy found a new website/messageboard to hang at. She likey, likey. Yep. Life is good.

Dear God. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

2006-03-12T17:37:00.000-06:00

NCAA Tourney brackets are out.

I am a Wisconsin fan.

Mr. Chaos is an Arizona fan.

Check out the Minneapolis bracket here.

This house gonna be getting ugly.

Ow. Just.....ow.

2006-03-12T16:26:00.000-06:00

Pardon this completely self-indulgent whine. You have been warned. Leave now, or suffer the consequences.

I hurt. Everywhere. It's damn hard to be funny, erudite or even the least bit coherent when I hurt like this.

Shame on me. I have fibromyalgia (I hate the term "suffer from"....talk about indulgent!) and certain things can trigger a flare. One of these triggers is Splenda, aka sucralose. I don't care if it's made from sugar.....that shit is evil. I had a few sips of something a WEEK ago and I still hurt intensely.

Right now if you told me streaking through my neighborhood would help, I'd try it. My neighbors would probably hate you, though.

I hope to return you all to regularly scheduled programming soon.

This sorta explains it all

2006-03-11T18:52:00.000-06:00

LMD has a newfound obsession and for once it's completely unrelated to princesses, butterflies or ballerinas.

See, there were these things called the Olympics. Yeah, they had pretty shitty coverage and ratings and since the USA wasn't kicking ass, you didn't hear much about it. But they happened. LMD spent some bonding time with her Frampa (that's Grampa to you) watching hockey.

Hockey. Huh. Who knew? My uber girly-girl with porcelain skin and waifish good looks who wears princess dresses to the grocery (fully accessorized, mind you) found a calling down deep in her soul. Wicked cross checks make her roar with glee. Slapshots have her dancing in the aisles.

I had visions of her giving up just a wee bit of her rabid obsession with pink and purple when I heard it......

"Frampa, it's a Flower Play!"

It's a Two For....Saturday.

2006-03-11T07:46:00.000-06:00

Last night Cman went the way of so many greats and not so greats before him. We embarked on a journey that is the epitome of Americana. We started T-ball.

To have any idea what a fabulous moment this was for Mr. Chaos and me, you need to read this.

As I watched our little man cross the platform in his blue ballcap, he was barely recognizable. He was so mature. I kept seeing this picture superimposed over one of a tiny baby in a crib warmer, with wires and tubes everywhere.

I imagine I'll see that image overlapped with many in his life. Graduation days, wedding days, etc. It's a familiar image that at the time gave me so much grief and heartache. I didn't know if days like last night would happen. Now that image has become a reminder of how blessed we are and how far he has come.

Now remind me of the pride I feel for the boy when I begin bitching about baseball being a total time drain, wouldja?

tap, tap Is this thing on?

2006-03-11T07:40:00.000-06:00

Short answer? Yes.

I have been busy with all things mundane and parental. Kids eating three balanced meals a day? Check. Laundry caught up? You betcha. Everyone where they need to be with hair brushed and even on time? Yepper.

So why bore you.

It appears Mr. Chaos will be getting transferred with his job in the next few months. I am busy researching the pros and cons of the Deep South with the rural Midwest. For example, can I live with LMD continually turning one syllable words into two or three syllable ones? Or would it be more advantageous to live in a small town in the middle of cornfields with *gasp* no Target?

*shudder* These are serious issues, folks, and ones that are sucking up much of my time.

Screw the coffee.......bring on the beer!

2006-02-10T18:38:00.000-06:00

Ah......glorious beer. Mr. Chaos once said the reason he found me so attractive was because I had a healthy appreciation for beer. Duh.....I'm German and from Wisconsin, whaddya expect?

On one of our first dates he took me to a bar he knew of in Tempe. I had never been there. We sat down at a table and I grabbed a menu pages thick. It was.........the beer menu. 500 bottle beers and over 100 on tap. We had found "our place", and I began to feel that night I might have found "the one."

Tonight Mr. Chaos brought home a six-pack of my favorite to celebrate a good job well done. Yes, I can now have beer. And it tastes damn good.

God, I love that man.

Coffee.......Coffee NOW!

2006-02-09T06:47:00.000-06:00

Yawn......

So yesterday I finally discovered the source of Youngling's fussiness. It had nothing to do with the "secondary infection" the doctor said he had, or with his imminent teeth.

It had to do with me. Or lack of me.

Yes, this is yet another entry relating to breastfeeding. Yawn for you, too, huh?

I am not one of those lucky women who has the weight magically melt off her frame as she nurses. Pregnancy and all things nursing related pretty much ensures I will wear fat clothes until my hormones go back to something resembling normal. What happens is I lose weight quite well, hit a number on the scale, stall out and then dramatically rebound and put back on the 10 pounds I worked so hard to lose.

Last week I broke through that number. Crashed that little bastard in half, actually. (Just the number, not the scale....although the argument could be made either way.) Shortly after this, Youngling started his fussiness.

I attributed it to many things....his teeth, a tummy upset due to antibiotics, congestion...

Finally out of sheer desperation and attempting to nurse him for two hours with no success, I gave him a bottle. He greedily gulped down 6 ounces and conked out. He woke from his nap a new little man, refreshed and ready to tackle barrel rolls.

He hasn't looked back. I am doing much better than I thought I would be, with him being our last and all.

Because I can now drink coffee. Praise God, for he is good.

I love Britney Spears. Seriously.

2006-02-08T17:36:00.000-06:00

Because as long as she exists doing things like this, I feel I have a rock-solid grasp on this parenting thing.

Of course, I have never had a stalkerazzi problem with the Chaos kiddos, so who's to say.

Hiya, Neighbor!

2006-02-07T16:24:00.000-06:00

Today LMD, the Youngling and I went to our weekly neighborhood playgroup. It was hosted at a friend's house. Her house is gorgeous and should either be in A. a pottery barn catalog or B. Better Homes and Gardens. Everytime I go over there I am in awe of how perfect everything looks. I weakly remind myself that she is a mom to one, a gorgeous 5 month old, whereas I am a mom of three, and you know who they are. *Ahem.*

The day ended and we were getting ready to go when LMD went to grab one of her toys off the coffee table when I heard a scriiiiiiiitch. I run over, frantic. Sure enough, my neighbor's coffee table which probably came from Ethan Allen or somewhere else (no kiddin', y'all, her taste is GORGEOUS!) now has a 3 inch long scratch in the previously pristine mahogany veneer. Shit.

I go to peek in on my friend who is trying to get the baby down for her nap. She is too wrapped up in getting the baby down, so I go home planning to call her the second I walk in. But I get home to find she is calling me. To thank me for cleaning up the dishes from playgroup. Damn. I suck.

"Yeah, um, you won't be thanking me when you see your coffee table."

She tried really hard. I give her mad kudos. We have both joked about our type A personalities before: mine, a reformed laid-back mom to three who will one day be type A again and hers, a comfortably settled acceptance of type A. I knew it was killing her the second I told her. Knew it. I mean, I would have been ticked, so it had to have bugged her. She told me she would look and would call me back.

If you haven't figured out by now, I am a tad bit obsessive. Just a touch. I STARED at that clock. After 10 minutes or so, I called her back, got the machine, and left a message. Sent an email. Stared at the clock. Fretted over what she was telling the neighbors. Gnawed my lip. 25 minutes. Ring!

"Hey, you know, it's small. I could make you pay for a new coffee table, but why? Mine will get hold of a marker and color on someone's couch some day. It happens."

God bless the fact that I have a friend who, even though it was clearly not so much ok, was cool enough to play it off for me. I owe this girl a Starbucks and a spa pedicure. And a new coffee table.

Bitchslapped by Reality

2006-02-05T06:25:00.000-06:00

Those of you who came here for humor today can go elsewhere on your blog list. Kirdy needs to do some blogger therapy today. Ya don't like it? Sorry, my blog, my rules. More fun tomorrow, promise.

I will start by saying Cman was born with a rare form of spina bifida. It was discovered in OR minutes after his birth. He had neurosurgery to repair his lesion 12 hours after he was born. We were told by the doctors at that time we would be looking at a lifetime of surgeries, shunts, and therapy. We did monthly, then biannual, then annual visits to the neurosurgeon. At his last visit we were told he is about 95% out of the woods for developing complications. Yes, he is one of the lucky ones. He has not needed any additional surgeris, is shunt-free, and is able to walk, run, use the toilet and do a thousand other things "normal" kids can. All he has is a small scar on his back.

Mr. Chaos and I have always been told to watch for signs of a tethered cord. Loss of mobility or sensation in the feet is the major sign of a tethered cord. Any time a child goes through a rapid growth phase (which the Cman is doing now) it puts the cord at a greater risk for tethering.

Yesterday the Chaos family went to Target to run our weekly errands. I took off to one part of the store with Youngling, and Mr. Chaos went off with LMD and Cman. I picked up the things I needed and was going to find Mr. Chaos when I heard Cman crying, and found him sitting on the floor. I figured he tripped, stumbled, hurt himself somehow.

I asked him what was wrong and he said his "foot was gone". I looked at Mr. Chaos over Cman's head and he said, "He can't feel his foot." I felt like I was sucked through a wind tunnel. The air rushed around me and everything became bright. Colors surged, the light was blinding, I could hear noises previously silent. I felt sick. I remembered feeling like this often five years ago. And I'm fairly certain that I stopped breathing for a moment.

I dropped to the floor and took off his shoe. Yep, right in the middle of the main aisle, right in front of the candles. People were having to walk around us, but I only cared about my boy's foot. I took off his sock and started to rub the foot.

At which point he giggled and said, "That tickles."

Yep, along with being a hypochondriac, yours truly is also a drama queen. The boy's foot fell asleep from riding on Mr. Chaos' shoulders. Geez, could I be more of a dumbass? Really.

I was so relieved I had to leave everyone for a minute, go down another aisle and cry. I remembered how thankful I was once was for all the blessings we had been given, and how in less than five years I had quickly taken it all for granted. I was ashamed.

Lesson for the day? Don't be a drama queen, but don't take things for granted, either. Homework assignment is list one thing in the comments section you take for granted, but probably shouldn't.

Things that make ya go hm........

2006-02-03T20:38:00.000-06:00

If a mother who is nursing gets a flu shot, does she pass the antibodies she gains from the shot through her breastmilk to the baby?

Hypothetically speaking.

Or is that too much like looking at a mirror with a mirror?

A pox on thy house and all within it

2006-02-02T14:26:00.000-06:00

How could I have forgotten to consult my calendar? Really. Everyone knows that in between the Christmas season and cupid bows flying we have one of the least anticipated seasons of the year.....

Flu season.

I was foolhardy enoguh to believe that because we had our flu shots this year, we could escape it, but alas. It all began last Thursday when the youngling began this evil, pissed-off sounding growl whenever you would try to put him down. Self-assured third time mom said, "It's just teeth, give him some Tylenol." For 5 days, y'all. Five hellish, time warped days of carrying anti-napping baby all day long. Interspersed in these five days were five wake-filled nights of, "It's your damn turn. Get up if you want to ever have sex again." (That's what Mr. Chaos claims I said, anyway. I was too tired to recall those events accurately.)

Yesterday, just as the youngling was finally channeling happy normal baby again, Cman woke up. He went to use the bathroom. I found him there, curled up on the floor next to the toilet moaning. "Mommy, my tummy hurts." Damn. Followed by the whine of "I don't want to miss my field trip today." Double damn.

At least the flu gods were kind this year. Cman managed to get through without a single puke. He is now playing Harry Potter on the Xbox and telling me he's too sick to go back to school tomorrow. Ha. Double Ha.

LMD is wheezing and Youngling just puked. Looks like another long night without sleep.

Anyone who dares mock me will have the pox visited upon them thricefold. I will this to be so.

Editor's Note: Stef the Hater (just kiddin', you know I love ya) has been by my blog and has asked that I clarify. Yes, I know the flu shot does not protect against the stomach flu. I was referring to the flu virus the rest of us got a week ago and passed on to Youngling, which led to his secondary sinus infection and general pissiness. So there.

Good for whatever ails ya

2006-01-30T18:19:00.000-06:00

Tonight I was giving the youngling some gas drops before dinner when LMD walked in.

Me: You ready for your gas drops?

LMD: Hey! I want ass drops, too!

She was so determined looking, so adamant that I couldn't even laugh. How could you laugh at a face that serious? Instead, I gave her a tiny dose of gas drops and walked into the bathroom to put them away. And laughed there instead, like any good mom would.

Tagged.

2006-01-28T06:49:00.000-06:00

I have been tagged by the Divine Miss Em. Here are my responses:

Four Jobs I have Had in the Past

Credit analyst. Yep, I was the one who said yay or nay when people went to buy things like boats, jetskis, RVs.

Systems trainer for a mortgage company. This job was fun at first. I flew all over the west coast training employees on the systems. It quickly became hell when I had to start calling down to the hotel lobby to ask them which town I was in. I lasted about 6 months.

Retail at Babies R Us. Yeah, it was retail, but I am such a kid at heart and love babies so much that it was fun. Besides, I was totally in it for the discount.

Loan Officer for a credit union. Hard to believe I was a mortgage officer, even now when I look back on it. Did enjoy the job, though.

4 Movies I Could Watch Over and Over

Animal House
PCU
Grease
Can't Buy Me Love.

Yeah, I know. Draw your own damn conclusions.

4 Places I Have Lived

Chippewa Falls, WI
Stillwater, MN
Scottsdale, AZ
Tucson, AZ

4 Favorite Foods

(Just four?)
Cheesecake
Pizza
Pasta Puttanesca
Tiramisu

4 Albums I Can't Live Without

You've Come a Long Way, Baby by Fatboy Slim
Dookie by Green Day
Viva Wisconsin by Violent Femmes
Message in a Box by The Police

4 Places I'd Rather Be

Topsail Island, NC
Coronado Island, CA
Phoenix, AZ
in bed asleep

4 People I am Tagging

Ha. Like I have four readers. Two have already done this on their blog and one person I would like to tag deleted her blog. Feel free to accept this invitation if you are reading this.

Last minute call from the governor...

2006-01-27T17:55:00.000-06:00

Youngling lives to nurse another day. Trip was cancelled a few hours ago.

To be honest, I think I am more relieved than he is. Mr. Chaos is probably the most relieved, though.

Youngling's thought of the day? Viva la boobies!

Failure? Or brilliant success?

2006-01-26T09:34:00.000-06:00

Those bored by yesterday's blubbering can skip this post. It's just going to be more whining about weaning the youngling.

So, I tried. I know I'm not supposed to give him the bottle, but I was the only one home.

He screamed. Nuzzled in to nurse. Screamed again.

Me? I cried. More than him, probably.

We have decided to wait until Saturday, when Mr. Chaos will be home and I can leave the house for a few hours.

Gotta give the boy credit for knowing what he wants, though.

We're making the switch

2006-01-25T06:13:00.000-06:00

At the tender age of 5 months, we are switching the youngling over to formula. Once I can let the desire to win the Golden Vagina award go, I'll be ok with this decision. Really.

I guess I feel like I am failing him in a way. My reasons are all purely selfish ones and will make the breastfeeding nazis stage a nurse-in at my house. Well, after they storm inside and take away my membership card, that is. Yes, I am a reformed breastfeeding nazi. Good Lord, I never even knew they existed!

My reasons? Oh, little things. Sleep. Remember that? That stuff when you were single you gave up for really great sex? Now that I am a parent I find sleep infintely more appealing. I treasure it like a fine wine and can even rate my quality of sleep on a scale. Right now if I were to compare it to a wine, I think it would best be compared to Boone's Farm Strawberry Hill. Gets the job done, but not a very satisfying trip, if you get what I'm sayin'.

Another big reason? Weight loss. Yep, I am not one of those moms that has the weight magically melt off while breastfeeding. I am so lucky that my body hoards the fat, just in case! You never know when we might see food again and we MUST FEED THE BABY! Seriously. Been eating healthy, run/walking almost every day and the futzing scale will get to a certain number only to rebound. In my defense, I was a gestational diabetic with this last pregnancy, so it is important for my health to lose the weight. So take that, ya nazis!

Finally and one of the most frivolous reasons of all, and one that will most definitely take me out off the running for the Golden Vagina award........I'm leaving my kids for a week. (Can you just hear the hate mail coming my way?) Yes, me, the Dr. Sears reading, sling wearing, extended nursing, co-sleeping mom is leaving my babies. No, I am not off to cure cancer, have a surgery or write the next great novel (which you probably knew anyway if you read here). I'm going......on a vacation. With my husband. To a great resort. And I am excited about it. Hell, if the only date you had with your husband in three years was a quick 4 hour night out, you would be, too. Especially if said resort is an all-expense paid trip picked up my hubby's company. Nice. It doesn't hurt that my parents will be watching the hellions, er......darling angels. (hi, mom!)

So, confessional over. Baby is getting the swill, the poison, the canned powder so futzing expensive it may as well come with a nanny to give it to the kid. And you know what? I am totally okay with that. I think I'm even ok with the judgement I will probably receive from other moms. Yeah, you.

Although if it turns out I am still in the running once all the votes are tabulated, I might be able to make it to the awards ceremony. Hell, the gals might even be small enough to fit into a sexy little number by then. I can be the black sheep in the group amongst all the soccer moms with their khaki capris and matching sweater sets.

And that suits me just fine.

Hey! We found the WMD! Over here!

2006-01-24T21:20:00.000-06:00

It has come to my attention that some of you read LMD (Lil Miss Diva) as WMD. While it is true on some days (any ending in a y) that she can be quite the destructive two year old terror, I doubt W can cancel his APB..............yet.

Give her another day or two. At the rate she is going, she will find the real ones for sure.

Some days are better than others.

2006-01-15T19:46:00.000-06:00

Tomorrow will not be one of those "better" days. Cman has a hellacious day in store for him.

Last night he was getting ready to duel with his Yugioh Duel Deck (and if you finding yourself saying, huh? BE THANKFUL!) and he popped himself in the mouth. Minor bump, as far as these things go, and I expected a puffy lip and nothing more.

Only I saw blood. Lots of blood. After getting it to slow, we realized he had bumped his tooth loose. The dentist suggested we try to "encourage it out", since it was only a baby tooth. I got the bleeding to stop and realized there was no way in hell we were taking it out. It was attached to a great deal of skin on the back side. We sent him to bed, thinking it would get looser overnight. Logical, right?

Only no. That sucker reattached itself, which is the one thing the dentist told us not to let happen. Something about permanent tooth damage, I guess. So now, the day that was supposed to be just a quick blood draw at the ped turns into a day of so much more.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, LMD managed to sneak off in the mayhem and find a pair of scissors. She is now minus a large chunk of bangs right along the hairline.

Maybe when the tooth fairy comes, she can leave some hair for LMD.

Pleasures I always forget

2006-01-08T20:27:00.000-06:00

Today the chaos family spent a lazy afternoon at the park. My heart was so full of joy and love as we sat in the sun. Is there anything more idyllic than an afternoon spent in the warmth of the sun? Serenity was mine, and I spent time thinking of life's other tiny pleasures that I often forget.

The taste of the season's first fresh strawberry ranks high on my list, as does fresh pineapple. Every single time I have a bite of either, I curse and remind myself to eat them both more often. Sheer heavenly delights!

Freshly cut grass. 'Nuff said.

A nap on a summer afternoon with a soft breeze coming in through an open window.

The smell of snow.

What tiny pleasures give you great joy?

I'll see your penis and raise you two balls

2006-01-08T00:51:00.000-06:00

First off, for those of you expecting some detailed action in the Chaos bedroom, try again. We are parents to three children under the age of six. Our hot bedroom action consists of subtle nudges, snores and kicks to wake one another up to get the baby. Mr. Chaos has raised that to near art form. Anyway, sorry to disappoint, but there will be no kinky sexcapades here.

No. This scene is set in the car on the way to school Friday morning.

LMD: Mommy, bubba (her word for brother) has a penis.

Me: Yes, he does.

LMD: He a boy.

Me: Yes, he is.

LMD: (craftily) I a boy.

Me: You are? Do you have a penis?

LMD: (craftily) Yes.

Cman: (knowingly) Do you have the two ball things? You need to have those AND the penis, or you aren't a boy.

LMD: Oh, maaaaaaaaaaaaam. (Yes, she means man but says it ma'am.)

Cman: (reassuring) I know, I know.

What were you doing 5 years ago on this night?

2005-12-19T18:30:00.000-06:00

I was in labor with my first. I had been in labor for 12 hours already. I was tired, emotional, excited and nervous all in one swoop. I was sure when it was all over things would get "back to normal." Little did I realize you feel like that every second of every day once you have kids.

Cman is a sensitive boy and is whip smart. He loves Star Wars, Harry Potter, video games and his parents. Aw. If only I could keep him like that forever. Oh wait.......Mr. Chaos is still that way, so there is hope. This same boy just brought me a warm chocolate chip cookie because he loves me. What on earth did I do so right, and how did it happen when I wasn't looking?

You are a great kid in spite of me. I wouldn't change one second of the last five years. We've had our share of night terrors, medical scares, and heartache. We've also had our fill of giggles, long walks and tickle fights. You still melt me with those big, brown, puppy dog eyes of yours. It is bittersweet to think you will do it to someone else someday.

Happy almost birthday, Cman. Thank you for all you've taught me. I can only hope I've taught you half as much.

Dude, I'm twitching. Hold me.

2005-12-15T08:47:00.000-06:00

Everyone has been scarred for life by their parents in one form or another. What I am about to write will be quite painful for all involved, but since I am too cheap for a therapist, I need to get this out. I had flashbacks today....flashbacks of childhood. What you may ask, could be so horrific that it could send a grown woman into the fetal position 25 years later?

*whimper..........* Don't make me say it...........(whisper) A chicken leather coat.

What is chicken leather? Most of society knows it as Pleather, that not quite plastic, not quite leather substance that is NEVER found in nature. Or in any fashionista's closet. It's a horrific substance that squeaks when worn as it rubs up against itself. My family calls it "chicken leather", another substance not readily found in nature. My brother dubbed it thus, and it seemed fitting.

When I was a kid, my dad had a brown chicken leather blazer. I was a child of the 70s, and sadly, chicken leather coats were quite the rage. My dad was quite hip actually, with his sideburns and his brown chicken leather blazer. Still is, but now he wears LL Bean.

Where was I? Sorry.

My family used to go for Sunday drives to see the countryside. This was nowhere near as torturous as it sounds. These afternoons were quite pleasant. We would drive, talk, and make memories.

That is, until the arrival of the chicken leather. As the weather turned cooler, my brother and I secretly began to dread these trips, because it meant a whole Sunday afternoon would be spent with that coat. A coat that had a voice, albeit a squeaky, indescipherable one. My parents would be sitting the front asking us questions and we would be unable to hear them. Things would escalate until my dad would reach around and the coat would say, "Don't make him pull the car over." *shudder*

I was never happier when 80s fashion started. Sure, the colors were bright, the hair was huge, but it didn't TALK to you, fer chrissakes. My dad gave that chicken leather coat away, and we were thrilled to see it go. I immediately repressed those memories, and kept them long since forgotten.

That is, until today. Today it is raining and cold, and LMD insisted on wearing her new raincoat. It's the cutest little thing, bright yellow and shiny. I put it on her, anxious to see how cute she looked in it. We buttoned it up and.......squeak.

Good God, it is Child of Chicken Leather Long Since Forgotten. The whole way to school this morning I heard "*squeak* I'm back, bitch. Thought you *squeak, squelch* had gotten rid of me, huh? Hell, no. *eek* My daddy found a nice Mrs. Leather, they*squawk* settled down, and here I am, daughter of CL revisited, ready *SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEK* to avenge my father's demise."

Never have 3 miles seemed so long. By the time we got to school, my hands were twitching, I had a tic in my eye, and I was popping Paxil like tic-tacs. By the time we got back home I was close to having a seizure. The car had barely rolled to a stop when I leapt out, slammed the door behind me and gasped frantically for air. I ripped the damn thing off LMD and stashed in the back of my closet, where it sits, taunting me. I can hear it's evil squelching on the other side of the house, much like Poe's "Tell Tale Heart."

So, what do I do with it? If I give it away, it'll just come back tenfold. I'll have my own damn farm of chicken leather coats, mocking me, slowly driving me into the depths of insanity. Instead, I think I'll give it a loving, happy home.

My niece will love it for Christmas.

Just push M.

2005-12-14T22:08:00.000-06:00

It's what I do when no one is looking. Which one are you?

www.entertainmentanytime.com

Be honest.....I know of at least one for sure who is an N, and I know of a possible S. You know who you are.

The One Where the Child Says, "Dammit"

2005-12-14T16:13:00.000-06:00

Last night I was watching the news in the living room and surfing the net. LMD was in the kitchen, "helping" me by splashing water and soap everywhere, pretending to wash dishes. I heard the sounds you normally expect to hear: clinking, thumping, splashing and.......

"What did you just say?" Certain my sweet, angelic daughter of two had said she "dropped it".

"Dammit!" I hear Cman in the other room say, "Oh no she didn't.........." with that tone of voice reserved for when a sibling is in trouble.

I stand up and turn around, fully prepared to give her the look that all parents have perfected. You know, the one that drops a child to their knees, quaking with fear. (On a side note, my dad did this wearing his glasses. He would glare at me over the tops. To this day, anyone else who does that to me is nonplussed at my fits of giggles. But, I digress.)

Instead, I stop. This child is standing on the chair, water droplets dripping from her constantly frizzy blonde hair. Her huge blue eyes gaze at me with glee. Her cheeks plump up as she smiles and shouts, "Oh, dammit!"

I try in vain to give her the look, but I know it's too late. She's seen the mirth in my eyes. I bite my cheeks, scowl and say, "That's a bad word! Time out!" I scoop her up from the chair she is standing on, and begin marching her to her room, careful not to let her see me laughing. We meet Mr. Chaos, who has come in to see what the commotion is about, at which she point she starts in.......

"Dammit! (pause) Dammit! (pause) Dammit? dammitdammitdammitdammit..........DAAAAAAAAAAAMMIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!"

I put her on the bed, tell her something lame about using bad words and flee the room. Both Mr. Chaos and I run for the garage door and close it behind us. We dissolve into fits of giggles. We then blame each other in turn for teaching her the word, start laughing again. It was like a laughing fit in church, only worse, because if the kids heard us, they would win. We knew that we may as well have handed over the keys to the kingdom at that point. Letting them hear us would be a HUGE parental disaster, robbing us of any and all authority.

After composing ourselves, we go back in to find Cman in LMD's room scolding her. "That is a bad word! I don't even say it!" LMD is horrfied. She gasps, her hand flies to cover her mouth.

Mr. Chaos and I head back to the garage.

Since my letter to Santa was obviously diverted...

2005-12-14T16:02:00.000-06:00

and the snow is going much further north-AGAIN-I decided to make Christmas happen another way today.

How? Well, today LMD and I did something I used to do with my mom. We baked.

It sounds so simple and mundane, doesn't it? Floury hands and noses, kitchen timers ticking, smells of baking bread and cookies....ho hum.

Yet, it wasn't. We popped in "Rat Pack Christmas" and in between sheets of baking golden treats, we jumped, jived and wailed all over that kitchen.

It started with a little bit of toe tapping during "Mistletoe and Holly". LMD seems to be a big fan of Ol' Blue Eyes. (Girl's got my taste at the tender age of two!) By the time Sammy got to "Jingle Bells" we had tangoed, twirled like ballerinas, even jitterbugged a bit. We were both giggling the whole time. Even the youngling got in on the act, giggling at us and kicking his tiny feet in time to the music. Kid has moves! He even looked the part in a red and white striped onesie. My very own candy cane rat-packer was all decked out and ready to groove.

Then, we got crazy. I introduced them both to "Dig That Crazy Christmas" by the Brian Stetzer Orchestra. Man, our joint was hoppin'! Time flew by and before we knew it, we had baked 40 cupcakes, 25 snowmen, 3 plates of fudge, and even made a dozen Chocolate Banana Pops. I felt Christmas today in my heart and saw it in my children's eyes. I even caught myself looking outside for snowflakes.

Maybe Santa did get my letter after all.

The Diva has spoken.

2005-12-12T15:39:00.000-06:00

So I was with the younger two today waiting to pick the oldest up from school. There was a HUGE daddy long legs walking along the brick wall by the school. I pointed it out to the Diva, who said, "He's a daddy. He has long legs." Yes, she probably HAS heard the term before, but let's ignore that for now so this mom may marvel in her daughters wisdom, shall we? Then she said,

"Oh no! Daddy spider broke it!" (The spider was sitting on a broken brick.)

Me: He did! What should we do with him?

Diva: Dunno!

Me: Should we put him in a time out?

Diva: No, he's a daddy. Let's send him to work.

Later on the way home we were listening to a song by They Might Be Giants called "Who Put the Alphabet in Alphabetical Order". Lil Miss Diva decided mommies and doctors did. When I asked her what the daddies do, she said they break bricks at work.

Yep, they do, kiddo. Give your daddy mad props and show him some respect when he gets home tonight, wouldja?

Here's the story....

2005-12-11T17:13:00.000-06:00

of a lovely lady.....who was one of the best damn role models ever. Happy Birthday, Mom. Wish I could be there with you to share a cup of tea and a lot of giggles.

Why did you have to set the bar so damn high? ;)

So THAT'S how it happens.

2005-12-10T17:11:00.000-06:00

What will a lazy Saturday afternoon spent reading blogs and playing gameblast in a desperate attempt to ignore the fact that you are functioning on three hours of sleep get you?

In my case, I just channeled Michael Jackson.

As youngling sits in his bouncy seat cooing at ESPN's sportcenter, I quip:

"That's right little man, you ain't bad, you ain't nothin."

I either need a starbucks fix or a nap......STAT.

Hey. You. Yes, you. Shhhhhhhhh!

2005-12-09T17:44:00.000-06:00

Please. For the love of God and all that is holy, click a little quieter. No! Do NOT rustle that chip bag. Are you nuts?!?!?!? How dare you slurp your soda! GOD, NO!!!!!!!!! Don't breathe, don't even move!

We have discovered the source of the youngling's lack of sleep. A tooth is in our midst. Yes, he is only 3 months old. Yes, we have tried Tylenol, teething tabs, and teether toys. No, I had completely forgotten that babies do this when they cut teeth when I was "busy" a year ago. (Hi, Mom!)

Please. I am begging you. He is finally asleep. His longest nap was 30 minutes straight today. I love you and all, but tiptoe away and come back tomorrow.

But wear socks.

Urbane Chaos

Dear Dr. Blahdy Blah

The journey continues....

Ghosts

Where to begin?

My Friday Anthem!

When life gives you lemons....

Some Guys Have All the Luck

I got bad news today....

Whew.

And on my mind this afternoon....

On my mind this morning....

Cancer Sucks, Part 2

Cancer Sucks.

Um, Where Was I?

Just....damn.

Yo. Yo.

No, It's Not Coming...

It's coming! It's coming!

Monday Flashback

Diva-isms

The Bucket List, or Day Zero Project

The C Word

A Letter to Youngling

Dear People I Live With....

It's 106 miles to Chicago....

Your Tax Dollars Hard At Work....

Sounds In The Car

Brought To You By The Letters P and G...

Curses! Tagged Again!

Days Of Wine and Roses

Phoning It In

The Internet Is A Funny Thing

In Late Breaking News....

Happy Bomis!

In The Still of Mid-Afternoon

Ducks and Robes and Things That Moo

In keeping with my promise...

But, but...I Have Good Reason....

Wow. Just Wow.

My Solemn Vow

Mememememe.....

Life is unfair....

What I Want for Mother's Day by Kirdy

Can I Get Depends With That?

Dear Cartoon Network,

Now For Something Completely Different

The Wind Cries Mary

I Would Like To Thank The Academy

You Have Been Warned

Cman the Entrepreneur

Beware the Ides of April

Today I Betray My Own

Better Than Sasquatch

A Moment of Silence

What Are Words For?

Do What Now?

Wake Me When It's Spring

In "Who Gives a Shit" news....

Now THERE'S a game show I'd watch!

The Diva turns three.

Happy Bomis!

Memo to car seat manufacturers:

It wasn't supposed to end up this way....

Hep, Hep.

Welcome to My Nightmare

Tagged? Moi?

Where I desperately attempt to get something done

Toto, we aren't even IN Kansas....

Really?

Kirdy has joy in life.....

Dear God. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Ow. Just.....ow.

This sorta explains it all

It's a Two For....Saturday.

*tap, tap* Is this thing on?

Screw the coffee.......bring on the beer!

Coffee.......Coffee NOW!

I love Britney Spears. Seriously.

Hiya, Neighbor!

tap, tap Is this thing on?