But I'm Here in My Mold, I Am Here in My Mold

We've been having a few fucking bad weeks over here, between head colds, Aaron traveling and basic life stuff I'm having a hard time finding the happiness. Hell. I'm having a hard time coping.

Even all the goddamn naps are pissing me off. A person who naps as much as I do should not be so fucking bitter. But lo, I am.

The true crux of the situation is really having to take Darwin to the doctor for potential pink eye two weeks ago. We love our doctor. I mean, love our doctor. She has multiple food allergies too, so she totally gets it. It's like speaking an undecipherable-to-the-normal-population, talking to someone else who has insane food allergies. We get each other and know what it's like.

And she's out on maternity leave.

(Which, I couldn't be happier for her and her family.)

And, thus, we had to see another doctor at the practice. The appointment was fine, they did a test on Darwin's eyes. But the issues began when they called with the results and decided to go through our medical records and, well... it's just a mess. With insane accusations of our family not having allergies and magically falsifying reports to prevent immunizations on their behalf. Which? I don't feed my children a gluten-free, dairy-free, egg-free, legume-free, nut-free, soy-free, squash-free, citrus-free diet for fun. And the request of the office manager for me to write up what happened so she could submit it to the practice's review board... which, yes, basically sounds like what happened is going to cause this doctor and his staff to lose their jobs.

The whole situation is just totally nauseating. The way I was treated was horrible. Treating anyone that way would be horrible, let alone a pregnant person with a history of premature labor. It's really fucking awful. And now needing to stare at a computer and needing to regurgitate what happened is causing me to have a panic attack. But if I don't, who's going to insure that this doesn't happen to another patient at that practice again?

Blarg. I'm so sick of Adult Responsibilities.


On another note, the puppy has decided winter gloves are a taste-y nom nom. I have decided to kill her. But not really. Damn dog.

You Can't Fence Time

After an amazing amount of anticipation, Griffin turned eight this weekend.


Eight years old. My hell. Time flies.

Apparently eight year olds...

Like gluten-free, dairy free chocolate chip pancakes on their birthday, doused in maple syrup.

Backugan, Pokemon and other things their mothers just don't understand are totally awesome. And inspiration for many art projects and homemade games.

Think dads are the best. And a baby in mom's tummy is a close second, only because "the baby makes you so sick, it's awesomely ornery!"

Could eat tacos at every meal. And gets upset if it's not served.

Is favored by the puppy. By a lot. And he doesn't even feed her.

Is counting down the years until he moves out. (And? Really, dude? You're eight? And already talking about being 18 and moving out of here? Ouch.)

Would be happy to have friends over all day, everyday.

But would prefer not to be the center of attention.

Agrees he's still my baby. Forever. No matter what.

Wanna Whole Lotta Love

When I Get All Steamed Up, Hear Me Shout

Here's a little groundhog
Furry and brown
He's popping up to look around


If he sees his shadow
Down he'll go
Then six more weeks of winter - OH NO!

The Way You Make-a Me Feel

nothing helps the nausea

except, maybe, sometimes, Mario on the wii

I'm drinking milk and chocolate milk by the gallon

I don't like milk

usually

mandatory afternoon naps

a scare of bloody spotting

more "resting time"

boys offering to sleep with me "so we can take care of you, Momma"

roasting pounds of chicken at a time

for the boys

so they can eat

since I'm apparently unable too

unless it's toast

can gluten-free toast count as a food group?

toast with grape jelly

toast with honey

toast with strawberry preserves

toast with butter and cinnamon sugar

why does butter taste too buttery?

toast with seedless blackberry jam

garlic toast

oh, yes, garlic toast

handfuls of fiber gummy vitamins

since not eating means "things don't move along"

and the doctor insist that "things get moving along"

a puppy who is obsessed with my belly

children who tell the baby to be nicer to me

and who love the baby more, since it's already being ornery

And So The Conversation Turned

Darwin, crying: "Daddy is mean!"

"Why are you crying?"

"He called me a name!"

"He did?"

"Yeah! He called me a nerd!"

"Darwin?"

::sniff:: "What?"

"Do you know what a nerd is?"

"It's a name!"

"Do you know what it means?"

::sniff::

"A nerd is a person who is very, very smart and knows lots of things. Daddy's a nerd. I'm a nerd. Griffin's a nerd..."

"And I'm a nerd too?"

"Are you a very, very smart person who knows lots of things?"

"Yeah! I do! HEY DAD, GUESS WHAT! I'M A NERD TOO!"

We're High Above But On The Floor

You didn't know we were trying? Neither did we.

Yes, this is a huge surprise. But I love surprises and even though I'm still in shock ("we're having a baby? you sure about that?") I'm certain this is the best surprise ever.

Except? Ohmyhell, my belly. Only eight weeks and it has exploded.


"Mama, I'm sharing stickers with the baby. This is the baby's sticker. Not yours. Got it?"

And the funny thing is, everything is going "perfectly" (as long as you don't count the constant nausea). With both boys we had to try-try-try and once pregnant I had to take hormones in order not to miscarry. With this one? Hormones are perfect. With the boys, I just got fat-fat-fat and I never looked pregnant. With this one? "Oh my god! You already have a baby bump!" The differences are just mind-boggling.

I'm thanking the gluten-free gods for the everything-working-out-for-once. Over four years and I'm most definitely at my healthiest.

Except for the nausea. Dear gods, could you take care of that one please? With a cherry on top?

Mmmmm, cherries.

But Just Maybe, Halaka Ukulele, Mama Made a Baby

Invisible Man Who Can Sing in a Visible Voice

I thought the worst of my troubles is being snowed in for a third day in a row, with antsy children who need to burn off some energy.


Turns out having a leaky window splashing on your computer is so much worse. And losing a wii bowling game to a five year old doesn't help either.

Shape it Up, Get it Straight

This year, I have decided, is the year we're gonna get our shit together.

Personally, I blame it on the dishwasher fiasco.

Well, that and years of piling stuff up. And up. And up. And not completely unpacking when we moved into our home nearly nine years ago.

And the fact I'm a pack-rat and Aaron is a hoarder.

(Oh, yes he is. Don't you look at me like that. We even watch the show Hoarders occasionally and he? He sympathizes with the people on the show while I fear what our home will become if we doesn't start making a dent.)

But!

(And let me state I'm not a fan of New Year Resolutions. It just so happened that the dishwasher fiasco - the instigator - randomly happened during the holidays. And I had plenty time of reflection while washing the damn dishes by hand multiple times a day.)

This time, I am trying to lead by example instead of my usual getting-fed-up-and-throwing-an-almighty-hissy-fit tactic. Something tells me this doesn't work.

For starters, I've been slowly easing my way into the FlyLady system (which? oh my god the amount of l-o-v-e they talk about. goodness). Yes, I totally realize I'm joining a bandwagon on this one, but if it works for so many people there's a good chance I can follow it as well.

It's my goal that shining my sink will lead to clearing out and organizing the basement. I hope to store items we're keeping in rubber bins (classy) and line the finished basement "family room" walls with them, instead of the shtuff taking all the space now.

I hope that by doing so, Aaron will make a dent in his cave (which is So Full, the door doesn't even open fully) and have it cleared out before gardening season arrives. This will give me an opportunity to paint the room, rip up the carpet and start living in our space instead of storing crap in our space.

And while we're talkin' pie-in-the-sky hopes (ha), I also hope to maintain my home in a manner that anyone can drop by at anytime and I won't feel humiliated by the state of my home. I'll save the hope for always-on-hand-freshly-baked-gluten-free-cookies-to-offer-our-guests till next year.

See? I'm a totally reasonable person.

Those icicles have been known to KILL people!