Won't You Show Some Class

We have a long-standing tradition to buy Lego Advent Calendars during the holiday season. We started doing them when we were dating and... yeah. It's taken on a life of its own.

One would tend to think that the Debacle of 2005 would be the pinnacle of What the frack is Lego thinking? But, turns out, they've outdone themselves.

Outdone themselves in a very majestic way.

I present: Naked Old Man Lego


Don't look at me. I didn't go there. Lego did. I'm just reporting like a good samaritan.

Because, you know, nothing says Happy Holidays! like an old man with an elf fetish wearing a black thong about to get his groove on.


See? He's even brushing his beard for sexy times.

Now, I would like to give Lego the benefit of the doubt here with the notion that maybe, just possibly the intention was for him to be a member of the Polar Bear Club... but maybe swim trunks? And um... a dolphin? You know, something that doesn't have a parent have to explain NAKED LEGO MAN in the advent calendar.

And the bigger questions in our house: WHAT'S A THONG? and IS HIS PENIS REALLY THAT BIG?

And Sway to the Rhythm of Love

We snuck out of town.

Well, with a family of five and outrageous food allergies, I'm not quite certain how much sneaking was involved exactly, but we roadtrip'd for two days to Michigan.


It's a long drive. Longer when a nursing babe is involved.

But totally worth it, because we got to attend Aaron's sister's wedding.


We love Mandy ("Hot Mandy" as the boys like to call her, instead of "Aunt Mandy") and Ryan's awesome too. We're so very happy for them.

Next month Mandy leaves for Basic Training and Ryan follows a couple of months later. When these kids decided to jump into life, they jumped high. We're proud. Scared. Worried. Hopeful. And optimistic.

Out gift to them was their guest book, but not any guest book. I ran around with my Instax and took photos of the families who attended. I adhered them to 8x8 pages I had cut to fit and match the album and then had the families sign the paper.


Initially people thought I was crazy. But once I got a few examples (and some booze into the attendants) everyone got involved and excited. It was definitely a fun, hectic process - but so totally worth it.

We're home, safe and sound. And ready to get the holidays (including our Lego advent calendars) underway.

I guess I'll catch my breathe in the new year.

Every Little Thing Gonna Be Alright

Ohai!

Yes, I do have a blog. I also have a husband who's been out of town for over four weeks (save less than 48 hours when he was home and got sent right back out) and a baby who keeps! going! to! the! doctor!

Not that anything is seriously wrong, of course. Or, rather, not that anything is isn't manageable.

Emerson has acid reflux. I mean, acid reflux. He can out-acid-reflux anyone. Is there a competition for that? 'Cause he'd win. I sure hope there's a trophy.

We started fake-prevacid. My doctor is all, IT'S GENERIC, LAURA, NOT FAKE. And I'm all GENERIC, FAKE, WHATEVER. THE POINT IS THAT IT'S NOT AUTHENTICATED OR SOMETHING.

Because when you have a husband out of town and a baby that can puke further than you can throw a soaking burp cloth, you begin to lose your mind and have high hopes for fancy trophies.

So! Yes! Medicine! Emerson started the fake prevacid and I'll be damned if he didn't immediately break out into a rash.

And that's the thing with off-name-brand medicines: you can rarely tell if the binder/filler/crap-they-put-in-the-medicine-that-isn't-medicine-itself is gluten-free or not. Name brands, hells yes, you can look that up and know if it's gluten-free or not.

In fact, that website is my best friend.

Non-name-brands. Yeah. Not usually. "Starch" is common and you never know if it's wheat or corn. There's been many times I've had to make our pharmacy get a name-brand prescription for me because that's the only way to get it gluten-free.

So Emery got fake medicine. A pill. A pill I had to break in half, crush with a spoon, dissolve in water BUT DOESN'T REALLY DISSOLVE IN WATER, ONLY THE BINDER PART and try to get these tiny snowball things in him, instead of him spitting them out and GO AHEAD AND ASK ME HOW WELL THAT SYSTEM WORKED.

Hint: he was still in running for a four-foot gold-plated trophy.

When he started the medicine his weight at the 30th percentile. And that's just... tiny. For our family, at least. Griffin always ran around the 85th percentile and Darwin around the 65th. Thirtieth percentile? What's wrong with mah baybay?

After two weeks I called the doctor and was all rash! snowballs! spittle! six foot pure platinum trophy!

So she was all GAH. And I was all iknowrite?

I took him in and he had dropped to the 27th percentile. And she was freaked out by his rash. So we switched his fake prevacid to compounded certified gluten-free prevacid (fake prevacid? I don't know) and BAM! Baby cleared up. Baby doesn't puke as much.

Win-win.

I took him back in yesterday, another two weeks later and he's still at the 27th percentile. But, at least he's not at the 26th percentile.

Now, if we can just keep Aaron in town longer than the Thanksgiving holiday, maybe I won't be so bat-shit crazy.


Why are you looking at me like that? I'm not that bat-shit crazy. And where's my diamond-encrusted ten foot trophy?

Best Evah Gluten-Free Chocolate Chip Cookies

You know with a title of "Best Evah" something's got to be good. And better deliver. And these will. I promise.

(And a post title that's not a song lyric! SHOCKER! But when it's two months from now and you want to make some damn cookies 'cause someone pissed you off is when you'll realize my omnipotence awesomeness and be thankful.)

Now, let me vent that I have, in fact, been in a funk for quite awhile. Not a depression funk per se ('cause, trust me, I had one of those post-pregnancy before and stared at our kitchen knives, this is definitely not that kind of a funk), but a food funk.

A food funk as in my gluten-free flour mix had become a FAIL due to manufacturer's inconsistencies of grinding the flours the same texture from batch-to-batch (hell, within a bag once I had super-fine to crazy-course grind brown flour) and flours being gross (rotten? mildew-y? I have no idea, just gross) at the time of purchase. So for the past year, year-and-a-half I have hardly been baking.

So I've been experimenting, trying new things - and let me tell you, what we can try is quite narrow. Including gluten and soy issues (like me), Griffin and Darwin also have serious dairy, nut and legume allergies. Which means figuring out food is extra fun for me.

Two weeks ago I bit the bullet and tried King Arthur's gluten-free brownie mix (was kinda bitter, not very chocolate-y) and then their all-purpose flour mix. Finally, a consist gluten-free flour mix that we can all have (ingredients are white rice flour, tapioca starch, potato starch and brown rice flour) and I don't have do some voodoo hand mixing.

Now, let's be clear: I didn't receive anything for free, they don't know me from Sam Hill and this stuff is hella expensive. I'm talking locally paying $5.79 plus tax for just over four cups of flour.

Welcome to the Gluten-Free Lifestyle: we hope you have no other interests other than eating 'cause you're not gonna be able to afford them anyway.

And I admit: we sacrifice and pinch and save to keep up with my foodie ways. I like to cook, we all like to eat. And we're lucky that we kinda-sorta make it work.

Now, I'm not saying this mix is so magical that it resolved my funk: I resolved my funk. Or, I'm working to resolve my food funk. I'm a work in progress goddammit.

But I guarantee these are damn good cookies. And to answer your questions: yes, I'm sure you can substitute other gluten-free flours for the King Arthur I use. I was just telling you what I use in case you wanted ideas. And yes, you can make these cookies non-gluten-free too - use the same amount of your wheat-y flour and do not add the xantham gum. Yes, this recipe can be halved - or doubled. And yes, you could make this with less chocolate but just don't tell me 'cause then I don't think we could be friends.


Best Evah Gluten-Free Chocolate Chip Cookies (dairy-free too!)

1 cup shortening*
2 cups brown sugar
2 eggs
1 tablespoon vanilla
1/2 teaspoon salt, preferably kosher
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 1/2 teaspoons xantham gum
3 cups gluten-free flour
2 cups semi-sweet chocolate chips**
1 cup dark chocolate chips**

Preheat over to 350.

In a large bowl cream shortening and brown sugar to fluffy. Add eggs and vanilla and mix until fully incorporated. Add salt, soda and xantham gum, scrap the sides and mix a bit more. Slowly add flour and mix until just incorporated. Add chocolates and stir by hand.

Let dough set at room temperature ten minutes to two hours - this allow it to melt together and I got the idea from Jackques Pépin so you know it's a good idea.

On a lined cookie spoon blobs of dough (whatever size you like) and then bake 7 to 12 minutes, until done. For a "standard" size cookie I prefer eight minutes, which is golden on the outside and still chewy all around.

Recipe makes 4 to 5 dozen cookies depending on size and how much cookie dough you eat.

Not that I know anything about eating cookie dough. Ahem.

*I use organic gluten-free certified palm shortening. Not a dairy-free household? Substitute half the shortening for an equal amount of room temperature butter. Yum.

**I use Ghirardelli semi-sweet chocolate chips and Whole Foods' 365 dark chocolate chunks - both are gluten & dairy free.

They Did the Mash

"Darth Vader, please stop using the force on me. Phantom of the Night? Could you please move closer to Daddy? Yoda.."

"That's MASTER YODA!"

"Okay, Master Yoda? Smile!"

Halloween 2010

That Ain't Workin'

Emerson has brought an amazing balance to our family - well, as much balance as one could have with sleepless nights. But still, we have balance.

He's very Zen, our little Buddhist master. Watching everything. Soaking it all in. Somehow managing to calm us down (which is completely weird compared to his colicky, screaming brothers).

Unless, of course, he's puking.

Now, I know spit up. I know it well. Griffin perfected the fine art of spittle. Darwin followed Griff's example and even taught us a thing a two. But Emerson? Emerson causes me to have daily unplanned showers, change my clothes at least three times a day and has had me scrubbing our couch more times than I can keep track of.

Our doctor offered acid reflux medicine at his one-month appointment, but we turned it down. The "projectile spit up" wasn't making him upset. At his two-month appointment I was ready and he was starting to get upset. Aaron was still very we-are-not-medicating-that-zen-baby-hells-to-tha-no.

A few night later we were all miserable. Just miserable. Emerson was crying and vomiting (I mean, let's call a spade a spade, shall we?) and nothing we did would make him feel better. It went on for hours.

His standard vomiting continued but escalated into unexpected ways - throwing up while eating, throwing up while sleeping (holy fucking scary balls, man), throwing up on a boat, throwing up with a goat, YOU GET THE PICTURE.

So on Wednesday I had officially had it. He ate. He threw up. He threw up again. And again. And then we went to the boys' school Halloween parties (yes, on Wednesday, because our school had Parent-Teacher conferences yesterday and today and even Emerson's zen-ness does not combat two older boys at home all day MY HELL) and he threw up. And threw up. And threw up. He threw up on Darwin. He threw up on Griffin. He soaked his costume in projectile-spittle. He got it all over his stroller. The baby just Could Not Stop Vomiting.

When we got home I called the doctor and begged for mercy. A short talk with the doctor and a nurse later, a prescription was called in for Prevacid.

Now, I'm not happy to be medicating him - not at all. But if this will help him feel better (have I mentioned his miserableness?) then I'm willing to give it a try. Hours of explaining all this to Aaron, he was willing to give it a try too.

He's only had two doses (one yesterday morning, one this morning) and I have hopes of at least some relief for him.

But damn if he didn't projectile spit up all over himself (after he had a bath to boot), the vibrating chair and about four feet of carpet this morning.

Sigh.


Good thing kids are damn cute.

Cicus Life Under the Big Top World

"Mama! Look at my worksheet!"


"Isn't it nice? And did you see the dog?"


"He's POOPING!"

The Only Nasty Thing I Like is a Nasty Groove

It's kinda amazing how quickly a parent gets re-acclimated with being covered in another person's body fluids.

With the first kid, we were grossed out for months. But by the third? You just don't give a shit.

(Ba-dum-bum-bum.)

Pee? As long as it's below my elbows, we're cool. Easily washable. Thankfully.

The closest I've gotten to being grossed-out this time around was when Emerson angrily pooped on me a few weeks back (when I was still on antibiotics for my mastitis, and boy howdy did those drugs make him an angry pooper) and it was everywhere: my shirt, my pants, my arms, the floor. I think I even got some on my shoulder and in my hair.

Ick.

But I calmly changed him. Stripped down. Strapped him into his vibrating chair and took a shower.

Given how overdue I am for a shower, this situation is sounding rather lovely right now.


And spit up? Last week I dreamed I was on Dancing with the Stars and Mark Ballas was my dancing partner. He didn't like me much, probably because I kept interrupting the dancing to nurse Emery (and because I bitter that I didn't get to dance with Maks). Right before it was stage-time, he got really pissed because I was just covered in spit up. So the makeup artist decided to glitterize me. Because that was the only way to disguise the amount of dried spit up I was sporting.

That would have come in handy this morning, while at the grocery store I realized my left arm looked like a white, powder-y mess. The big, dried wet marks across the shoulders just highlighted my awesomeness.

What's Got You So Jumpy?

Three words: lack of sleep

Goody gravy. I'm tired. But my stupid Mommy Genes have kicked so do you think I can sleep during daylight? The answer to that would be a great big No, I Cannot.

I shouldn't complain, Emerson is a great baby even tho from three to six a.m I think he's the devil incarnate. But hey! I bet everyone feels (or felt) that way about their babies.

Right? Right!

Truth is, we're alive. And at this point, that's all I expect out of us. Keeping everyone alive. Anything above and beyond that is just gravy.

Like, taking pictures.


I know I need to be taking more pictures (he's already gained two pounds! in just five weeks!) but half the time I don't even know what day it is. I gauge it by whether Aaron goes to work and the boys go to school.

Don't worry. I realize how pathetic that is.


I don't think I ever took one picture of Griffin or Darwin throwing a hissy fit. And goddamn, do I wish I had those blown up and framed in my house. As blackmail material.


And sadly, no - this isn't a real smile and how I captured it is beyond me. But wow, does that big grin ever give me something to look forward too.

Smiles and sleep. That's all I'm asking for.

So Come Dance This Silence Down Through the Morning

I knew having a newborn would be tough, I remember the days of bringing Griffin home and having him scream around the clock. No feel-good memory loss for me, I remember clearly.

And I knew what to expect, breastfeeding exclusively with boobs that just don't like to produce milk. And I had resigned to the fact that the next year of my life was going to be spent nursing, nursing, nursing, not sleeping and (hopefully) working. You know that working part, so important because you need to buy food so you can make milk and nurse.

But the preparing myself and actual realization are two different things, of course, and last Thursday I really thought the lack of sleep was going to kill me. Not so much the nursing, even though, damn kid could you stay off for a full hour? Please? But the lack of sleep.

I like my sleep.

As I was breastfeeding Emery I was thinking of ways I could kill Aaron, that bastard. That bastard who did this to me and doesn't have to breastfeed. What kind of biological bullshit is that? And what's the best way to revenge those who Sleep Peacefully for More than an Hour at a Time? Because this was heavy on my mind.

But The Gods have a way of putting you in your place. As for my place, that is called Mastitis.

Last Friday I felt weird, but blamed it on lack of sleep. Saturday, though, the shooting pain in my breast began along with a fever of 103 that brought with it chills (complete with unintentional moaning) and sweats. A midwife was nice enough to call me in a prescription over the holiday weekend (after I cried and begged to not send me and a newborn babe to the ER).

And one would tend to think that would help, but no. Four days later and everything was the same, except I had wised-up enough to keep myself filled of Tylenol and Advil to try to keep my fever (and chills and sweats) under control.

Tuesday morning I dragged my ass (and the baby in tow) (Aaron went to work) (that bastard) (while I was still sick!) to the doctor's office and got a new prescription. So we stopped at the pharmacy to pick it up and...

Yeah. No.

The new prescription wasn't gluten-free.

I had to fight with the pharmacy for a few hours to Figure Shit Out and it turned out oh hey, THEY CAN ORDER MEDICATION. Which meant that by the time everything was said and done I started the proper prescription Wednesday night.

Which means, of course, that the story isn't over yet.

Because The Gods? They have a sense of humor. And decided it would SUPER FUNNY if Darwin woke up with the croup Thursday morning.

And seriously, we contemplated if he needed to go to the ER or was his oxygen high enough to make it to the doctor in a few hours. No blue lips, thankfully. So we waited. And Aaron took Dar to the doctor, while I stayed home with Emerson in hopes of me and Emery not catching the croup because THAT'S JUST WHAT WE NEED RIGHT NOW, for a three-week old baby to have breathing problems.

So Darwin's been home for two days, but is suppose to be avoiding me and the baby so we don't get the croup. But Aaron's at work and guess who has to care for the poor sick boy? And I mean besides his DSi.

And then, just for shits and giggles, between the time I sat down and started this post and now, a water main broke right in front of my house, flooding the driveway and garage with muddy water and now there's a nice big hole in my driveway that could easily dispose of a dead body.

Any body have a dead body to dispose of?

If this week had a body I would have already called dibs.

[gratuitous photo of three-week old Emerson, because I know why you all are really visiting]