Book Quiz

Thanks to Ink at Inktopia and Robin at Passions and Soapboxes.  I decided to take this quiz.  And look at this.  I always new I was a bit schizophrenic.  I guess it’s time I read this book because I’ve been meaning to for years.

You’re The Poisonwood Bible!

by Barbara Kingsolver

Deeply rooted in a religious background, you have since become both
isolated and schizophrenic. You were naively sure that your actions would help people,
but of course they were resistant to your message and ultimately disaster ensued. Since
you can see so many sides of the same issue, you are both wise beyond your years and
tied to worthless perspectives. If you were a type of waffle, it would be
Belgian.

Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

My Worst Nightmare

My worst nightmare has come true.  Evan vomited and shat at the same time.  Ok, my worst nightmare is that I would do it, which was never a possibility until my mom shared her labor experiences with me about enemas and such during that precious birds and the bees talk.  Mom knew how to keep her daughter locked tighter than a charity belt.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if Evan had underwear on, but since he woke me up at a God-awful-early-hour to read to him as he took his morning dump.  Then I debated walking into the next room to get him underwear or walk into the next room and try to catch another 15 minutes of sleep.  I chose poorly.

Clean up wouldn’t have been so bad if I wasn’t already fighting to keep the contents of breakfast in my stomach where they belonged.  Like I needed to clean a bigger mess.  Obviously the lack of sleep and the fumes of cleaning products was getting to me because I wistfully thought how if my husband was here he would clean it up.  Commence rolling eyes now.  Like he ever picked up vomit or shit.  Remember when the grossest thing he ever saw was Evan’s poop in the potty.  Yeah.  Of course, I did mourn the fact that my parents AND my grandma AND the favorite uncle are all out-of-town, and I really need to get us to the grocery store.  But let’s all remember I pulled this stuff off all the time ALONE in California. 

Man, I’m spoiled.

Now that things are cleaned up.  Maybe things will go my way, and I can get the boys to clean up the toys.  And maybe things will really go my way, and we can go grocery shopping.  And I can’t help but remember a time when things went my way because I got to sleep in or got a bonus check or got to go to my favorite restaurant or bought a new book.  Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

More Complaints about the Blessings of the First Trimester

If it isn’t enough that Mother Nature cursed most of us the need to empty our stomachs of all nutrition the first trimester, she blessed us with a few extra treats.  Like bone-deep, night-of-the-living-dead exhaustion. 

I once read a theory that said that women were sick and tired in the beginning of pregnancy because it made them take better care of themselves as though they truly were sick.  I think I would prefer a coma instead.  I don’t know one mother who is able to baby herself when pregnant.  Maybe someone rich with a nanny, cook, and maid, but that’s not us.

I don’t remember being this tired with my other two pregnancies.  But I could have been.  With Evan, I was doing my time as an opening cashier at Home Depot.  (Ah the job opportunities for those blessed with a creative writing degree.)  Every morning I was up around 5 am to make it to work.  I’m not a morning person, and it was hard on me.  When I was pregnant with Sean, Evan was waking up in the middle of the night to cry, plead, and beg until he was in bed with us.  I gave in every night to find myself kicked, punched and shoved towards the end of my bed.  See, my pregnancy exhaustion could easily be cloaked by my every day exhaustion.

I do remember Evan watching more television in those early pregnancy weeks than any other time.  It’s happening today.  I feel like a horrible mother as I lay on the couch, trying to keep down breakfast, trying to get the energy to dress the boys as they slowly become television zombies.  My one shred of hope is that this is just a drop in the bucket in the large scheme of things, and I actually do pretty well with lack of sleep and a newborn.  (Knock on wood.)  It doesn’t ease the guilt though, so I usually drive them to my parents house so that my brother, the favorite Uncle M, can run them out in games of tag, wrestling,  hide-n-go-seek, swimming, soccer, and every thing else a favorite uncle can do when Mommy is just too weak.

And if that isn’t enough to feel like you just drank a bottle of Nyquil and that your breakfast would like to make an encore appearance, I have this horrible taste in my mouth.  It’s like something foul crawled in mouth and died in the back of my throat.  It makes me sick just to think about it.

I remember walking behind an MA at an appointment when I was pregnant with Evan.  She asked how I was doing.  “The usual.  Sick.  Tired.  Hey, I have this horrible taste in my mouth that I can’t get rid of . . . ?”  “Oh.  Lots of patients complain about that.”  Thanks that was so very helpful. 

I found that cheap breathe mints, wintergreen flavor, was the only thing that kept the taste at bay.  I chewed on them constantly for a month or two in the other pregnancies.  This pregnancy, between the vomiting and dry heaving, my stomach is so tender it hates the thought of breathe mints.  I’m chewing on ice instead.

My prayers now end with “And Dear God, if it is in Your infinite wisdom, please get me the HELL out of the first trimester tomorrow.  Even if it isn’t in Your infinite wisdom, release me, I beg of you.  Make me horribly fat in the first week of the second trimester.  Give me swollen feet.  I’ll deal with stretching ligaments, pimples, even a few extra stretch marks.  JUST GET ME WELL.  For the boys, of course, so they have a better mother.  Amen.”

Well, it’s only a few more weeks.  Right? 

But then my mother says I’m “dwelling” on it which makes it worse.  Right.

Ten Things I Never Thought I Would Say: Thank You, First Trimester

I know.  I know.  I’m usually not MIA this long, but with the inspection to make sure we’re not trashing the house, the gas pain, the nausea, the tiredness, well, the blog was the last thing on my mind.  While my stomach is not cooperating as much as I wish, my energy is slowly returning to normal.  But I’m writing a quick post because I need to catch up on all that I missed reading.

The Ten Things I Never Thought I Would Say: Thanks You, First Trimester.

1. Vomiting is like choking in reverse.
2. Oh, it’s so much easier when it’s liquid.
3. Thank God I was able to drag Sean in the house so I didn’t vomit on the drive way.
4. Well, now that’s done, I would like to eggs, sausage, ham, hash browns, pancakes . . .
5. I’m too tired to work on my blog.  Maybe tomorrow . . .
6. Evan, so help me, God, if I can’t get a nap, I’m locking you in the closet!
7. What? I always chew on crushed ice . . . when I’m pregnant.
8. I am NOT having another one.
9. THAT was for suggesting I become a surrogate after Sean’s birth.
10. I don’t care.  Use a Playboy.  (Which came right after I said.  I WILL vomit on you if you try.)

Birds & Bees, Part 1: Or the baby is naked in there?

I wanted to wait a little while to tell Evan about the new baby.  An eight to nine month wait is a long time for a little guy.  But Evan was very concerned about my “sickness,” asking me every day if I was still sick, if he would get sick, and that he was going to pray for me at his school.  A downside of sending him to a Christian preschool.  So I figured I better explain before the teachers started to think I had cancer or something. 

Then Evan and I sat at lunch together today, talking as Sean caught an early nap, ruining my nap and my need to clean before the rental people inspect tomorrow.  Yea.

Evan: Mommy, why do you want three boys?

Me: Because I like boys.  How do you know it’s not a girl?  I like girls too.

Evan:  Ok, it can be a girl.

Me: Do you want another little brother or a little sister?

Evan: I think I want four kids.

Me: Four?

Evan: No, five.

Me: Five?

Evan: Yes, because I like kids.

Me: Well, five is a lot.  (I do not want to feel this sick again.  Eyes on the prize.  Eyes on the prize.)  But I’ll let Daddy know how you feel.

Evan: Ok.  Does the baby have shoes on?

Me: No, the baby is naked.

Evan: (giggling) He’s naked?  He needs clothes on.  Why doesn’t he have clothes on.

Me: The baby doesn’t need any because the baby is in Mommy’s womb.

Evan: We need to get him some clothes.

Me: How will we get clothes in Mommy’s body?

Evan: Hmmm.  We’ll put it in a box.

Me: How will we get a box in Mommy’s body?

Evan: Mommy, does the baby eat when you eat?

Me: Sort of like that.

Evan: Why do you have to eat more food?

Me: Well, I have to eat for the baby and me.  The baby has a lot of growing to do.  It’s only this big.  (I show the size of a large bean with the space of my fingers.)

Evan: Why is it so tiny?

Me: Because it starts out that way.

Evan: Why is it in there?

Me: Because that’s the best place for it to grow.  Don’t worry when it’s big enough, it’ll come out.

Evan: But it’ll be naked!

Me: Yes, but I’ll dress it before you see it.

Evan: But I’ll see it naked!

Me: No, you’ll be with Papi and Grandma probably.  I’ll dress it before you come.

Evan: But I want to see it naked!

Me: Then you can help give it a bath.

Evan: Mommy, why are you eating a pie with chicken?  Pies are suppose to have fruit.

 

Well, that was a close one.

The Renaming

Evan: I think I want to name Sean.

Me: What?

Evan: I want to name Sean.

Me: He already has a name.  It’s Sean.

Evan: He needs a new name.  I’m going to call him Falleif.

Me: What?  No.

Evan: Falleif!  Let’s play cars.

Me: We’re not naming your brother Falleif.

Evan: Falleif, do you want juice?

Me: Sean, do you want juice.

Sean: Please juice!

Me: See.  He’s name is Sean.

Evan: I’m still going to call him Falleif.

So Afternoons are better

I was so upset that Evan wasn’t in the morning class.  So upset.  Disappointed.  Worried.  Frustrated.  Anxious.  The kid needs naps, and I would inevitably kill him when he threw one too many fits over something silly like being made to eat something for dinner or stopped from hitting his brother.  That’s why I got a replacement kid on the way.

But I think Someone was looking out for me.  Because we’re taking mornings slow.  I’m nursing my tea, watching the news; while they are destroying the house with toys.  They’re watching way too many cartoons as I shower and resettle my stomach, praying that breakfast will stay down.  Unlike previous pregnancies, breakfast is staying down.  Most days.

Note: Rice Krispies not as good the second time.  Not so good at all.

But if we had to race to school to get there at 8 in the morning, which seemed like a breeze just two months ago, I would be retching in the public trash can outside Evan’s class room, wearing Depends as my stomach has to eject every last crumb from my body. 

So I owe You a Thank you.  And (as usual) an Apology.  (As usual) You gave me what I needed, not what I wanted.  Though this does not make up for “That thing,” I’m still pissed off about that.

Personal Style

I’m pretty laid back when it comes to what Evan wants to wear.  Blame it on having school uniforms most my school career.  Blame it on the “dress code” my parents enforced while I was in high school.  Blame it on the fact I looked up to Melissa Joan Hart from Clarissa Explains It All.  Blame it on the fact I hung out with drama students my teenage years, including a boy who believed wearing a kilt once in a while was manly.  (Ok, that might also be responsible for me enjoying a good looking guy in a kilt, but moving on.)  Blame it on the fact I felt perfectly fine walking around a college campus with fairy wings. 

I was sure I could handle anything Evan threw at me.  You want to be a witch for Halloween?  No problem.  You want to wear your cape to Target?  Let me pull it out.  Striped polo shirt paired off with camo shorts with his boots?  Fine.  You want to wear your doctor scrubs?  Okey-dokey.  You’re wearing your Mickey ears with one ear missing because you’re a super hero?  Sure.  Chargers jersey, brown-floral shorts, cowboy hat, and orange crocs?  All right.

I was looking forward to a little girl playing soccer in a princess dress, so of course I’m prepared for Evan’s dressing creativity.   I love his creativity.  I took pictures for a week of his outfits before school started because I was worried what socialization would do to his style.  I know when people look at him they know he dressed himself.  Picking out his clothes is the only reason Evan gets dressed.  The kid would be a nudist if he could.  But like his Mommy, he loves color, so he loves to wear his own style of clothing.  And I could dig it.

But now he wants to wear his shirt and shorts backwards. 

What?!  Are you kidding me?  No.  Absolutely not.  No way.  Do you want to look certifiable?  Do I want to look certifiable?  Some lines just have to be drawn.  Like no sandals in the winter.  Like no jeans in the hot, hot desert summer.  Like all clothes have to be facing the correct way.

A year ago I was wrestling to put clothes on him, and now I’m wrestling to put the clothes right on him.

I tried reverse psychology.  I let him wear it around the house.  I forbade it.  I chose clothes for him as a punishment.  I’m inches from bribery.

So any other suggestions?

Pool Adventures

Stupid thing didn’t post and I swear I checked it!

I wish I had more pictures.  I wish Vista didn’t hold our picture program hostage.  I wish I had my laptop fixed, so I could show you.  Evan has a great impression of a hammerhead shark.  Swimming.  In water.

He holds one leg and uses his other leg and arm to swim underwater three yards.  It’s hilarious.  It’s amazing.

Evan started out the summer refusing to put his head into the water.  He believed he would be just fine hand crawling along the pool wall.  He wouldn’t hold his breath underwater.  He screamed if you tried to make him jump off the wall to you.  And I couldn’t get him into the city swim lessons.

As I’ve said before, I taught him to swim.  We went to my parents’ house every day, and I worked with him.

Evan and Papi also have an imitation of a great white, where my dad spins Evan under the water and then throws him out into the air.  Yup, my family loves swimming tricks.

Last week Evan followed Uncle M’s example and leaped from the diving board! 

My son jumped off the diving board into the deep end and swam to the side.  We just stood there, staring, until we remembered to clap and cheer.  My dad has forbidden the term “deep end” because he believes Evan doesn’t really understand how deep the pool. 

To emulate his uncle more, Evan takes a running start and does a “cannon ball.”  He has yet to understand or have the ability to grab his legs to make a ball, but he kneels.  All this while he shouts “cannon ball” from the top of his lungs.

Not to be out done, Sean too has his own cannon ball.  He climbs out of the pool at the steps.  He runs around the whole pool.  Then he shouts “cannon ball.”  He turns around and slowly climbs back into the pool, landing on the top step.

We’re winding down pool season here, or at least, we’re considering putting on the cover.  It’s in the mid to high 90s here, but the night is getting down to the high 60s, making for one chilly pool. 

Yesterday I had resigned myself to failing at teaching Sean ANY swim safety.  Ok, he does blow bubbles, but that’s it.  After an hour of convincing Evan to pick up the Lincoln Logs he spilled all over my parents’ family room, Evan ran out to finally join his brother and Papi in the pool.  I walked out to have my dad show me what he was working on with Sean.

Sean can now crawl along the wall.  Only left to right, but it’s still progress.  Next year he’ll be swimming.

Posting

I’m realizing I love naptime.  It used to be my writing and reading time, my beloved blogging time.  Now my head hits the pillow the minute I walk out of the boys room.  So please cut me some slack if I post late or not at all, if it takes me a few days to get to your blog and then I stalk until I have commented on every single thing because really I love to talk and hopefully make you laugh.  I know you all are rolling your eyes because most of you are moms and have been there.  But this more for my sake to let me off the hook a bit.  Just know that I love you all and miss reading you when I can’t.  I should be back to myself in four to six weeks.  Actually Naptime Writing says tomorrow.