Blogger is irritating me to no end. 9 out of 10 times I try to sign in, it tells me my account doesn`t exist. And my keyboard somehow got switched to some kind of frenchy mode, where my question mark key now produces this: É. My apostrophe is different, and there`s a couple of other things that have changed too. It did this once before, and I couldn`t change it back until I restarted the computer...but as my battery is about to putter out, I`m not going to bother just now.
I just discovered a site chock full of free downloads for 3D paper crafts, which are so cool I could weep with delight. Every new item I click makes me oooooh and aaaaaah (in my head, as the baby is sleeping beside me). I have a new, portable project to take with me for the craft and coffee night I do with some friends every so often. Yay!
Today I diagnosed Baby J with thrush. AAAAAAAAAUGH! I will be picking up some Gentian Violet and acidopholus tomorrow. Now I know why it`s been feeling like his latch has been off somehow--I thought it was due to teething, although he only has one eyetooth left to cut. And suddenly I understand why he`s been fussing at the breast lately...I thought he was fighting bedtime, when really he just had a sore mouth. Poor kid.
We went to a birthday party at an indoor playground today. Those places are crazy and loud and overwhelming, perhaps more for me than for the kids. The boys were all exhausted by the time we left, as was I. I was pretty beat even before we got there, as I went out last night with Husband and Brother and sang some karaoke. We went to a divey bar we used to go to about 9 years ago--and the karaoke host was the same dude! Funny, or sadÉ I didn`t know either.
G starts speech therapy tomorrow. I`m pretty excited--I hope he loves it. He`s made so much progress without therapy, I`m really pumped to see what he can do with a little help.
Okay, computer battery is almost done, as am I. 5 hours of sleep is just not enough.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Sunday, December 16, 2007
He Works Hard For The Money
Just learned that my sweet baboo won the high-stakes office poker tournament. Woohoo!
The kids had their Christmas concert today. It was so sweet--G and N looked spiff, and enjoyed themselves thoroughly, although G didn't even pretend to sing. He claimed he didn't know the songs, but he belted them out on the drive home. Ah well, he still looked cute.
Baby J got his first haircut today. His baby mullet was becoming a bit much for me. Still, I was wistful about snipping it--such a big step toward being a big kid. His brothers had their shags clipped off a few weeks ago while I was out of town (sneaky dad), and they look shockingly different. G in particular looks much more grown up. It's unsettling sometimes, to see them becoming actual people, rather than teeny little drooling blobs. I am so proud of these boys.
I did a little photo editing tonight, and created a passable holiday photo. I had to cut and paste two heads into another photo in order to get all three kids smiling in the same shot. Now two of them look slightly bobbleheaded, since the sizes don't quite match up. Close, but not quite. But I think it will go unnoticed, so I'm letting it ride.
I have been on a rollercoaster of med-lessness and new meds, and now I am about to discontinue the new meds. Everything I've read about them freaks me out more and more. They are terribly addictive, and their short half-life means if I am late with a dose or miss one, I will be plunged into withdrawal hell within a few hours of the usual dosage time. I missed a dose this week and spent a day spiraling rapidly from irritability to insane bitchiness to scary crying jag to suicidal thoughts. It was a freakishly rapid descent, and to a much greater depth of misery than I had been experiencing while I was med-free. I took my pale pink capsule that night at the regular time, and the next day was business as usual, except that I was a bit worn out.
Because J and G are still nursing, I am also concerned about the effects of this drug on them. I've been reassured that I am on a low dosage, the transfer is negligible, blah blah blah....but it's not something I am willing to risk. So now I am switching to half doses, and we'll see if I can keep my shit together.
I am so lucky to have a supportive partner. Especially one that occasionally brings home a poker pot. Momma needs a new pair o' shoes!
The kids had their Christmas concert today. It was so sweet--G and N looked spiff, and enjoyed themselves thoroughly, although G didn't even pretend to sing. He claimed he didn't know the songs, but he belted them out on the drive home. Ah well, he still looked cute.
Baby J got his first haircut today. His baby mullet was becoming a bit much for me. Still, I was wistful about snipping it--such a big step toward being a big kid. His brothers had their shags clipped off a few weeks ago while I was out of town (sneaky dad), and they look shockingly different. G in particular looks much more grown up. It's unsettling sometimes, to see them becoming actual people, rather than teeny little drooling blobs. I am so proud of these boys.
I did a little photo editing tonight, and created a passable holiday photo. I had to cut and paste two heads into another photo in order to get all three kids smiling in the same shot. Now two of them look slightly bobbleheaded, since the sizes don't quite match up. Close, but not quite. But I think it will go unnoticed, so I'm letting it ride.
I have been on a rollercoaster of med-lessness and new meds, and now I am about to discontinue the new meds. Everything I've read about them freaks me out more and more. They are terribly addictive, and their short half-life means if I am late with a dose or miss one, I will be plunged into withdrawal hell within a few hours of the usual dosage time. I missed a dose this week and spent a day spiraling rapidly from irritability to insane bitchiness to scary crying jag to suicidal thoughts. It was a freakishly rapid descent, and to a much greater depth of misery than I had been experiencing while I was med-free. I took my pale pink capsule that night at the regular time, and the next day was business as usual, except that I was a bit worn out.
Because J and G are still nursing, I am also concerned about the effects of this drug on them. I've been reassured that I am on a low dosage, the transfer is negligible, blah blah blah....but it's not something I am willing to risk. So now I am switching to half doses, and we'll see if I can keep my shit together.
I am so lucky to have a supportive partner. Especially one that occasionally brings home a poker pot. Momma needs a new pair o' shoes!
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Brief Update
Since I am clearly so good at posting, averaging a post a month, I think I might sign up for that crazy NaBloPoMo again this year. Last year's posts are at ye olde blogge, which I will link to later when I'm not so effing tired. There's a link to it somewhere here, I think in the first post I put up here at the new digs.
NaBloPoMo gives me a good kick in the butt (and not the butt-stuff, either) about posting when I'm busy spazzing out about all the other things I put off until it's almost too late. For example, the flower girl dresses I'm sewing right now, which need to be in North Carolina in three weeks. I am getting close to panic mode, and just thinking about them makes my heart rate jump. I am no industrious ant, I am all lackadaisical grasshopper. Winter's almost here (for real, sniff), and I frittered away my summer, instead of slaving over satin in the sweatshop.
I'm not making much sense, am I? Did I mention I'm tired? Fighting a cold--thanks, kids. Little germ factories, them.
Right, off to bed with me, and hopefully tomorrow I will finish those blasted dresses.
NaBloPoMo gives me a good kick in the butt (and not the butt-stuff, either) about posting when I'm busy spazzing out about all the other things I put off until it's almost too late. For example, the flower girl dresses I'm sewing right now, which need to be in North Carolina in three weeks. I am getting close to panic mode, and just thinking about them makes my heart rate jump. I am no industrious ant, I am all lackadaisical grasshopper. Winter's almost here (for real, sniff), and I frittered away my summer, instead of slaving over satin in the sweatshop.
I'm not making much sense, am I? Did I mention I'm tired? Fighting a cold--thanks, kids. Little germ factories, them.
Right, off to bed with me, and hopefully tomorrow I will finish those blasted dresses.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
So Sue Me
Yeah, I am a slack bitch. Whatever.
Anyway, I was just reading this awesome post, and the awesome comments, and it inspired me to share my own childrens' awesomeness.
N and G like to be nude whenever possible. Being boys, they are obsessed with their penises. They are also within that magical age range where they are learning about bodies and the anatomical differences between men and women. So they are talking about their penises, and how poor mommy doesn't have one. Mommy has a 'gina. G tucks his little penis into his clamped thighs and says, "Is this a 'gina?" N snorts and replies, "No way." Then he adds with a small measure of disgust, "'Ginas are hairy."
This is a slight improvement from recent days when they referred to my genital region as a butt. As in, "Why do you pee from your butt?" One day, fresh out of the shower and getting dressed for the day, G wandered through the room of naked bodies telling us, "Ha ha, I see your penis. Ha ha, I see your butt." When he got to me, he glanced at my crotch and said, "Ha ha, I see your...butt-stuff."
Continuing in this vein, I remember the day I took N with me to a midwife appointment, as I always did. I was pregnant with G then, and N was 2. The appointment started with me collecting a urine sample to test for proteins and sugars. Usually N played in the waiting room while I used the nearby washroom, but this time he opted to come in with me. He watched intently as I filled my little plastic cup, and his eyes got big. I was formulating how I could explain that people only pee in cups under very special circumstances, when he interrupted my frantically whirring brain with an excited, "Mom! Juice! Butt!" He was clearly in awe of me. Why had I never told him I could make juice with my butt? Milk from one end and juice from the other--I was amazing. All this and I can sew too! Is there no end to my superpowers?
In other news, I took both my big boys to school today. It was a long day, as I lurked around the halls all day with the baby tied to me, spying on my kids as they met teachers and kids and toured the school. I think the day went relatively well, and I look forward to the day I can dump them without qualms (from them or me) and run gleefully away for a few hours with just one kid to wrangle. Yay school! Viva l'education!
Anyway, I was just reading this awesome post, and the awesome comments, and it inspired me to share my own childrens' awesomeness.
N and G like to be nude whenever possible. Being boys, they are obsessed with their penises. They are also within that magical age range where they are learning about bodies and the anatomical differences between men and women. So they are talking about their penises, and how poor mommy doesn't have one. Mommy has a 'gina. G tucks his little penis into his clamped thighs and says, "Is this a 'gina?" N snorts and replies, "No way." Then he adds with a small measure of disgust, "'Ginas are hairy."
This is a slight improvement from recent days when they referred to my genital region as a butt. As in, "Why do you pee from your butt?" One day, fresh out of the shower and getting dressed for the day, G wandered through the room of naked bodies telling us, "Ha ha, I see your penis. Ha ha, I see your butt." When he got to me, he glanced at my crotch and said, "Ha ha, I see your...butt-stuff."
Continuing in this vein, I remember the day I took N with me to a midwife appointment, as I always did. I was pregnant with G then, and N was 2. The appointment started with me collecting a urine sample to test for proteins and sugars. Usually N played in the waiting room while I used the nearby washroom, but this time he opted to come in with me. He watched intently as I filled my little plastic cup, and his eyes got big. I was formulating how I could explain that people only pee in cups under very special circumstances, when he interrupted my frantically whirring brain with an excited, "Mom! Juice! Butt!" He was clearly in awe of me. Why had I never told him I could make juice with my butt? Milk from one end and juice from the other--I was amazing. All this and I can sew too! Is there no end to my superpowers?
In other news, I took both my big boys to school today. It was a long day, as I lurked around the halls all day with the baby tied to me, spying on my kids as they met teachers and kids and toured the school. I think the day went relatively well, and I look forward to the day I can dump them without qualms (from them or me) and run gleefully away for a few hours with just one kid to wrangle. Yay school! Viva l'education!
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Hot Cha
Ye gods, it's hot. Today the temperature hit 35 C (that's 95 F, in case you're a heathen--er, American). Southerners would be all, "pshaw" about that, but we are not southerners. Did I mention the humidity?
Not that I'm complaining. Since we only get a few precious months each year that are not filled with snow, ice and general misery, I actually embrace these sweaty, sweaty days. But the children! Oh! the children! They are sweaty and wakeful and grouchy and difficult to be around.
We went to the beach last week and I burned my upper back, in a couple of blotchy spots where I didn't smear the sunscreen. Today I was extra careful to cover those spots...and I completely neglected my lower back, which is now red and stinging. Le sigh. We are all still gritty in our creases from our beach excursion, which is probably contributing to the general air of crankiness.
Boy, I wish I had something more interesting to post about, but it's too hot. And the baby is climbing on the table again, meaning my time here is at an end.
Not that I'm complaining. Since we only get a few precious months each year that are not filled with snow, ice and general misery, I actually embrace these sweaty, sweaty days. But the children! Oh! the children! They are sweaty and wakeful and grouchy and difficult to be around.
We went to the beach last week and I burned my upper back, in a couple of blotchy spots where I didn't smear the sunscreen. Today I was extra careful to cover those spots...and I completely neglected my lower back, which is now red and stinging. Le sigh. We are all still gritty in our creases from our beach excursion, which is probably contributing to the general air of crankiness.
Boy, I wish I had something more interesting to post about, but it's too hot. And the baby is climbing on the table again, meaning my time here is at an end.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Milky Way
This weekend I went on a bar crawl. I know, what the heck?! I am old and dull, who invited me to a bar crawl? My internetty friend Michelle, that's who. She was in Calgary for the Stampede, so I drove down and met her for a night of tipsy carousing. It was a sweaty, sweaty time. The temperature was 34 in the shade, and the bars and busses were much hotter. I spent a great deal of time rehydrating the next day, to the tune of about 4 litres of fluid.
The waiter who served us brunch: And what will you have to drink?
Me: The family-size carafe of cranberry juice, please.
Waiter: How many glasses would you like with that?
Me: Just one, thanks.
Waiter: Seriously?
Me: Uh, yeah. Thanks.
And then I drained that sucker like I'd spent the night boozing and sweating profusely. Which I had.
One of the memorable moments of the night: after we went through a metal detector at the entrance to a bar (sounds like a nice, wholesome place, 'eh?), a young man told me he needed to check my big ol' mom bag. Guess what he found in it? That's right, a Ziploc freezer bag (large size) with a breast pump in it. The poor guy dropped it like it was on fire when I told him what it was. No honey, it's not drugs or a weapon, I use it to express milk. From my breasts. For two of my three children. I am old. I think I'll put away my ID now, since nobody is asking to see it. Thank you and good night.
Despite the slight mortification factor, I was very glad to have brought it, since we later needed to share a private moment in a dirty bathroom stall, my trusty Avent and me. Then there was another mortifying moment when I had to come out of the stall with a pump full of milk, dump it in the sink, rinse the pump and stuff it back in the Ziploc, all while the young, single, childless ladies watched. It occurred to me just now that I could have just emptied it into the toilet and put it away without rinsing it, all without leaving the stall. Ah well, perhaps it was educational for the young girlies. Maybe they were extra careful to take their birth control that night. Or maybe they were just extra careful to not use the same stall or sink I'd just sullied. It might be catching!
The waiter who served us brunch: And what will you have to drink?
Me: The family-size carafe of cranberry juice, please.
Waiter: How many glasses would you like with that?
Me: Just one, thanks.
Waiter: Seriously?
Me: Uh, yeah. Thanks.
And then I drained that sucker like I'd spent the night boozing and sweating profusely. Which I had.
One of the memorable moments of the night: after we went through a metal detector at the entrance to a bar (sounds like a nice, wholesome place, 'eh?), a young man told me he needed to check my big ol' mom bag. Guess what he found in it? That's right, a Ziploc freezer bag (large size) with a breast pump in it. The poor guy dropped it like it was on fire when I told him what it was. No honey, it's not drugs or a weapon, I use it to express milk. From my breasts. For two of my three children. I am old. I think I'll put away my ID now, since nobody is asking to see it. Thank you and good night.
Despite the slight mortification factor, I was very glad to have brought it, since we later needed to share a private moment in a dirty bathroom stall, my trusty Avent and me. Then there was another mortifying moment when I had to come out of the stall with a pump full of milk, dump it in the sink, rinse the pump and stuff it back in the Ziploc, all while the young, single, childless ladies watched. It occurred to me just now that I could have just emptied it into the toilet and put it away without rinsing it, all without leaving the stall. Ah well, perhaps it was educational for the young girlies. Maybe they were extra careful to take their birth control that night. Or maybe they were just extra careful to not use the same stall or sink I'd just sullied. It might be catching!
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