The first really warm day of spring. Almost 80 degrees and it was heaven. HEAVEN.
Warm day plus Daddy home early means one thing.
Mud.
Startin' to understand why I got these here 5 kids aren't ya'?
Showing posts with label The parts He gave you. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The parts He gave you. Show all posts
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Warning: Cute Hiney Ahead (And the Kid's is Okay, Too)
Startin' to understand why I got these here 5 kids aren't ya'?
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Gave A Whole New Meaning To The Phrase "Hot Lips"
As I was catching up on my blog reading tonight, chomping down on some hot wings, I was reminded of a time not so long ago...
We eat a lot of spicy food. But the kids and Dave are lightweights. They can handle Frank's or Tabasco (the white trash of hot sauces). They can manage the red pepper flakes I add to everything (I remember Asker eating a full pinch and saying, "mmm, -picey" when he was 2). And they love my homemade wings.
But when I need a really hot fix, I order the 911 wings from our local wing shack. Made with Dave's Insanity sauce (the sauce was actually banned from the National Fiery Food Show for being too hot), these suckers fill a need in my life that no man can touch.
They are pure heat.
I can eat them just fine. It's the stopping that kills me. For about ten minutes, I breathe fire. Then a slow burn sets in that lasts for several hours.
I usually eat them after the kids go to bed, and I only use one hand in case I get called to mommy duty. The hot sauce can linger for hours even with repeated hand washing.
Well, one evening I ate my wings as normal and a few hours later I started to get ready for bed.
I'm a Natural Family Planner. That means part of my evening ritual is checking my cervix.
I used the wrong hand.
Yowsers!
Monday, March 10, 2008
Fakers
We spent Saturday in Baltimore at a nephew's baptism. The weather was lovely, the baptism was moving, the family was wonderful.
And the fake tans were alarming. Can someone please explain to me the need for obviously artificially dark skin in March?
Dave's step-sisters are Greek and they have naturally beautiful bronze skin. Even in the middle of winter they are dark and lovely. But some of their friends were just plain scary!
I don't think this color looks good even on a toned, bikini-clad body in July. But on an average chick's body, with boots, jeans and a bulky sweater, it causes double-takes. And not the good kind.
I spent a few minutes observing the couple of ladies who were sporting the orange, and I walked away a bit sad.
Both of the ladies are beautiful. Both have lovely smiles and pretty features. But their natural loveliness was overwhelmed by the heavy makeup, bleached blond hair and fake tans.
As the mother of a young daughter, I feel such a sense of anger that society constantly tells our girls that they must look a certain way to have value. Between the highly sexualized role-models, the constant imagery in ads of all sorts and the incredibly grown-up clothing marketed towards toddlers, it seems like our girls are fighting an uphill battle from day one. I don't allow Barbies for that very reason (that and I don't want the boys playing with b00bs).
I left the gathering with a renewed sense of urgency to remind Toots that her attitude, her smile, her kindness, her faith and her mind are what makes her beautiful.
In defense of those two ladies, I don't know them at all. They may be self-confident geniuses.
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
The Dog & I Finally Have Something In Common
I'm shedding.
It's one of those things that comes with having babies that they don't tell you about ahead of time. Like the first time you do-the-deed after giving birth and your ladies squirt all over your husband? Yeah, kinda' would have liked to have known that ahead of time.
So my hair is falling out in clumps. I find it everywhere. I've found hair in the fridge, in the fish tank, in Superboy's diaper, and in dinner. And every single time I go pee? There's hair in my crack. You needed to know that.
The problem is, my hair is long. Really long. I just cut off 6 inches, and Dave didn't even notice. OK, that could probably be said of any man and any amount of hair, but 6 inches!
I'm cleaning out my brush two times a week. The hair has been so compacted, I practically have to cut it out. I'm thinking about leaving them in various places in the backyard so, come spring, the birds won't even have to build nests.
I learned my lesson after the last few sheds and I no longer try to flush it down the shower drain. So I've been putting it on the shower wall until I get out and can throw it in the trash.
This is one shower's worth.
Totally gross, I know.
But it makes a nice art medium. I've been working on some abstracts. Observe
See it?
I swear I am losing so much hair. I am convinced that any day now when I look in the mirror for the first time (usually around 5pm when I am expecting Dave) this is what I will see...
And you always wondered what I would look like with a combover.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
And Now I Understand The Cons
I tore my baby's skin today.
On purpose.
It was horrible.
After a few discussions and much research, we decided early into my first pregnancy to have Asker circumcised. I was present for the surgery, and truthfully found it to be rather interesting.
Perhaps it was because I hadn't really bonded with him yet and he seemed like a stranger instead of my child, or perhaps it was because the pain of my first childbirth was still so real; whatever the reason, I was able to detach from the screaming baby and just observe. He healed within a few days and -voila- perfect little package.
Clam was born at home and I scheduled his circumcision with a highly renowned surgeon. He is also a Mohel, so he does tons of these things. I was not allowed to be present during the surgery, but it was super fast and done right in the doctor's office. He, too, healed quickly and another perfect pickle.
This time was different.
I kept putting off making Superboy's appointment after he was born. Our insurance changed, and then the pediatrician took forever to write the referral. But, I was in no rush. I bonded right away with this little guy, and the doubts I had always had about circumcising started pushing their way into my head.
I've done the research. I know the pros, cons and all the arguments. We had chosen to circ for one simple reason; we wanted the boys to look like Daddy. But the older Superboy got, the less I wanted to go through with the surgery. Finally, after several smart-ass sweet reminders from Dave; I scheduled the appointment for last Thursday..
I used the same surgeon. Again he was done within minutes. He gave me the same post-op instructions, and I followed them the same way. At least I thought I did. But it's almost Christmas and we've been so busy. Maybe I wasn't putting enough Bacitracin on during every single diaper change. Maybe I wasn't pulling on the skin to keep it loose often enough. Maybe I didn't pay close enough attention to the doc's instructions. Maybe one day being a mom will not include second-guessing. Maybe not.
Yesterday I noticed an adhesion. Yeah. One of those.
I guess I didn't do quite enough research. I didn't realize how common these are with circumcisions. They happen a lot. One of my friends told me all four of her sons had adhesions after circumcision.
I called the surgeon's office and was told to gently separate the skin.
I tried. Didn't happen.
So, I was told to soften the skin with a bath and pull. Not so gently if necessary.
I gave him a long bath. I took a deep breath and pulled.
It ripped.
Superboy took a quick breath and jerked his limbs in that way newborns do. But he didn't cry.
I did.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
And Not The Dukes of Hazzard Guy
Asker told me last night that when he turns 6 (on Friday), he's going to start showering alone. I asked him if that meant I couldn't walk around naked in front of him any longer. He paused for a minute and said, "No, you're fine, but I'll let you know."
Most of my friends and family are slightly appalled by my anatomically correct vocabulary and openness with my children. For me, it just comes naturally. But to others, like Chicky and my sister's friend, it takes a bit more thought....
My sister's friend, Maureen and her husband Doug have an 8 year old boy named Dillon. Like a lot of parents, they taught Dillon everything he needs to know about his own body. But, having no daughters, they kind of avoided the whole girl-child body parts. Understandable. I mean, why bring it up until it's relevant, right?
Well, a while back, they took in an infant girl through foster care. The first time Maureen changed the baby's diaper in front of Dillon, the questions started.
"Mom, where's her wiener?"
"Um, she doesn't have one Dillon."
"Well, when's she going to grow one?"
"Girls don't have wieners."
"What do they have?"
Not having considered the wiener-equivalent nickname (burger? mac-n-cheese?), she walked out of the room to call Doug.
"Doug, Dillon wants to know what the baby's parts are called."
"Just tell him she has a cooter."
"NO, I can not tell him that."
"Then tell him it's a vagina."
"Aaahh. I can't tell an 8 year old THAT."
"Well, you've got to tell him something."
"Well, you think of something and tell him when you get home."
She walked back into the room and told Dillon that his father would explain it all to him when he got home. Later that day, Doug walked through the door ready to have a mature man-to-man talk with his son.
"Dad, Dad! Did you know girls have cooters?"
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
I've Created An Insatiable Monster
Asker has always had a fascination with the way our bodies work. When he was 2 and saw me using a tampon, it was not enough to tell him "Mommy is having her period." No, he needed to know why I was bleeding and what it meant. He understands the ovulation/menstration process better than most grown men. He uses all anatomically correct names (except for the occasional "package" for "penis"), and constantly asks me how different animal types reproduce.
When someone asks him if I have a baby in my belly, his typical response is..
"No, she didn't eat it. It's in her uterus."
I've always loved his enthusiasm and interest in all aspects of learning. Today was no exception. I borrowed a book from the library called A Child is Born. It's a very detailed book full of pictures and descriptions of how babies develop in utero. The kids and I sat and read through the whole book this morning.
We read each chapter that showed how the baby develops, comparing the pictures to how far I am. We spent a good deal of time looking at the highly enlarged egg and sperm pictures. They were quite fascinating and sparked some interesting conversations.
Now I had skipped the pages that showed the baby-making process. There were pictures showing body heat changes during sex and several pictures of men and women embracing and kissing. They weren't that graphic, but the people were obviously naked, and he is a smart kid, and I have just not been ready to explain the actual sex act to a 5 year old. I'm guessing he must have looked through the book later in the day and done some thinkin'.
Around bedtime, Toots was dressed in her princess dress, Asker was playing the prince and they were "waltzing" in his bedroom. I was reading a book to Clam, when all of a sudden Asker pulled away from his sister and said..
"Mom, I think I put some sperm in her."
Thank God for the book. I probably would have traumatized him with the look on my face. Instead I calmly held the book in front of my face, steadied my voice and asked why he thought so.
He hesitated a little and told me he thought maybe that was how sperm got into the lady.
For a split second I considered it. I relish opening little minds to new wonders. But I just couldn't do it. He's only 5!!! But I knew the old, "Jesus puts it there" explanation wasn't going to cut it. So I offered him the most mature and truthful explanation I had.
"Actually, Asker, that's almost how the sperm and the egg come together. But when you're married, your bodies will work differently."
He then proceeded to ask me if pirates drank blood, so I guess that answer was good enough for now.
God help me.
Saturday, January 20, 2007
Out of the Mouths of Babes
My MIL will be mortified, but I have to post this. I no longer keep baby books, I'm recording their lives on this blog instead.
Dave called his mom today to tell her about the pregnancy. A asked if he could tell her instead. I said ok, but told him to be sure she knew it was growing in me and not being adopted (something we've been planning). A, being the gracious son, let T tell her instead when she asked (demanded).
"Mom-mom. Mommy's having a baby. A new one"
"T, tell her where it's coming from." (says A)
"Um, it's going to come out of mommy's gina." (Dave and I are rolling)
A takes the phone, "Mom-mom. T said 'vagina' but she meant to say 'mommy's uterus.'"
Dave gives me that must-you-teach-our-toddlers-every-single-possible-anatomically-correct-body-part? look that has become so familiar.
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