Things are looking up

The highlight of my day yesterday was opening a box of public speaking textbooks I planned to give to my TAs on Monday and finding the box filled with tomes titled Tonal Harmony. I'm sure this is a lovely text. But it's not the lovely book I need first thing Monday morning, you know?

So, I new today HAD to be better than yesterday.

And so far it is exceeding my modest expectations.

We went downtown this morning and pushed our way through the crowds at the farmers market in search of organic produce and chocolate croissants

We also enjoyed the terrace one more time before the students descend next weekend.

Here's Jack's fat fist waving hello (or maybe goodbye) to the duckies

Harry and Ben did some serious kite flying




Moments after this idyllic shot, because we were at the student union, Ben and I reminisced about the time Ben was building manager of the Ball State student center to supplement his grad student income of $436 a month and the building caught on fire and Ben was supposed to be the last man out, but he so resented helming that sinking ship that he never went back to work there. Also, since the building burned down on his watch, he was taken off the schedule. And then Harry asked seven million questions about the fire, and kept asking the same questions even after we answered them several times, and we had to gouge our ears out with knitting needles we borrowed from an old lady pulling a wagon full of sweet corn and tissue box cozies. The end.

Jack Jack: The Follow-Up

No H1N1.

Good thing, too, because we had been dosing him up with Tylenol and/or Motrin and dragging him pretty much everywhere.

We saw the other pediatrician at our pediatrician's office, and she said he had the remains of healing sores in his mouth and throat and that he probably had hand, foot, and mouth which has been going around like crazy. How she saw anything through the Veggie Booty crumbs is beyond me, but she seemed pretty sure.

I was actually a little bummed that it wasn't swine flu because he was already on the mend, and if he got it now, maybe he won't get really sick this winter. Speaking of? I think I'll be avoiding the gym daycare like, um, the plague during cold and flu season. And giving Harry a Silkwood shower everyday after preschool.

But seriously, assholes like us are the reason for pandemics. On Saturday, we masked Jack's fever and took the kids to a fantastic brunch at a cute local organic cafe-- the kind of place with a kickass bakery, cozy benches and armchairs, and an extensive wine list. Ben and I both had wine with our food (vanilla french toast for him and a grilled veggie pita for me), and children were the only patrons NOT imbibing in the whole place.
Jack mostly smeared himself with cupcake and ignored his grilled cheese (a little too sophisticated for a toddler, with pesto and aged cheddar)

Harry snarfed some of Jack's infected sandwich, my mozzarella covered zucchini slices, and Ben's french toast and berries in addition to his own scrambled eggs and fruit cup, and he practiced turning into the Incredible Hulk

We haven't paid as much attention as we usually do to Harry because Jack's been sick, but he managed to occupy his time

Ben tok this picture of me chasing Harry on the playground, and it cracked me up-- look at my legs all flopping to the sides while I run. Once a waddling fat kid always a waddling fat kid. At least I have finally learned how to dance like no one's watching.

Quarantine

I'm stuck inside until my test results come back. Send toaster waffles and whole milk. Maybe some Dora DVDs. STAT.

During last season's swine flu scare, I told Harry we couldn't play on the mall playground anymore because if he did, he'd get swine flu for sure. I sure do know how to effectively communicate with children, huh? He has shunned the play area every time we've gone to the mall, hanging tighter to my hand as we passed it and never once asking to go in.

When Ben got his nose fixed, though, sheer boredom, rainy weather, and a need to leave Ben the heck alone drove us to the nasty cesspool of a play area (after a nutritious and surely germ-free food court dinner). Harry gasped with horror, surprise, and excitement when I told him we were going to the indoor playground.

"Won't I get swine fwu?" he asked. I assured him he wouldn't. And it turns out he probably didn't.

But Jack did.

Maybe.

The test takes 3 days, and he only just got swabbed on Saturday. When we were at urgent care for 2 freaking hours crammed in an exam room because we were a health risk in the waiting area. And no one would come in to see us without full haz-mat gear.

Effing mall playground.

I'm going to put you on speakerphone, so I can gesticulate wildly. I said STAT. STAT!

I don't know how I can be so happy with a fever either. Maybe I'm a psychopath.

Here piggy piggy

What are we eating this week? Lots of charred animal flesh because Ben just got a new grill (that he and Harry assembled while I took Jack to get tested for H1N1 yesterday afternoon. Awesome)

And last night? We ate the WORST meals. Ben came home from the store with wine, Hostess powdered Donettes, and kosher hot dogs and that's pretty much what we had. With leftover taquitos, sliced grapes, and TJ's baked cheese crucnhies (like cheetos with real cheese).

But I swear, we'll do better this week.

So, I'm thinking about this:

Sunday:
so help me, we're going to Pizza Hut again. with a coupon. we are so cosmopolitan it kills me.

Monday
burgers
blanched green beans and pea pods, carrots, and celery with dill dip
strawberries
(this meal is a bit of dieter's dilemma for me because I can either eat a teeny, tiny hamburger (like 2.5-3 ounces) or I can eat a regular sized veggie burger. blurgh)

Tuesday
chicken salads
corn
sliced pears

Wednesday
brats
steamed broccoli or cauliflower (whichever looks better)
more strawberries

Thursday
chicken tacos
veggies and salsa

Friday
dinner out-- maybe we'll brave the throngs of incoming students and have dinner on the terrace or maybe we'll try this ridiculous place across from Ben's office called like Fat Sandwiches or something that serves things like mozzarella sticks and french fries ON a sandwich. the possibilities, I am trying to say, are endless

Saturday
steak
baked potatoes
asparagus
tossed salad
(all of this prepared fresh, not the night before, and hopefully eaten after the kids are snug in their own beds and paired with a lovely red)

Hmmmm, sometimes, my menus sounds JUST LIKE school lunches. But none of the fruit is canned, so that's a key difference.

Here's Jack, spreading a horrible virus all over town. More about that later.

14,465

Okay, so I have 14,465 pictures in my iPhoto library. Most of them are of my kids, but ya'll know my favorite thing to do is to put pictures of myself on my own blog, so I'd say a good 1500 of them are just of me.

And about 14,300 of them just suck.

Like this one

And this one

Aso this one


I am no Jamie or Gina, that's for sure.

I mostly take pictures of Harry and Jack's butts and feet (not on purpose)


Or wait until something awkward is obscuring a face before I snap



I have 14,465 pictures in my iPhoto library, and I am out of memory-- I didn't even have enough spare space to update my freaking iTunes software. I got an error message that I swore to Ben meant I needed a MacBook Pro, but he was not buying that (my interpretation of the message OR the computer). He suggested I back my stuff up to my time machine and clear my iPhoto library. This seems like a reasonable suggestion, and I know that the 10,000 pictures (of Harry! Just Harry! 10,000!) that used to reside on my now-defunct PowerBook are just fine on my external hard drive. But they're all the way upstairs in my desk, and I am all the way down here on my couch, so they might as well be in Siberia (speaking of? I'm totally freaked out about rogue asteroids, and I blame Ben because he had a glib FB status update about a potential impact in 37 years, and I started googling all this crazy shit about asteroids hitting the earth and Siberia 1908 was at the top of the list).

So, internets, what do I do? Is it safe to clear my library after I back up my photos, or will my kids' memories be destroyed? Should I tell iTunes 8.1 or whatever to shove it and never add another thing to my hard drive (except pictures! I take more shitty pictures everyday!) Should I upgrade my memory? Delete bad pictures before they make it from camera to computer?

Or was I right all along, and I just need the MacBook Pro? (also wow-- spellcheck thinks MacBook is a real word now-- neat).

Thanks in advance for all the advice.

(and this is where I would say something sweet and post a lovely picture from my library, BUT I DON'T HAVE A LOVELY PICTURE BECAUSE I AM BAD AT TAKING THEM. so I'll leave you with this gem)

Even yippies get the blues

Today has been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

Which is odd because a lot went right today.

I saw the sun rise out the gym window at 5 something this morning, and according to the locker room scale, my driver's license weight is no longer a lie. After my shower, Ben and I snuggled in bed with Jack for at least 20 minutes, which might be the longest he's ever had us to himself in his whole life. Harry slept in until 7:30-- which is like noon to a a normal person-- and woke up dry and chipper. The boys and I got dressed early and hung out on Harry's school playground for an hour before school, and Jack and I had a relaxing pre-Little Gym coffee (and milk) date. Jack took a surprise mid-morning nap, and I watched some HGTV before heading to the office to wrap up some loose ends, a task I accomplished with shocking efficiency. On the way to my car , I bought a fairly disgusting amount of Nerds gumballs and chewed 3 packs on my drive. I was home by 3:45, secure in the knowledge that my dinner was already made and waiting for me in the fridge-- the kids' plates were even filled with food cut into bite-size chunks and snugly Pressed and Sealed-- and ready to take Harry and Jack back to the playground.

And that, my friends, is when it all turned to crap.

(not totally fair, I guess, to blame all of my day's angst on coming home, I guess. I was murderously angry when my alarm went off at 5, a feeling that did not dissipate until about 8 minutes into my sluggish workout when I finally broke a real sweat and felt the first drip of endorphins. Harry almost made me stab myself in the ear with my tweezers because he could not stop tattling on Jack while I tried to get dressed after breakfast. Jack was a crabby slab of crab at LG and didn't want to do any of the skills and almost sunk his chompers into another baby's roly poly arm when she took his blue ball. my office thermostat was set on 55 when I got to work today, and I was wearing shorts and a tank top and my toes turned a little blue by the time I left. so, yeah. there were annoyances scattered throughout the day.)

When I walked in the door after work, the kids were red faced and sullen, eating little bowls of Teddy Grahams and watching the wildly inappropriate Incredible Hulk cartoon they are currently in love with. They had been playing outside, and Jack's morning nap was his only one of the day, so both of them were nearly hysterical with fatigue.

"Hey guys!" I said. "What did you do today?"

"Nothing," Harry replied. "Can you move? I'm trying to watch the T E."

As saintly Jamie gathered her stuff and gave me a run down of their day (which sounded really fun and outdoorsy, 2 things that don't always describe the days the 3 of us spend together), Harry and Jack both just sort of whined at nothing in particular.

"Want to go back to the playground?" I asked them.

"No fank you," said Harry, who has been working on saying "pease" and "fank you" at school and loves to practice at home. "I want to go to the toy store and buy a toy," he told me.

"Nah," I said, dismissing his request automatically.

He blinked at me in disbelief, opened his mouth, and screamed a long, loud, wail of distress. "I want a toooooooooy," he cried, tears instantly appearing in his eyes and raining down his cheeks.

Jack pointed at Harry and laughed, then he shoved another fistful of Teddies in his mouth and turned back to the Hulk.

Harry screamed, danced, jumped, and repeated his request for a new toy, pulling his hair, rending his garment, and raising his voice even louder when I politely declined.

His tantrum was so funny, I called Ben 3 times-- until he left a meeting to take my call, sure that something terrible was happening-- just so he could listen to the dramz, and he agreed it was worth the interruption.

He calmed down (under threats to turn off his movie), and I hauled 3 loads of laundry upstairs, thinking the crisis had been averted. Just as I was folding the first dish towel, Jack happily tearing books off the bookshelf next to me, Harry came pounding up the stairs screaming.

He took it upon himself to see to his own toilet, and he sprayed the downstairs powder room really impressively-- the hand towels were wet. The tissue box was wet. The roll of toilet paper was soaked through.

I mopped up the mess while keeping half an ear trained on the thumps Harry and Jack were making upstairs. I finished wringing out piss-soaked towels about the time Harry decided he HAD TO HAVE MORE TEDDY GRAHAMS RIGHT NOW and did not like it when I told him we were out.

If you think the chocolate cats from Trader Joe's are a good substitute for Teddy Grahams, you are a stupid effing idiot.

Three minutes later, he was falling apart because he needed a cup of mini marshmallows -- NEEDED IT--and didn't care when we were eating dinner.

Then Jack-- he of the heinous diaper rash and the intense hatred for grooming of any kind-- crapped his pants and had to be wrestled into a fresh diaper.

Sometime during that ordeal, Harry misplaced his medium-sized Buzz Lightyear doll (not to be confused with his small Buzz Lightyear doll or his big one whose mission log doesn't open and who is a constant source of disappointment for this reason) and when I went into the toy closet to see why Harry was keening, I wasn't surprised to see Buzz gone since every toy Harry and Jack own was ripped off its hook, scooped off its shelf, or dumped out of its bucket.

From the time I got home until Ben rescued me, I only had the wherewithal and free hands to tweet like 6 times. It was that bad, people. I was cut off from teh interwebs for goodness sake.

I thumbed Ben some franticly incoherent text messages, and when he got home amid delightedly angelic cries of "Dada!", all I could say was "I will NOT be the first responder every night. It's like freaking triage when you walk in the door. We need to coordinate our schedules, damn it! DON'T LEAVE ME ALONE WITH THEM AGAIN!"

Gosh! I am exhausted just writing that. I need a drink. Thank goodness for the bottle of organic, sulfite-free red on top of the fridge because even yippies get the blues.

Caution: Children pictured on this blog may be crabbier than they appear

Nose Job-- it's actually a terrible sweet 16 gift, if you ask me

I left Ben's surgery totally bummed out because the whole ordeal was so freaking terrible, I know I'll never get my spider veins fixed or have those giant boobs I've always wanted or even let someone suck out my saddlebags.

Seriously, I'll never elect elective surgery.

When I went out to the (super plush) waiting room, I said good bye to this guy:


And I came back to this guy:


who look like this without the ice pack:


It just sucked, you guys. His face hurt. The percocet made him feel creepy. The ice hurt his nose, but NOT having ice hurt worse. The antibiotics destroyed his stomach. Ibuprofen was not enough to keep the pain at bay, but percocet just made him want to lay in a dim room and whimper. The dissolving packing has not yet started to dissolve, but it is hanging out of his nostril and looks like a black hornet's nest, so he has to wear a gauze pad and looks very Michael Jackson. He's really weak-- we thought he felt okay on Saturday, so we took the kids to the splash park and dinner and then decided to hit up Trader Joes, and Ben almost passed out in the juice aisle, and we had to leave. He said he felt heat strokey (it was like a million degrees outside and so humid you could drink the air) and drank a vat of water in the car with the AC running full blast. Poor guy.

He was much better yesterday:

I was back to nagging him to pick up his own trash and arguing over who had to bathe the little beasts in record time. Phew.