Another whaaaaaat?

I have some great conversations with 'N'. To recall a few:
Dart Board/Dark Lord
The Disgusting Facts of Life
Bird's and Bee's at Target
Sugar Cookies, Elvis and Poop
Elves vs. Doorfs

And here we go again......

N: Are all terrorists Muslim's?
Me: No, many of them are, but not all.
(pause)
N: So in the next Harry Potter movie why is Professor Snape called the Half Blood Prince?
Me: Because his dad was a regular guy and his mom was a witch. His Mom's last name was Prince so he called himself the 'Half Blood Prince' because he had half of his Mom's blood.
N: And is that why he was half bad and half good? Because his Dad was bad and his Mom was good?
Me: Well we don't know what kind of man his Dad was. Professor Snape was a complicated character because he had made some bad choices but then he tried to make up for them by working with Dumbledore to defeat Voldemort.
N: Well I though he was half bad because he was half Muslim.
Me: Whaaaaat?
N: Half blood Prince, Half blood Muslim.
Me: You mean half blood Muggle?
N: Oh......Yeah.....Nevermind.....Muggles aren't terrorists.

Gratitude.....

Sometimes - I enjoy a good pity party.

I am too busy.
The laundry somehow multiplies hourly.
Why, exactly, have I volunteered to do so much at the Elementary School?
I am tired of telling my kids not to do something one million times - and then again.
I am tired of cooking.
There are not enough hours in the day to get things done.
My Hub's weird work schedule has him gone more that I would like.
I don't live near my Mom and Sisters.
Our retirement account is down by nearly 50%.
I don't want to clean pee off the back of anymore toilet seats anymore........

HOWEVER-

Tonight my Hub is out of town and the kids are at a sleep over. So, I went out with girlfriends to see TWILIGHT. And when I got home, my house was too quiet. It felt empty and lonely. And I was reminded of who I do it all for. I am so incredibly grateful that I have them - and that I have the capacity to serve them. I am grateful that The Hub has a great, and very secure job, and that he works hard to provide for us. I am glad that we are relatively unaffected by the current economic crisis, even considering the retirement account. I am glad that I have a house to clean, clothes to wash, and food on the table. (I will try to keep my enthusiasm for the food to a minimum!)

So - I am off to bed with a happy heart. I will try to suffer through my solitude as I spread out in the king size bed - using all four pillows, and I as sleep in tomorrow.

I just wish that someone else would pitch in with wiping the pee off the back of the toilet.

Stats on North Pole Employment

N: You know Mom, Elder Uchtdorf (ook-dorf) should work at the North Pole
Me: What? (wrinkled brow)
N: Like with Santa. He should work for Santa!
Me: What? (more wrinkling)
N: Cause he is like a dorf.
Me: (thinking hard then starting to laugh) You mean like a Dwarf?
N: Yep. He is just like a dorf.
Me: Well, Santa works with elves, not DWARFS. Dwarfs are regular people who don't grow as tall as average humans.
N: Oh. I thought he worked with dorfs. And Elder Uchtdorf actually looks pretty tall. I guess he shouldn't work for Santa after all.

This was not the first time that with raised eyebrows I have evaluated this kid, wondering how (in the name of all that is reasonable) his nutty brain works.


On a related note: QUOTES FROM THE KIDS -

A: I think that I know your favorite time of the day. It's the second that you tuck us all into bed and turn off the lights and escape downstairs.
A: Have you noticed that the more late we are, the madder you get at all of us? Maybe you should work on being on time more often.
Z: I really want to go on a cruise but those are only for rich people.
N: If you get mad at me then I guess that's okay - but you said the 'H' word. You said it two times and I don't think that's okay.
Z: I really want this thing for my birthday but if it is not the right price I will just ask for it for Christmas.
Z: If I was a vulture I would be a very peaceful one. Not the kind that eats dead bloody squirrels on the side of the road. Or maybe I would just be a duck. Or a goose.
Z: I think that I am very handsome. And complicated.
N: What if I was cleaner than soap? Would I have to take a bath then?
M: I need to take a pitocin. (me: so you can have a baby?) No....., so I can sleep. (me: do you mean a mealtoinin?) Oh......yeah.
Z: Do you know what is gross? Salad. Do you know what is grosser? Salad in throw up. With a hot dog on top.
N: Aaahhhh! I'm not wearing any underpants! Oh - wait - I actually am, the wind just blew up my shorts and touched my - never mind.
N: I am not playing attention to the Wii.
A: Are you being scarcastic?
A: What's on my Lagenda?

Motherhood? Oh Brother-hood!

Just over one decade ago, I birthed my first baby. I had great expectations of how fabulous my journey into motherhood was going to be. These expectation where demolished within two weeks of bringing 'A' home from the hospital. The baby had three functions: a dead sleep, nursing ferociously, and wailing in a near animalistic way. Throwing herself so ferociously into a crying fit, she suddenly would stop, and instantly fall asleep in absolute exhaustion. Nothing would pacify, and we had tried everything from a vibrating bouncy chair, to drives in the car, to pushing her around the gravelly parking lot of the nearest grocery store in the middle of the night. If 'A' was awake, she was miserable. And I was afraid. My perfect little baby had a problem.

She was hungry. I discovered that I was not producing enough breast milk to sustain infantile life. In fact, at a two week check up, 'A' had lost a whopping 2.5 pounds.

After I watched her slurp down not one, but two bottles of formula in the pediatricians office, and after I had a semi-major melt down over my maternal short comings, I hatched a plan. I met with the clinic’s lactation specialist, talked to someone at lack La Leche League and I made frequent appointments at a nearby store called the ‘Lactation Station’. I was armed with a myriad of advise and products. I felt confident. More than prepared to tackle the problem. Cheered on by breast feeding counselors, I had been assured that it would be ‘no problem’ to build up a proper milk supply. I consumed herbal tea called ‘mother’s milk’, swallowed gigantic holistic pills twice daily, and took some kind of powder that farmers gave to cows to promote bulk retail on dairy farms.

Then there was the spectacle of ‘the feeding’. I had been instructed to first electrically pump for five minutes, on each side. Next came the nursing, wherein I ‘let’ 'A' suckle, again for five minutes, on each side. This was nearly an impossible feat as she possessed infantile awareness that I was a completely unsuitable food source. We ritualistically fought for ten minutes as she would ferociously latch on and then angrily squirm, grunt, and finally wail. In a grand pre-show of the forth coming Parental Power Wars I attempted to force her compliance as she arched her back and fought me with all of her two week old might.

The next attraction was jimmy-rigging a bottle like contraption that hung from my neck by a cord. Once filled with formula, and whatever little else I was able to produce from the pumping session, the bottle would disperse nourishment from two long skinny straw-like tubes. The plastic tubes were literally taped strategically to my flesh (use your imagination here) so my child could consume the liquid life-force as if it were a product of my own maternal making. The tubes were designed for an agonizingly slow flow to further stimulate the production of breast milk, and neither mother, nor daughter were fooled by the farce. Only the taste of plastic would convince 'A' that hunger would be abated. Once sensing the presence of the tubes, she would latch on and get down to the serious business of eating. Following the feeding I was to pump again. For five minutes, on each side.

I felt like a contender in the breast feeding special Olympics. The starting shot was that guttural cry: feed me! And the games would begin. One hour later I would cross the finish line which was signaled only after I washed then placed the pump pieces and nursing device components on the drying rack. Ding, ding, ding! My event took place eight to nine times a day and I wondered what it would be like to go outside again. Or wear a shirt.

Two weeks later, 'A' became a bottle baby.

All issues surrounding the ill fated feeding fiasco seemed resolved as I packed up the pump. Minus the time and emotional constraints of failure to breast feed, I expected life to magically transform into some version of normal.

It didn’t.

Though re-gaining the two and a half pounds, and consistently then some, that she had originally lost, my tiny daughter suffered several side effects from the two week forced fast. Firstly, eating continued to be a very intense exercise. She would inhale the contents of a bottle with lightening like speed, faster than any baby I had seen, and believe me, I was watching. Several months later, when I started feeding her solids, she would suck the pureed contents off the spoon without leaving a tell tale sign of squashed fruits or vegetables on her face, which any one who has ever fed a baby can tell you is overly bizarre. Secondly, she was very....particular. If snuggled too closely, she would arch her back and screech, even while asleep. She did however, like to be bounced. But not close and cuddly. No, we had to straight arm her. Holding the baby perpendicular to our own bodies and bouncing her up and down in the air. It was exhausting, though possibly good for the forearms. The pediatrician guessed this was a post-traumatic stress reaction from two weeks of nursing on an empty breast.

Close human contact brought out my child's inner fear of starvation.

And as if I didn’t have enough to worry about (guilt from bottle feeding, worry about infantile eating disorders and the stress of producing an emotionally disabled newborn) there was the the insanely prolific acid reflux. Nothing would stay in 'A's stomach for for than five minutes. The one good thing that came from her dislike for being held closely, was that the projectile vomiting was always traveling in a direction opposite from whom ever was holding her. Strategically, she could be aimed towards something washable.

It is no wonder that when I was given a book I could not help but roll my eyes. It was called 'The Joy of Motherhood'.

Though now I can take the messages in the book to heart, at the time all I could think was: Motherhood? Oh Brother-Hood!

Halloween Party

They joined us for spooky-ness..... Saturday night.....
They came for the fun..... For a drink and a bite.....
They brought their best dish.....and brought their best spouse.....
And joined us for fun.....They haunted our house.....
Came dressed in thier best..... Halloween threads.....
Left all their wee one's..... Home in their beds.....
Then came the judging.... For Ashburn elite.....
With prize for yummiest..... Trick-or-treat eats.....
And prize for the costume..... Most awesome design.....
They came to our doorstep..... At six o'clock prime.....
Warmed up their vocal cords..... warned all to beware.....
As we sang karaoke...... When I asked, Do you dare?

Happy Birthday Baby!

My baby has turned five. It was at the end of last month and I am so lucky to have such a fun little guy in my life. Love you 'Z'!

When he was really a baby!

The traditional Birthday Breakfast of waffles with ice cream!

Birthday party number one!

Birthday Party number two!

McCain vs. Palin?

Shame on the back-stabbling McCain staffers who are cowardly trying to cover for their own ineptness by blaming the 2008 GOP loss on Sarah Palin. She was the one person who brought vitalitiy to an otherwise flat-lined campaign. John McCain's silence on the accusations made against her indicate that he either endorses the ungrateful, inaccurate denunciations, or worse, he is promoting them. It is Sarah Palin who should be criticizing McCain and his staff for such a lack-luster, disorganized failure of a campaign. If McCain can not stand up for the person he had chosen to be his number two in command, than how could the American people possibly expect him to stand up for them.

As a conservative who voted for McCain I am sincerely glad that Team Obama won.

And now - as a Virginian, I will be glad that there are no more campaigning knocks on my door or calls on my phone during dinner.