Did Someone Say Vacation?

A mere 32 weeks ago I made reservations for a nice little cabin in the mountains of Tennessee.  Funny, when I made the reservations and calculated that I would be over 7 months pregnant I thought, “Pshaw!”,  I am no wimp I can do it.  Even when George said that he wouldn’t be able to stay with us for the time at the cabin, I brushed it off, again, thinking I am only pregnant not dying.  Oh how a huge belly and many doctors’ orders later change things.  Luckily, George decided to stay with us, because the no lifting heavy things, as much as I said I could handle it, is really cramping my style. 

Like most vacations where children are involved it doesn’t feel like much of a vacation, but more like we have taken my act on the road:

There was grocery shopping.
Of course, this was vacation grocery shopping where we throw good health out the window
for convenience and the avoidance of arguments with small picky humans.

There was laundry to be done.
Of course it was at midnight and continued on into this morning, when I was awoken
by 2 small bouncing heads screaming how much fun it was to sleep in BUNK BEDS!
AW!  to be young and enjoy the small adventures life has to offer.

I fulfilled breakfast requests that went uneaten after only a few bites.
NOTE: The bread to the right of the bowl of cereal was a third in a series for
Sam. And he is still asking for more.

 

Then there was the ever so essential Command Central.  SoHubby has one, too, but
I must be connected to the wall.  Because we are on vacation.  In the mountains.
Where technology isn’t always reliable. 

Along with all this, there has been whining, because there are so many injustices on the road, time outs, because even on vacation once must maintain some kind of civility, crankiness, because when on vacation you are expected to stay up late which doesn’t always agree with everyone in the party (this includes a certain adult, but I ain’t naming any names), and early risers, who didn’t get the message that: WE ARE ON VACATION, and that means, for the love of all that is holy, letting mom sleep in. 

 

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30 Weeks

Once a month I go to my OB, she listens to the baby’s heartbeat, measures my stomach, gives me a bit of information and sends me on my merry way.  Last week, her bit of information was to inform me that I had to start seeing her every 2 weeks.  Her receptionist, being ever so efficient, made every appointment until July 24 when I will go in and have this little bundle of joy.  It was overwhelming to say the least, especially since I had planned to not leave my house beginning June 15 until I was forced out by an eager baby ready to be born.  It is hot out there and no place for a bulging, easy to anger mama, like myself.

Oh but the joys of pre-natal care ramped up a bit at my ultrasound appointment, today.  I was ready for the long wait.  Unless you get an appointment time of around 8am, you are going to wait at least an hour pass your appointment time.  I don’t like it, but not much I can do about it.  Today was worse.  Not only was I there a half hour early hoping that I would get in around my appointment time, but the doctor left me waiting in the ultrasound room for over 30 minutes.  As the clock ticked closer to 1pm, my appointment was for 11am, I informed SoHubby that if she wasn’t in here by 1pm I was leaving.  And we know I mean it.  I had just hopped off the table and began wiping the goo off my belly when the click, click of the doctor’s heels made their way to my room.  I hopped back on the table and that is when she looked at me and asked what was wrong.  “You look uncomfortable”.  Really, you think?  I have only been sitting here trying to control a tired little boy and an antsy husband while covered in goo and trying not to suffocate under the weight of my belly.  NO, no I am not uncomfortable at all. 

The worst part about these appointments is that they feel very rushed.  The tech does measurements first, but can’t tell you much.  You know legal stuff.  Her degree just doesn’t cut the mustard when explaining what the hell she is doing pushing and gliding all over you belly.  Then the doctor comes in rushed from all her appointments that have gotten behind, because she deals with nothing but pregnant women with some sort of problem or another.  I am guessing I am low on the problem scale, so things tend to get lost in the wash. 

Last appointment, I left wondering about the kidneys.  This appointment I left wondering why the hell do I have to go in twice a week for non-stress tests.  And telling me to come in for a NST and “take it easy” on a week when I am suppose to be preparing for an 8 hour trip to Tennessee and stay a week alone with my kids  doesn’t help in the stress department.  Yeah, what were you saying about taking it easy, because really that means nothing to me.  By the way, the kidneys are fine.  The right is perfect and the left is a little backed up or maybe it is the other way around.  Basically, all this worrying about backed up kidneys was just the pre-party to the placenta worry party going on right now.  My placenta seems to be covering half of my cervix and the doctor hopes that as the baby grows she will push it aside.  Even me reminding her that I am already scheduled for a C-section and a long and closed cervix (EW!) didn’t earn me a get out of NST free card.

Just this Sunday I was having second thoughts about having my tubes tied,  those thoughts have been squelched.  Now, I am thinking I am glad I signed those papers last week, when I had a moment of clarity, because I am more than willing to leave my reproductive years behind me.  Especially, if the older I get is the ticket to all these fun tests. 

NOTE:  The ultrasound doctor didn’t call my OB to notify her of my NSTs, which I was informed means that this is merely a precautionary measure and nothing to be too concerned with.  It seems that the ultrasound doctor is very thorough and careful.  Basically, don’t worry until there is something to worry about.  Which only leaves me wishing we had more birthday cake so I can drown my angst.

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Boudin and Me

Friday night, I, finally, got to watch Marley and Me.  You know that lovable story about a rotten dog and the family who loved him.  Frankly, I didn’t see much wrong with Marley.  Seemed like a typical Lab to me.  We had a part Lab and that dog ate an entire outdoor swing and doghouse.  It is what Labs do, CHEW!  However, I do understand the aggravation of having a pain in the ass dog and loving him just the same.

Boudin came to us through a weak moment at the mall pet store.  There he was in his little cage with one of his siblings just looking as cute as a Beagle puppy could.  I just had to show him to SoHubby, then my to-be, with no intentions of getting a dog.  I mean who is crazy enough to get a puppy 2 weeks before they are scheduled to get marry and go off on a week long honeymoon.  Us, apparently.  This was my first lesson in SoHubby’s impulse buy of the expensive nature.  We sat in the little store going back and forth.  I wanted to just wait and get a pound puppy.  All my dogs before had been from the pound.  SoHubby was in a bind and needed a wedding gift for me, pronto and this looked like his way out.  I guess Boudin’s cuteness got to me and the constant nagging of SoHubby and we walked up to the cashier and paid for our first dog together.  I will never forget ,there was a woman and her daughter in line in front of us and she went on how the dumbest dog she ever had was a Beagle.  I guffawed at such a notion, because surely if you have a little patience and train your dog everything will be bliss.  AW, the young and foolish.

Those nights with an 8 week old pup would prepare me for the up all nights one has with a newborn.  There was much crying and yelping.  And not all would be from the dog.  For some reason, SoHubby thought this would be my job to take care of this dog.  Nice wedding gift, huh, one that poops on the carpet and keeps you up all night.  Frankly, I was use to getting my 10 hours and was none to happy getting up with a dog.  I had never had this experience with a dog, but that might have been because I never had a puppy this young before.  Although, unhappy with this situation, I pushed on and spent my days with Boudin.  Mostly trying to get him not to chew on electrical wires and chairs.  Walking him and begging him not to eat his own poop while trying not to throw up in front of the neighbors.  Slowly we grew to an understanding that I was the head Bitch around here and he was to do what he was told.  However, there was one thing that I could never control and it annoys me to this day.  His barking.

Beagles are hunting dogs.  They basically sniff out small prey for their masters and their loud, obnoxious barks are to point out what they have found.  Boudin would never have a chance to hunt like he was intended, but the instinct is there.  He hunted the cat barking the whole time.  Cleo was pretty much disgusted by this whole ordeal and found refuge on top of a bookshelf.  Then Boudin had to find another way to get his barking out of his system.  That would mean barking at any and everything.  Sure dogs bark when a person knocks, especially a person they don’t know, but eventually they stop.  Not Boudin.  He can hear you coming from a mile away and he just knows you are coming to our house and that is when the barking starts and it doesn’t stop until I either threaten bodily harm or the person is a mile away.  The barking is not reserved just for people that Boudin doesn’t know, oh he will go apeshit when it is someone he knows.  He not only barks, but runs himself into the floorboards.  That is when he is excited.  The worst is when he barks, I get up to see who is here and there is nothing and no one outside. My only explanation for why he jumped from his bed and ran barking to the window is that he heard a fly fart and thought I should know about it, IMMEDIATELY.  So I totally understand the scene in Marley and Me when the mom is so tired, finally has gotten her 2 babies down for a nap  ready to take a nap herself and then hears the rumblings of the garbage truck.  She jumps into action and begs the dog to just be quiet.  The dog goes crazy, because, hey, there is a garbage truck out there and that only happens every week.  Next we see the dad come home and the mom sits there out of her mind screaming for him to take the dog away.  She doesn’t care where, just away.  Oh that scene has been played out in this house many times and many times I have thought about what to do with the body when SoHubby refuses to remove the noise machine.  Lucky for Boudin, I was too tired to put my plans of permanent eviction in motion.  I have just come to realized that there is nothing, short of removing his voice box (and I have heard it done for Beagles, but I couldn’t bring myself to do that), to be done about the barking.  It is in his make-up just like it is in my make-up to scream, “SHUT THE HELL UP!”  We all have our faults.

As much as I claim to hate Boudinand threaten him on a regular basis, there is some love between us.  I am the one to take him to his vet appointments.  I make sure he has a place to stay when we go on vacation.  And I am the one to scream, “SHUT THE DAMN DOOR”, so he won’t escape, another charming attribute of the Beagle, which would then lead me to go searching for him all over the neighborhood.  The kids feed him every morning and SoHubby does most of the potty duty.  Boudin is part of this family and like most family members there are things about him that we could do without, but like most loving families we choose to overlook them and make sure he is taken care of, even if he was the reason there is one hotel in Destin, FL that we can never darken their door, again.  Heck, we might be forbidden to enter the city limits of Destin ever again.  I guess it is a small price to pay for love.

For your listening pleasure:

Sam took on the part of reenacting my response.

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NO FEAR!! Batman is here!

 

Ready to fight crime…

right after this training video.

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My Traveling Camera

It seemed like there were many opportunities for pictures while we were out and about, but all I ever had with me was the camera on my phone.  While the pictures were okay, it was hard to take pictures of unstable subjects, like say, children.  I would go for a shot and get a blur.  Now, my camera skills are not great, but, at least, with my Sony I can get a decent shot even if the subject is not at a perfect stand still or in the perfect light.  Of course, that means that I spent a buttload of money to keep the camera on auto, but we will just stick that little factoid in our back pockets for now.  I will say that I have been trying out the different features, but I don’t think I will be any good until I read the manual.  And you will find out later why that will never happen.

Anyway, I was sent this siteand a lightbulb went off over my head.  Hey, I carry a diaper bag and who says that all I can carry in it is diapers and other baby related stuff.   It is explained here why I haven’t bought one of these fine bags, yet, but I did find one that fit the bill.  And hey, new baby means new diaper.  And no, it doesn’t matter how many diaper bags I have in my closet, SOHUBBY, there is still room for more.  Besides, this one is so perfect how could I pass it up and it is saving the environment, 6 plastic bottles at a time.  Suck on that you, tree loving hippies.  Yeah, I maybe a conservative, but I am still doing my part. 

In an effort, to avoid forgetting my camera on those all important picture opportunities, like the zoo or school functions, or to have it ready for those spontaneous moments when we are just out and about doing our thing I have found a nice little pocket in my diaper bag for my big honking camera.  The one that can take a decent picture no matter who the photographer maybe.  In this little experiment, I have found there are not that many great spontaneous occasions and I am a little embarrassed by pulling out my camera at say the Home Depot.  But I pushed on and here is what I got:

I don’t know what compelled me to take a picture in the garden department of Home Depot,
but I thought what the hey, why not capture what normally goes on.
While a picture maybe worth a thousand words, this picture does not show the many words
thrown in SoHubby’s direction,
when he decided to wander off when we went to the bathroom. 
It is hot at the Home Depot, even inside, and 7 months pregnant and hot don’t mix.
I was more than willing to leave SoHubby right there in the garden department and start life anew.
Lesson here: Don’t leave your pregnant wife with trailing kids in the hot sun while you go 
window shopping in the paint department. And TURN YOUR CELL PHONE ON!!!

Later that day we would decide to have a nice dinner at Mosca’s, the best Italian restaurant in town.
They would make up a table for us in the front room as they were booked with reservations for
the night.  No, we don’t have any pull, they are just nice people. 

This was taken in the exam room of our pediatrician’s office. 
We knew we would be in for a long wait, so Amber came prepared.
What is so special about this picture?
Well, I am not a reader and don’t particularly enjoy reading to my kids.  I do it,
but I am not fond of it.  So, I am a bit surprised that my kids like to read.
I don’t know if they LOVE to read, but they do like it.  I still think either one of them
would choose the moving pictures over sitting quietly and reading a book, but, at least,
they are willing to read instead of being bored and asking me a million times, “When is the doctor coming?”
Oh, they asked, the book just cut it down from a million to a couple of thousand.

Amber is reading Junie B.  She was introduced to them by her teacher, because I had no idea she was ready
to move up to chapter books.  Hell, in first grade I was trying to write my name and watching Jane run.

I didn’t get as many pictures as I thought I would having my camera at the ready, but I think I will continue to carry it around.  It really doesn’t add more weight to the bag and it was nice to not smack myself at Amber’s Chess Club party, because I had forgotten my camera.  Also, it is nice not having to email my pictures to myself from my phone.  Yeah, I could just set up the software on my computer, but again there is that manual and learning new things thing, again.  Two more things not tops on my list of things I most want to do. 

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Earning Her Keep

We have a couple of traditions that gone on every Saturday around here.  Both were demanded created by the 2 smallest people in the house.  First is cinnamon rolls, loudly requested by Sam.  And, no, not homemade cinnamon rolls, even though I would be happy to oblige.  These cinnamon rolls must come in a pop can with a chubby dough boy on the front.  Second, is washing dishes.  Sure washing dishes goes on everyday, many times a day, but on Saturdays it is Amber’s job.  Who came up with this idea?  She did!  One Saturday morning she came into the kitchen and announced her chore was to wash dishes.  Looking back, it was good this demand was made in front of her father, because being of sound Mommy brain, I would have simply said don’t worry about it, I have it.  SoHubby is never one to take away a moment where he can get someone else to do something for him.  He is a born supervisior. 

Of course, she must wear her apron , which I think is funny, because even though
I have an apron I rarely remember to wear it and often complain about getting
crud all over my clothes.
Hmmm…maybe she is listening.

She sets to work.  Taking care to scrub every last bit of dried on,
disgusting morsel of day old food off of every plate, spoon, pot,
and cup.  She takes great pride in her work, until…

she is distracted by the TV.  I think she remained like this for a good minute or so.
Not many people know this, but I chose our home because you can see the TV
from the kitchen, no matter what you are doing.  I never wanted to be stuck in a room all by myself with
nothing but peace and quiet.  This was before we had kids.  Live and learn, people. Live and learn.

Shortly after Amber has finished up her dishes, SoHubby will come walking by to “supervise”.
There will be many directions  given on how to rinse the dishes properly, meaning no soap left on them
and some scolding on how one shouldn’t splash water everywhere.
Me, I am just happy the sink is empty for a few minutes and the water had soap and not
something sticky.  Besides, there is a slightly older and bigger person in the house that puts dishes
away when they are still wet. AHEM!  The air outside the cabinets is the same as inside.
That’s all I’m saying.

 

 

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What About Preschool?

Generally, the way it works in our home is I make a decision regarding the children, discuss it with SoHubby, he half listens to me then gets all concerned when he talks to another parent or teacher and questions my judgement.  Lately he is concerned because Sam is not in school.  This all came about after he talked to a teacher in a bar (Yeah, I know.  And don’t worry he was there on business.) and she told him about all the things her 3 years olds were doing.  Needless to say, Sam can’t do even half of them. He barely knows all his colors and maybe one letter of the alphabet.  Am I concerned?  Nope.  Is SoHubby concerned?  You betcha.  I ease his concerns for, now, and relax in knowing that I am always right. 

We have been down the preschool path with Amber and I can clearly see the pros and cons.  Mostly, the question I keep asking myself, was why did I ever put her in school at 2 years old?  My goal was to put her into a part time program where she could play with other kids and I would get a little time to myself.  What I found out was that there weren’t any of those programs in our area.  Sure I could have put her in part time and paid full price.  Looking back, I think, at the very least, I should have just bit the bullet, paid full price and sent her only a few days a week.  The best would have been just to keep her home.  At that time, I was pulled in by all the mommy talk.  The talk that centered around what the other kids were doing and me looking at my daughter playing quietly and avoid answering the questions.  Amber knew about as much as Sam when she entered school at the ripe old age of 2 years old.  She could barely talk, but I was so proud by the end of that year she knew her colors, letters, numbers, etc.  That high didn’t last long when I found out that she had to know how to hold a pencil and write her name by the time she entered the 3 year old class.  That was a hellish summer of struggle.  I tried to teach her and she wanted to play.  How dare she be a normal 3 year old with all her playing and crap?  I decided then that I would let the cards fall where they may and see what happened that year.  What happened was, Amber struggled with relationships and school work.  This would go on until the end of Kindergarten.  Amber was endangered of failing and summer school was suggested.  We pressed on and enjoyed our summer.  Now, Amber  is at the end of first grade  and has brought home straight A’s every report card.  Sure there have been bumps, but nothing like what turned my insides into mush those 3 years.  

The main reason Sam is not in preschool is financial.  Each year tutition goes up about 10% and I thought it  would be better to start building a fund then to shove him into school.  I would keep him out until Kindergarten, but with the requirements so high and the threat of a test if the child hasn’t gone to the school before have forced me to let him go at 4 years old.  I am a wee bit concerned that he won’t make it, but I am sure he will get the hang of it.  I mean if it took Amber 3 years to get her footing with her previous schooling experience how bad could it be for Sam walking in almost a blank slate.  Besides, Sam has 3 teachers guiding him.  SoHubby is great at teaching the kids things with patient.  Amber loves to talk to Sam about what she learned in school or tying him down to actually play school.  And I teach in my own way.  He will know all the colors of the rainbow as they appear on the bottom shelves of the grocery store and Target.  It is not formal or government approved, but he is getting there.  Hey, the boy can read to some extent.  Okay most of it is recognizing logos, but he does me proud when he can spot the Target when we come over the highway.

There is my belief that I think we expect too much out of our children, academic wise.  Many of us, adults, didn’t learn to read or write until we were in the first or second grade and we are not drooling morons.  I get concerned that children will be burnt out by the time they reach 8th grade or sooner.  At that time most of them have been in school for the majority, if not all, of their life.  I can’t blame some of them to skip college and just veg for awhile.  There is a ton of pressure on kids these days;  a pressure I don’t remember.  Not only to do well in school, but to do well on tests to make sure you are up to par with everyone else.    Right now, I am just trying to hold on long enough to potty train Sam so that we can mark that one requirement off our pre 4 list.  And who says it is all bad to pretend to be Batman all day, flip through books making up stories to the pictures and spending a little time with mom?  Sounds like a good life to me.  As for all the competimommies out there who want to make me feel bad and themselves feel good because their kids know so much more than mine, I say PSHAW!  My 3 year old can sing Hannah Montana better than some of the girls and he knows how to work an ATM.  Beat that!

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The Gift that Keeps on Giving

 

When your easy solution to a tent request is rendered limp and your suggestion of
a blanket tent are met with screams, there is no choice but to pull out the Batman tent.
The tent that requires an engineer degree and special Bat tools just to erect.
As you can see Sam is always on the move, which is why most of his pictures are blurry.
I am going to refer to this stage as the Constant Blur. 

You enlist the help of your daughter, because your loving wife is sitting on the sofa,
big and pregnant, laughing and taking pictures.
After your nap, you will periodically stick your head out of the tent to scream at her to
STOP TAKING PICTURES!
She will continue to laugh at you and pissing you off.
This was the side of SoHubby we saw for about 20 minutes. 
He was working really hard at making his kids happy and me ache with laughter.

After some time, your assistant will lose interest in holding up giant bat ears. 
Also, it maybe time to accept that I am not the best photographer in the world or
I can still blame the constantly moving children.
Yeah, I think I will continue with the latter.

Affected by extreme boredom, the assistant will turn to silliness to add a little excitement
to the mix.  Although, the erector will not find it amusing.
“Hey!  My instructions are in there!”
And look you can take the tent camping. It says so on the box.
I am sure it is totally weatherproof and comfortable to leave small children in the
wilderness of Louisiana for a night.
As you can see the one the tent is being built for finds this all very amusing.

Speaking of Sam.  He was a bit occupied with a friend.

Later the tent would become enraged and eat SoHubby.

Unphased, Sam continued his visit with his friend.

Victory!

Hours of fun!
Okay, minutes of fun!
But look at that face, he appreciated every bit of  blood, sweat and tears that went
into erecting this hell of a tent.

NOTE:  The tent will remain up until I am sick of moving it out of the way, in order, to clean.  At which time I will become angered by the mere presence of the tent and tear it down in a great rage.  At this moment, not one child has stepped into the tent since the day it was erected.  I am sure it is just an oversight on their part.  I mean it is probably hard to see a giant bat tent in the middle of the playroom. 
Also, this post may self-destruct due to SoHubby being not so keen on having his picture taken in his bathrobe. 

 

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