Halloween!

Let’s start with the Pumpkin Patch.  A tradition that consumes you with trying to get the perfect picture, then you die because you, even, annoy yourself:

First goal is to get everyone to look at the camera.

Not quite there, yet, but dammit if I will give up.
We are talking about memories, people!

Close!

Not quite what I had in mind, but I won’t give up!

Okay, now we are just going backwards.

Very good, now, can we get a smile from EVERYONE!

Yeah, this isn’t going to work.
I am screaming, SMILE, Evie is distracted by the hay and Sam is plotting his midnight rampage.
Amber, on the other hand, could do this all day long.
I guess we will have actual memories, instead of those plastered face smiles hiding our bitterness.

Costumes:

I couldn’t resist.
If  Robert Downey, Jr. is ever not up for IronMan 3, I have his replacement.

I was proud to escort IronMan, a Glamor witch and Ophelia.
Yes, that’s right the same Ophelia from Hamlet.
Don’t ask.  This was her 3rd costume within a week.
That girl is lucky I didn’t spend any money on those costumes.

And finally, DA DA DUM!:

SoHubby’s spontaneous Shit My Dad Says costume.
Things to know:
Sohubby did NOT have to buy any part of this costume.
Yes, he had all parts waiting in his closet.
He did NOT plan to wear this for Halloween.
He simply went upstairs and put something on to take the kids Trick or Treating.

Spooky, spooky decorations:

It was a wild, fun, crazy, whiny, sugar filled, scary, busy, happy Halloween.
I hope people like getting some candy with their Christmas gifts, because I was left with buckets of it.
Onward to Thanksgiving.
Who decided that all the eating holidays should be at the end of the year?

 

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Our Maytag/Whirlpool Saga

Maybe you have heard of a blogger by the name of Dooce?  And maybe you even heard about a slight dust up regarding Dooce and the Maytag company.  Dooce, fresh home from delivering her second baby, was met with a brand new washer that didn’t work.  So as the dirty smelly clothes piled up, Dooce got more pissed off and blasted Maytag on Twitter.  Of course, because this involved Dooce a bigger dusted up occurred and more bloggers piled on, then the Doocites piled on top of those bloggers who dared to question their leader and a legend was born.  One that ended with a new washer for Dooce and another that was fixed.  Later the new washer would be donated to a charity and Dooce and her family lived another day in clean clothes.

My problem is that I am not Dooce, but I am one pissed off customer.  You see we have a Maytag French Door refrigerator.  It is pretty and shiny and did it’s job up until it sent in it’s resignation letter by way of our ice and water dispenser.  We bought our lovely new toy about 3.5 yrs ago.  How do I remember?  Well, 1. it was our Christmas present to each other (Yes, that is what adults do.) and 2. it was a year after Katrina (You know they way us New Orleanians tell time, now).  We waited a year, when everyone else was buying new refrigerators after they took one look at the horror that is having no power for a month does to the innards of one’s refrigerator.  Most smart people closed the doors, taped them shut and wheeled the smelly, maggot filled monster to the curb where it would sit for weeks until the Parish got it’s shit together to pick them up.  One day those refrigerators will make for a very lovely subdivision where air freshener sales will sky rocket.  Nope, we were being frugal and smart, so we thought.  SoHubby made it to our home a week after the storm and discovered that we had power.  However, he knew that it was best to throw out the contents of our old Frigidaire.  He even cleaned it up real nice, so that when ever I was able to make it home I would have a nice clean refrigerator in which I could fill with brand spanking new food.  The only problem was that I could never get rid of these little black flies.  They were always dead in the freezer, but a lifetime of dustbusting our freezer was too much for me.  So Christmas of 2006 when we were sure that we did survive after such a disaster we decided that we should be rewarded with a brand new fancy refrigerator.  And wouldn’t you know it, Maytag had just come out with it’s French door refrigerator with the…wait for it…dum, dum, da ice and water on the door.  On the door, you say.  ON the door.  I just had to have it.  In black.  And it served us well until August 7, 2010.

The middle of the first week of August we would press the paddle with our cups and nothing.  We were perplexed.  What did we ever do to piss off the magnificent, almighty Maytag French door (I do love anything with the words French door) refrigerator that stands proudly in the corner of our kitchen?  Okay, a minor set back, but we can deal with getting or filtered water from the long unused water dispenser in the dining room.  And, of course, it is a pain to pull the ice maker tray out to get our ice, but hey the French don’t even have ice, so we moved forward.  I did consult the Internet and discovered that this was a common problem and could be fixed.  I even got a nice response to my question on Twitter regarding my problem and it was from @maytagcares, nonetheless.  I decided to move on with my day and keep my anger stuffed way down inside.  Little did I know that there was more to come.

We went to bed on Friday dreaming of waking to ice cold milk, orange juice and maybe some Pillsbury cinnamon rolls.  I was secure in the fact that the $200 I just spent at Sam’s that day would be safe, sound and cold in our refrigerator.  Sure the ice and water didn’t work, but surely that was just a minor set back?  The next morning we awoke to luke warm milk, orange juice and Pillsbury cinnamon rolls that begged to be baked, because man it was a bit stuffy in here.  I freaked!  What the hell were we going to do?  We called Maytag and were given some ridiculous service appointment of Wednesday.  That was it.  Yup, we took your money, we know you have just spent a buttload on a ton of food, but we aren’t budging from that 4 day away service appointment just to tell you what is wrong with the damn thing.  Next step was to find a local repair man to take pity on us and come out on a Saturday and not take our first born as payment.  We did find one.  He promptly told us that we need a new evaporated fan motor, which is why the freezer still remained cold.  Did you know that all the cold air for the refrigerator comes from the freezer?  Yeah, me neither and I didn’t really care.  I just wanted it fixed.  NOW!  Our repair man told us that it could take up to 3 weeks to get the part in, because you know Maytag didn’t sell many of this model, because, well….you know…it is a piece of crap.  A lovely, shiny $2500 piece of crap.

I called Maytag’s customer service number and yelled at the first person to answer the phone.  Because he was, of course, at fault and would be more than willing to help me fix my problem after I yelled at him.  After getting no where with that person he pawned me off on his supervisor who decided he was going to get smart with me and quickly learn I was not amused.  I was guaranteed a free part and a check for $50 to cover the food that would likely spoil.  Mildly satisfied I went to work saving our food.  Our neighbor offered up their garage refrigerator.  You mean people can have 2 refrigerators?  And setting up 2 ice chests with the things we use the most.  I would spend the rest of the day fuming, tripping over ice chests and wondering why has a pock  been put upon our house.  Later that day I would get an idea and it would occupy our entire Sunday.  We would move sister-in-law’s (She passed away on June 17 and we are in the process of cleaning her home, selling off items and getting the house ready for sale.) refrigerator to our garage.  At least, the problem of running to the neighbor’s to borrow my own milk was solved.  I tried to be upbeat and consider the walk to the garage as exercise.

That Tuesday our savior part arrived.  We called our repair guy and told him to hurry, come right away, because the PART IS HERE!  The PART IS HERE!  Yeah, well that was the wrong part.  Are you freaking kidding me?  Seriously, where is the camera, because it better be ready, my head is about to explode.  The repair guy got no where with the woman he spoke to about the part, but SoHubby did which gave him every right to scold  me  for not calling sooner. “Yeah, whatever!”, I said from my place in the corner.  Another 2 days later the REAL part arrived and we called the repair guy.  We gave the refrigerator a pep talk and waited for it to cool itself off.  The next day, nothing.  Still warm and, now, the freezer was getting warm, as well….So this is long enough, basically we are, now, waiting for a $200 part that the last customer service rep I talked to gave to me graciously at half the price with free express shipping.  Only after he made sure to ask me if my repair guy was reputable.  I explained that since he didn’t take my $2500 and give me a very large paper weight, I would say I trust him, unlike your company, sir.  I promise I didn’t jump through the phone and throttle him.  Now, we sit and wait for our very expensive part to come in and hope it works.  I think Maytag better pray, because I am a pissed off SAHM looking for a road trip.  I will find their headquarters and run my dud of a refrigerator right up there to give them a lovely lawn ornament.  If only, I was a big time blogger with more power to crash a large company with my mighty computer I might have a working refrigerator right now.  Until I rule the world from my sofa, I will have to be happy with walking to the garage to feed my babies and satisfy my need for sweet iced tea.  The plight of the typical commoner.  *sigh*

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Our Mardi Gras

I believe there are three different groups of locals when it comes to Mardi Gras: those who do Mardi Gras, those who do something else on Mardi Gras and those who flee Mardi Gras.  We are the second group; we would like to be in the third group, but might consider the first if the kids would ever cooperate.  I guess it is safer to remain in the second group until the kids are older and that was never proven more than yesterday.

I thought since it was Fat Tuesday and we will be fasting and sacrificing through out  Lent that we should take advantage of IHOP’s unlimited pancake deal.  Those people are smart, because I don’t know anyone who can make it pass the first plate, but we tried.  We made it to plate number 2 and then I felt like  Violet Beauregarde and really just had to stop.  And even then Sam helped.  Before we could even partake of IHOP’s devilish scheme Sam showed the entire Westbank a bit of his demon.  He had fallen asleep in the car on the short trip there, which wasn’t a surprised when certain little people wake up at the butt crack of dawn everyDAMNday.  This was the cue that things would not go well, which is a major understatement.  He proceeded to fight the whole way to the door, because HOW DARE his daddy NOT CARRY HIM when he is carrying his baby sister.  It is not like he is 4 years old and can walk or anything.  This went on with a hellish fit that included screaming, “IHATEYOU!!!” and flailing about in the waiting area.  I removed him to a time out spot right outside while I stood inside next to the window to make sure he didn’t jump in someone’s car and go on a criminal rampage.  He continued on with the “IHATEYOU!!!!”, but ramped it up with pulling some plant out of the lovely IHOP garden.  That is when I grabbed him and put him in the car.  Of course, that would be the point when we were called to be seated.  I relayed my order to SoHubby over the phone and sat while Sam carried on with his “woe is me, my life is so hard act”.  Amber got on the phone and asked if she could have a bowl of whipped cream, cherries and chocolate chips.  Sure why not, because one out of control child is not enough let’s just cranked them all up on some sugar.  Then there was a quiet from the backseat at the words whipped cream, cherries and chocolate chips.  It was agreed that was what was needed to end this demon possession and move into the restaurant with the rest of civilized humanity.  Pancakes were eaten, a little girl complained about wanting sausage even though she didn’t tell anyone she wanted sausage, daddy would get annoyed because “you ordered that slop, you are going to eat that slop”, a little boy ate some of his slop but decided mom’s pancakes were much better and a little baby cried in the corner.  So what do we  decide to do, but take this crazy train to Target.  Yeah, Target!!!

Target was mostly uneventful and pretty much a usual trip.  Sam went in and out of tantrums, Amber wanted everything and did her best Scarlet when she got none of it, I tried to get what was needed then got pissed because “Why am I the only one working on this school project?”, Evie sat in the stroller looking at us fools and eyeing for the nearest cart to jump into, then there was the finale of “Where the hell did everyone go?”  The 2 adults decided they learned their lesson and headed home, then the phone rang.  Oh the damn phone on Mardi Gras day.

SoHubby had a problem near the French Quarter.  Those mere words sent shivers down my spine.  The French Quarter? On Mardi Gras day? Drive in the French Quarter?  ON MARDI GRAS DAY?  Why the hell not, we haven’t suffered enough and it is the season to suffer.  During certain times, I will offer for SoHubby to drive.  It takes a special skill to drive during such times and I don’t possess any of them.  I prefer to use unsavory language and scream from the safety of my car.  SoHubby prefers to scare the drunken souls and have beads thrown at his vehicle.  Oh, but it was decided that I would just stay behind the wheel, because you know we just haven’t suffered enough.  Besides,  we weren’t really going into the French Quarter, just French Quarter adjacent.  Let the games begin.

We made it to Frenchman rather uneventful.  The kids and I sat in the car while SoHubby went off into the sea of people to fix whatever needed to be fix.  Sam was napping, Thank God.  Amber was watching a movie, Thank God.  Evie whimpered.  My dear sweet last baby can’t sleep anywhere except in her bed and she was tired.  I thought second and third kids developed a lassiez faire attitude regarding where they sleep and how much noise was going on during the process.  Not my kids because they are special.  And you can take that to mean anything you want.  We sat there sucking in the stench of Mardi Gras.  The French Quarter, or French Quarter adjacent, is not the best smelling on a regular day, but add hundreds of thousands of people still high from a Saints’ wins of the Superbowl and the stench reaches up and strangles you until you cry, uncle, then it slithers down and laughs at you while you gag.  Finally, SoHubby shows up out of nowhere and we are off.  Why not go directly into the French Quarter, because we just haven’t suffered enough.  This is what we encountered:

Help!!
Please bring food, water, and toilet.

That will be our view for the next 40 or so minutes.  Apparently there was a band playing in the middle of the street.  Just a spontaneous explosion of music and everyone, drunk and sober a like, stopped to dance.  Finally something happened and it was over.  We were then swallowed by the mob:

And this is when I got to put into practice a rule my mom always taught me,
Never accept Oreos from a drunken monk.
It is a rather specialized rule, but does come in handy.

The mob wasn’t too scary. More like a drunk and happy mob that offers you beer and cookies.  We passed, I mean we just had a large breakfast.  Amber enjoyed a fist bump from a fairy and really where else but New Orleans would that happen?  We moved on with much yelling from SoHubby at me to just honk my horn and inch up.  However, I know that if I happen to accidentally run over a part of the mob that we would never get out.  We made it through and were on our way home with our only obstacles the craters that had erupted up out of nowhere.  I am really out of practice driving through the streets of New Orleans.

The rest of the day was spent playing football, with tantrums from Sam because his sister caught him (did you expect anything else?), helping Amber with her school project that seems more like something she would do in 4th grade and roast beef po-boys with gravy.  Not your typical Mardi Gras day that you will hear about in the travel guides, but just another day in the life of living and loving in New Orleans.

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What We Feed Our Kids

When you are a mom you can find someone somewhere to debate whatever choices you have made for your child.  There are the basic debates that will live on forever, like, breast vs formula, spanking vs not, cloth diapers vs disposables, etc.  There will always be someone out there that knows more and has no problem pointing out what you are doing wrong when raising your kids.  Fortunately my ears go deaf and my eyes glaze over until such diatribes are over. 

Recently, Evie had her 6 month check up.  I had many concerns, well more than I had at her last appointment and more than I had with the older kids at that point in their lives.  She hasn’t rolled over, yet, either way.  She seemed to nap a lot, but I thought maybe I didn’t remember how much 6 month olds napped.  She was cranky much of the time.  And one that didn’t really catch my attention until after our appointment, she didn’t seem to smile as much as she once did.  Oh and one big one, she was a tiny baby.  I have small babies.  Both older kids were only 13 pounds at 6 months old.  With Evie things were a bit different.  I knew she would be small, but when you held up her she felt like nothing.  Everyone commented about it when picking her up.  I weighed her with the Wii Fit Plus and it said 11 pounds.  Not bad, but not where the other kids were and how right could a video game be?  So I pushed it to the back of my mind until we had our doctor’s appointment, which was only a week away.

I knew something was up when the doctor asked to weigh her again.  I saw the first weigh in and was shocked.  She was just over 10 pounds.  That couldn’t be right and the doctor thought the same, but the second weigh in proved to produce the same results.  Back in our little room the doctor showed the growth chart and it showed that Evie had dropped from it.  Our doctor never gives me any problems about the kids weight as long as they are on the chart.  He knows my kids and he knows that they are small, but when they fall off the chart after being on since birth then there is cause for concern.  And that is when it all clicked, the other kids had dropped off of the chart at some point in their young lives, too.  Amber dropped off briefly when she had gotten some vicious bug.  No real concern there, just another weigh in when she felt better to make sure there was nothing else wrong.  Sam wasn’t sick when he dropped off, but he was 9 months old.  That was the time when he was put on formula, which means he was back on that chart in no time.  Then there was Evie, her being tired, not so happy and never seeming to be full was all clicking.  I wasn’t making enough milk.  So that day I went to Target after our appointment and bought a can of formula.  She is now full and happy without a care in the world.  I wish I could say the same for her mother.

There is some guilt, of course there is, I am a mother.  I took a moment to wallow in my guilt and then moved on.  I had hoped, like with the other kids, to go a year breastfeeding Evie, but once again life stepped in to told me otherwise.  I will admit I had a choice in this matter, it wasn’t like I am misinformed or the doctor pushed formula on me.  Quite the contrary.  I chose my kids’ doctor for the simple reason he doesn’t push you one way or the other, but makes a more middle of the road suggestion.  His suggestion was to give her formula after she had nurse.  It was my decision to put her on formula and no breastmilk.  I know all too well how to build up my milk, I have been on Babycenter.com long enough to know just about every trick in the book.  I have often given the advice to other mothers, myself.  And the most important part in building a supply is time.  There is pumping after baby has eaten, there is eating certain foods (oatmeal), there are herbal supplements you can take (maple syrup goodness) and there is leaving baby on the breast for the majority of the day.  Time is the one thing that I don’t have much of.  I spend almost 4 hours a day in the car with just school drop off and pick up, alone, and then there is those pesky older kids wanting food, love and attention.  I am already with my back up against the clock everyday as it is to add the burden of building up my supply, which wasn’t doing too well with Evie nursing for 20 minutes every 2 hours.  All this was further solidified when after 2 days of only nursing once I was no where near being engorged.  Hell, there were mothers out there (on Twitter) complaining about being engorged and their babies were much older than Evie. 

I don’t like formula.  It is expensive, smells nasty and takes time and effort to make.  In the grand scheme of things all these problems are small and there are things about breastfeeding that I don’t like.  Hell, there are things about parenting in general I am not fond of doing, hello wiping butts, but we do them because it is our job and these things are small compared to the great picture.  So while I allowed myself a bit of crying over the what ifs, I knew very well that to wallow any longer would be unproductive and ridiculous.  I have spent my time on the Mother Martyr Train and my ticket was getting full and I need some of that space for guilt later in my children’s life.  So I have moved on.  Evie started formula a lot sooner than I thought and she is doing fine, which is the most important.  And I only have 5 months to deal with all this bottle stuff.  The point is that as her mother I am to get her to the next point in her life healthy and safe using methods that I my not particularly like but can manage to muddle through until their short shelf life is over.  Next up waking and talking and me reconsidering my stance on not drinking.

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Strapping on the Old Feed Bag

I knew that once my son got to be a teenager, I would never see his face, again.  It would be stuck in the fridge looking for something to eat until we kicked him out to buy his own food and use the money we save to take that Hawaii vacation we always wanted.  I relaxed, because that was a long way off,  10 years to be exact.  But I forgot something, to tell Sam that he is suppose to eat like a normal human being until the hormones kicked in.  Today, like many other days, we were only a mere 10 minutes from the house, on our way to drop Amber off at school, when the little voice from the backseat started screaming for a snack.  I reminded him that he had just had breakfast and had to wait, because you know I am driving up here. 

I thought I had fixed this problem by telling SoHubby to feed both kids some protein in the morning, you know to fill them up.  Again, we forgot to tell Sam that this was the plan, because it is not working.  Most days I skip breakfast so early, but when I get home I make up some eggs with ham and cheese.  I, too, am trying to eat less.  I will give Sam some more eggs at that time, as well.  It never fails soon after he is screaming for a snack or dinner, what he calls lunch.  Another trick I thought I would try was offering things that I thought he wouldn’t eat.  My son was never a healthy eater, even as a baby he refused vegetables and most fruits.  I would offered him a piece of fruit or yogurt.  To my surprise he would pick one of those.  At least we are making progress in one area.  We still have the annoying problem of Sam asking me for food pretty much around the clock.  So I have to wonder if I was lead astray, boys don’t just eat you out of house and home once puberty hits, but straight from the womb.  One of the many parenting shockers I have encountered.  I guess I take comfort that he is not tall enough to start living in the fridge while I turn into my grandfather and scream, “Hey are we cooling the whole damn neighborhood!”  Ah, the circle of life.

***********

Along these lines, but changing the subject a bit, I have been hearing about the family dinner, again, lately.  This subject comes up on regular rotation through many societal discussions that goes on.  I will admit we don’t eat dinner as a family.  I will further admit it is because I am lazy.  And sure to hammer the final nail into my parenting coffin, the TV is on whenever we are home.  We are one of those families, you often wondered where we were and now you know. 

What can I say, the only time we ate dinner all together, when I was growing up,  was at holidays or at other family members’ home.  Later it progressed to each of us taking plates to our rooms and eating there by ourselves.  That is the number one reason I will not let my kids have a TV in their bedrooms.  Some day, SOMEDAY, I might let them have a TV in the playroom, which I will assume will become more of their gathering place downstairs once the toys become obsolete.  And yes, we have a TV in our bedroom, but we are the parents and what we say goes.  Being the responsible ones has some benefits.  

 We have tried the family dinner and I learned quickly that my role was the gopher. 

“Hey, could you go for some ketchup?”
“Hey, could you go for some iced tea?”
“Hey, could you go for some salt?”

You get the point.  I would find myself sitting in front of a plate that was full and cold while everyone slid back from the table satisfied off to continue their evenings without me.  Even that wouldn’t last long, because I was needed to break up a fight over who hit who first or demand that certain little people keep their clothes on or stay in the bathtub.  It didn’t take me long to discover that it was easier, if not particularly healthy or the right thing to do, to eat my dinner at the counter.  I was closer to the things that I would need to “go for” and if my food was going to get cold or I needed a reason to shovel it in at fast pace speed, at least, my kitchen would be clean.  The kids still sit at their table in the dining room and while their discussions revolve around screaming at Sam not to feed the dog or stop elbowing each other, they are spending quality time together. That’s my story and I am sticking to it.

It is sad to say that the only time we do eat as a family is when we go out to eat.  We still have the problem of SoHubby being pre-occupied with his phone and the random threat with a butter knife if he doesn’t put it down, but as long as we have someone else to gopher we can relax and eat as a family.  I figure once the kids are grown and learn to stop picking their nose for comedy or disgust value, we can have Norman Rockwell family dinners.  Until then I will ignore the signs of ever growing afterschool activities, busier husbands, and cursing Norman Rockwell for his unattainable expectations of family life.  I will focus on making sure there is at least one meal where we sit down as a family during the day, finding other ways to talk to my kids about their day and start writing my ad for a live in gopher.

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I Can’t Diet with Cake in the House!

Evangeline will be 3 months on October 24.  That is four days away.  Four. Days. Away!  And I am still not in my prepregnancy clothes. 

I know all the PC crap that is spewed whenever a previously pregnant woman complains that she hasn’t lost all the weight, yet: “It took 9 months to put it on, it is going to take 9 months to take it off.”  “You are breastfeeding, all that weight should be sliding off anytime, now.”  “With just a little exercise and eating right, you should lose the weight in no time.”  To all of that I say, bullshit!  This is kid number 3 and the weight never just slide off while I breastfed them.  Matter of fact, my fat hangs onto my body like it is waiting for the time I am stranded on some island and we all have to survive off my milk.  (Don’t think on that too long or you might just yak.)  I was Shredding, but even Jillian Michaels couldn’t cut through my mountain of fat.  I had high hopes, because there this mom blogger who started to Shred when she was 5 months postpartum and not only does she have a rocking new body, but a new found love of exercise.  Yeah, not so much for me.  I have 7 days left on my 30 days and I doubt I will finish it.  Frankly, the results I was getting wasn’t enough for me to continue to get up at 5am every morning after waking up multiple times a night after sleeping in one position  to avoid rolling over the little person sleeping next to me who demands to eat at all hours of the night.  My friend cut out eating out and she is down 13 lbs.  Woo!Hoo! for her.  I have adopted the same frugal policy and still can’t lose a pound. 

Confession time, I guess.  I may, just may, be expecting major results in record time.  I think this has always been my downfall in the weight lost arena.  I mean one should never expect to see a pound lost after working out for 2 hours, 5 days a week in the gym for a year.  I will give you, that I might have not pushed myself as much as I should, but there should have been some weight lose, right.  Even if it was a pound.  Hell, I think I even gained a little weight.   After that, not even the lure of child free time could get me into the gym, again.  So when I heard about the 30 Day Shred, I shouldn’t have expected to look like Jillian Michaels in 30 days.  Maybe, those last 7 days are the ones that will do it, but at this point I am not willing to try.  I have been sweaty and cranky for weeks and nothing, nothing.  

Second, exercising makes you hungry and carrots don’t fill you up.  Ah, sure you can listen while all those skinny bitches tell you how good low calorie, low fat food is, but they ain’t got nothing on Paula Deen.  That’s all I am saying.  Not only am I Southern, but Italian and neither of those groups are known for their low calorie meals.  Yeah, yeah there are vegetables involved in these food cultures but they are usually slathered in a cream sauce or tons of butter.  I did get the Cooking Light cookbook at Amber’s school book fair and we have been enjoying many of our dinners out of there.  I especially like it because it uses ingredients I would normally use, like whipping cream, but in much smaller amounts.  So you get the taste or creaminess, but not as many calories.  However, you get a little disappointed when you see the serving size.  I will be the first to admit that my eating habits could use a great big ol smack.  It is very hard to pass up the massive amounts of cake leftover from the pumpkin party or not letting good food go bad. *ahem*  People talk about will power and I guess I was in the cake line when it was handed out, because I obviously don’t have any. 

The worst part is that I know it can be done.  I see the results everywhere.  There are friends that have given birth close to me and they are back to looking like they did before they were pregnant.  There are family members that have worked hard and are back to their fighting weight.  I would like to point out that these family members are not blood related and this is where I blame my genes on that spare tire I am sporting.  Every night I tell myself this is the last day that I eat.  Oh yes, I make a vow to not eat again until I can fit into my jeans without fear of taking out someone’s eye.  Then morning comes and after feeding a baby for most of the night, Mamma is hungry.  I start off good and then it is all downhill starting at 10am.  Another factor is that I know I will eventually be back into my clothes.  It took about 9 months with Amber (when I stopped breastfeeding her) and about 3 months with Sam.  I was hoping that I would cut my record down with Evie, but no such luck.  I think my girls have the same effect on my body.  So, I will have to push aside the thoughts and wishes of  comments of how good I look after just having a baby.  It was my one Christmas wish this year.  And no it doesn’t count if you read this and tell me; it has to be true.  *sigh*  I will continue on with wearing my maternity clothes mixed with the few regular clothes I can wear and hope that one day I won’t be mistaken for the Michelin man breastfeeding a baby.

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In Louisiana…

 

This is how we keep the kids entertained:

Also, known as playing with your food.

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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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She Never Liked My Food

Since I have entered the cranky phase, I have let it be known more than usual that I am not happy with the children disliking the food I prepare for them.  I mean who doesn’t like mashed potatoes and ground beef, no real American that is.  It is annoying, to say the least, to have small children demand food and then make retching noises and threaten to vomit, because obviously I am trying to poison them with fruit, vegetables, meat and seasonings.  Oh the horror of seasonings!! 

It was particularly bad one night, last week, when I had made dinner and not one of my lovely children took more than 2 bites and then promptly demanded dessert.  Of course, there is no dessert because they hadn’t eaten.  Oh the screams and cries of tortured young souls that are denied dessert when not meeting the requirement of eating most of their dinner.  Notice, not ALL, but MOST.  I hope they never come up before a Senate Committee Hearing, because I am sure that there is torture and not sanctioned by the U.N.  I could be looking at some hard time. 

I could weave you a tale of woe about how hard it is to come up with a weekly menu that will be eaten by 2 adults and 2 small children and then do ALL the grocery shopping, only to be told I suck every night.  Okay, not every night, we do eat out frequently.  But SoHubby can do one better, as is always the case.  He likes to tell the kids the story about how Grammy, his mother, stopped cooking never to pick up a pot or pan in her life, again, and how Grampy, his father, had to then cook all the meals or the whole family would have starved.  Are you seeing where our daughter gets her drama?  It seems that SoHubby’s sister, not him of course because he was a angel and didn’t arrive until 10 years after his sister, and Grampy constantly teased Grammy about her food.  Luckily, I haven’t heard any examples of what was said, because I am sure the kids would then have an arsenal of insults to throw at me while NOT eating their food.  After such teasing, Grammy threw up her hands and vowed to NEVER cook again.  And it is all true, because in all the 7 years I knew the woman,  I NEVER saw her pick up so much as a ladle to make anything.  I guess that is why SoHubby is quick to throw a few compliments my way as to fend off a lifetime sentence of cooking meals.  I even have to press to find out if something was not quite right and admit I thought it was off before he would say a negative word about my food.  It ain’t all bad, I guess.

None of this detours Amber.  Oh no, she is right in the prime of her let’s see how far I can push Mom before she jumps off the highest bridge phase.  This morning Amber informed me that she only pretended to like my breastmilk when she was a baby and when I would put her down to sleep she would make her YUCK face.  Cue YUCK face.  I am not sure what she expected me to do with this information, but living with her father for 10 years has taught me a thing or two.  I ignored it.  She ain’t getting me to rend my garments and gnash my teeth all because she proclaimed that she didn’t like my breastmilk.  It only insures that she will get an extra heaping helping of crap stew and maybe a box of rocks for her birthday, instead of the iPod she has been asking for.  I come from heartier stock than that.  I came from a woman whose library of recipes included a large white gloved hand and a man that thought serving young children, who are not Asian, egg drop soup would be a good idea.  They didn’t stop cooking and neither will I.  I have just found a new form of torture for my kids, meals that include nothing but veggies and liver all the while I eat ice cream, chips and cookies right in front of them. BAMAWAHAHAHA!!!  I will keep on cooking and claiming no dessert until a reasonable amount of dinner has been consumed.  I am sure the kids can survive on their 3 weekly meals out and, bonus, it will keep them in their clothes longer.  Although, I will have to break this easy to the dog, he has been eating pretty good these last few months.

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Happy Easter or Eat a Chocolate Bunny for Breakfast!

The Easter Bunny had a bit of a problem this year.  It seems in an effort to avoid eating all the candy before it was Easter and having her butt grower bigger (AHEM!), the Bunny decided to wait fairly close to Easter before getting all the candy needed for the all important candy gorge fest that occurs every Easter morning.  Alas, the stores were not cooperating.  You see the Easter Bunny doesn’t have help like Santa, so she rarely makes all the candy herself.  She must rely on the stores to help out with her mission.  It appears that someone had gotten to all the candy before the Easter bunny, so the pickins were slim. (How can you run out of Goldbrick eggs?!)  Knowing she couldn’t let the children down, she did what any self-respecting magical creature would do, she helped herself to some of the candy that was given to a certain little school girl at school.  These parents were most likely the suspects in making the Easter Bunny’s job much harder this year, even though she did forget to get a bag of candy to give to the school (AHEM!).  Give the Bunny a break, will ya, she is having a bit of preggo brain at the moment.  Before resorting to this forgivable crime, I assure you the Easter Bunny checked everywhere, even the Dollar Store where she was willing to smear her name with sub-par chocolate.  The one thing the Bunny had forgotten was that this certain little school girl is getting older and growing smarter everyday.  That thud you heard was when the little girl held up a Spongebob egg and claimed this is the one she got from school. 

No matter, the day was saved with a distraction from the father when he declared it eat a Chocolate Bunny for Breakfast day.  How else would you celebrate the day your Savior rose from the dead?  I am sure he would have approved.  Look at how happy they are.

The Easter Bunny was on the ball for the inedible gifts that were given.  But everyone knows you can’t have Easter with just books and toys.  That is like when you get a toothbrush for Halloween.  You have good intentions, but there is a big threat of getting TPed.

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