Hot! Hot! Hot!

How loud was it?

(No headaches...yet.)

Last Week in Art

"Look what I made at school!"
"Wow! That is one gorgeous Christmas tree!"
"No silly! It's a rocket ship with gooey eyeballs!"

The Things They Remember

(Vibrators mentioned.)

"Hey Mom, where's your blue one?"
"My blue what? Oh. Umm, yeah, it broke. Put that back in the nightstand please."

Dude, I had a blue one for less than a week, like, last spring.

Happy Holidays

The Cracker's final (updated) and sent to Santa list for 2007:

1. Barricade (Check!)
2. Pat Pat Rocket (It's a good thing he's got grandparents because, well, it's a $40 Target Exclusive HTF POS that I wouldn't buy. Check.)
3. A drum stick (And then J talks me into *see below)
4. Marble Mania (Check! You gotta love grandparents)
5. Geo Trax (The You-Can't-Have-Everything-And-We-Already-Have-Thomas lesson)

*********************************************************

So.............

Enough with the procrastinating already.


IUI #3 (with Clomid) worked.

Yuppers.

Ten weeks on Monday.

(Stunned? I still kinda am too.)


While I know it would be exceptionally bad taste to immediately start bitching and moaning, I believe I've earned the right to at least point out the following:

Weight lost in September...21 lbs.
Weight gained (all in the last week)...1/2 lb.


To be continued...

Conversations with the Cracker

In the backyard, next to a rapidly dying pumpkin vine:

"What kind of bugs are dose?"
"I don't know, but we're going to catch one and take it to the garden center so they can tell us."
"Are they stink bugs? Baa haa haa! Stink bugs are the funniest bugs!"
"No they're not stink bugs. Stand back! They're giving me the heebeegeebees."
"Is that the Spanish word for hiccups?"
(Racking my brain.) "No, I think...uh...hipo is?"
"You don't seem so sure."
"I'm not."
"Why?"
"Because I'm getting old."
"And forgetitful?"


On our way to the garden center, pointing out a trailer hauling something:

"Wow! I've never seen a machine like that before. What is it?"
"Uhh...uhh...I have no idea. (And it's hard to stump me these days when it comes to vehicles.) It looks a little bit like a miniature Zamboni."
"That weminds me...can we go ice fishing later today?"
"Ice fishing?"
"Sure. All you need is a saw, and some chairs, and a fishing pole, and mittens, and snacks..."


At the garden center:

"Let's see what you have."
"Is it a stink bug? Is it a stink bug?"
"Actually, it is! Amazing! You have a Horticulturist on your hands!"
"I told you so Mommy."

(No, it was because we saw stink bugs mentioned in some random book last week, probably Dr. Seuss, and he's been obsessed ever since.)

Five shopping months til Christmas

...and we're being reminded daily of what he wants from Santa.

Oh God.


The list so far:

A red wheelbarrow with blue wheels.
(Uhh...has anyone seen this particular color combo?)

A toy combine with crawler tracks, John Deere or Caterpillar brand.

Another toy motor grader, but this time smaller so as to match the scale of his other construction and farm vehicles.

A Caterpillar movie.
(But maybe I can get away with this if it's still on the list at Christmastime)

A John Deere Gator or Buck with dumper, child sized for his driving pleasure.
(My parents and I actually heavily researched this idea last year, but he was already way too tall for the less expensive 2-4 year old one.)
(And it was a very poorly made piece of crap.)
(And I prefer ride-ons where they have to work for it, not just run off batteries.)

An "actual" (his word for NOT A TOY) excavator with crawler tracks, also John Deere or Caterpillar brand.
(So he can help us finish the back yard.)

A pink dump truck for Baby Elephant, because she's a girl.
(BE has replaced Not Bob as best bed friend.)

A John Deere Gator for J, so he'll help Mommy in the yard.
(No comment.)


At least he's finally stopped asking for a dog.

Question: What are you doing with with your shoe in your mouth?

Answer: We're playing dogs.

NEW! Yesterday's Random Parenting Related Cleaning Challenge

Blood. Lots of blood.

It had been quiet for two hours. We both thought he was napping.

What he was actually doing was taking off a lampshade, unscrewing the light blub, breaking it, and playing with the broken glass.

We are fantastic parents.

J freaked. I didn't. J was so bummed out by my reaction that he insisted we take pictures so we could freak out my mother.

I am so seasoned. Bring it on.

Yesterday's Random Parenting Related Cleaning Challenge

The Cracker snuck some bright aqua blue streamers into his bed and then peed on them.

He has white sheets.

So far I have tried: Biz. Spray 'n Wash. Clorox Bleach Pen...twice. Straight bleach.

Two of our three cats gacked up some of the same streamers. Luckily, I caught it right away and the carpet was saved.

I think I give up.

(Which will leave me with some time to try, again, to get more than a half dozen little purple spots of jelly bean drool out of the carpet without cutting.)

(Click.)

"Nana? Can I call you back?"

(Handy Manny was on.)

Pumpkin Update 2007

In case you missed it, last year I made a complete ass of myself.


The facts so far:
1. They are not honeydew. Of this I am certain.
2. Last winter I placed a pumpkin to rot in this exact location.

Hmmm...

My Little Man

"Hey Mommy? While you were wabering the gahden I made a pee and a poop. And I'm not going to use my bafhwoom anymore. I'm going to use yours, because it's weally closer to the TV."

Soccer, Week 5

Coach: Okay Tigers, we're going to try playing a game today.
Cracker: Oh goodie! What kind of game?

Quick & Dirty IUI #1 Update

We did our first IUI two weeks ago today. Everything looked great...1 good sized egg *just* about to release, good lining, and a fantastic washed sample from J.

This morning, before I could go in for my beta, AF showed. Making plans now for IUI #2 in July.

I can still add the beta to the blood tests that I am having done tomorrow, but for now I've decided not to go in as scheduled. I called my RE and he said it was fine since we'll continue with at least one more unmedicated cycle before trying meds. My parents are arriving from California this afternoon for a visit so it's actually nice to have something to cross of my list for today.

While I've been through every possible emotion the last few weeks, I am not devastated by the news. I never expected this to work the first or even second month...I'm thinking long term. And honestly, it feels good to be out of limbo.

Bring on the margaritas!

I Hereby Ban Handy Manny

Me: What are you doing?
Him: Measuring your tushie. It's ten inches thousand.

Oh for Fucks Sake**

A MEDICAL INSURANCE BULLSHIT VENT

This week we got a bill and an insurance statement for IF related blood tests that the useless OB wannabe RE sent me for January 2nd. Insurance was billed May 14th.

Insurance is paying nothing. We are being told to pay $95.02 (full charge $253) after insurance discount, which will be applied to our deductible.

Deductible? For blood tests? (We have copays and coinsurance, neither of which is what they are asking for.)

Here's the gist:

The blood tests were ordered as part of a routine medical exam by an in-network doctor. (Routine = nonemergent, I asked.) Blood tests in this case, these exact tests, are covered 100%, no deductible, no copay, no coinsurance if you go (in-network) to an "independent lab" not located inside the doctor's office. The lab I was sent to was "independent" and "in-network" located in an adjacent building in the same medical complex and is privately owned. We will call them ABC Labs. They also have additional locations all over town.*

But the won't cover it. They say we have a $100 deductible, and once that has been met, they will cover 80%.

Insurance agrees that the tests would have been covered 100% if we had been to an "independent" lab. They agree that ABC Lab is "independent" and "in-network" but a different kind of "independent" yet still in-network. The difference? They can't explain other than to say it would have been covered if I'd been to any other independent lab, which includes *other ABC Labs around town.

J went to an ABC Lab, different location, for his SA because it was closer to work. It was covered at 100%.

"Are ABC Labs a franchise? Is that the problem?"
"What's a franchise?"

"Okay, so I will be having more blood work done this week as part of an IF workup. I want to make sure I go to the place that will cost me the least out-of-pocket in the long run."
"Of course! Will it be part of a routine medical exam?"
"I'm seeing an RE. These tests are being done for IF reasons. It's nonemergent. You tell me."
"I'm afraid I can't answer that."
"May I speak to a supervisor?"
"I am a supervisor."
"Can I speak to your supervisor?"
"I don't have one."

It's not the money, it's the ridiculousness.

But really, why should I be surprised? Last week I was on the phone with our insurance company numerous times trying to find out who is a "preferred vendor" for IF meds down the road. Because while they agree they will cover IF meds if we use the correct vendor until we reach (a very piddly might cover an IUI or two unmedicated) lifetime IF max, they can't tell us who. And just so we're clear, by "preferred vendor" we're talking about a mail order drug supplier, so it doesn't have to be a local pharmacy because local pharmacies don't carry IF meds.

And so I say again, oh for fucks sake.


**After posting this I came across another IF blogger who had used this same title last week. Crap. It wasn't intentional, but probably in my head. Sadly, it's not the first time I've gone to write something and found that some one else in a small circle of bloggers had already covered it. So much for my having original thoughts...

3 Doors Down

Over the weekend I was visiting with my friend C at her house just down the street and having a grand old time. After a few hours I finally got up the courage to ask if her 13 year old son might be available to watch the Cracker during our IUI even though we won't be able to give him much notice. Her hubby is a Paramedic and she does medical billing from home, which some how made it seem easier.

"I'll do it! I'll watch him!"

Turns out they are waiting to see the same RE. Imagine that.

We were both so thrilled to have someone to talk to that we spent the next few hours discussing everything. Her husband, P, was sitting with us and listening, but only came into the conversation a couple of times to ask things like "so have you ever made J do it while you still had the thermometer in your mouth?"

"Want to see something funny?"
"Always."
She looks P in the eyes and slowly says "cer-vi-cal mu-cus."
He instantly paled. "Oh God! You have to stop doing that! Ugh...yuck!"
"That's a neat trick!"
"You two are like the women on Sex and the City, except you talk about ovulating and gardening."

Captain Underpants

The other day I noticed that the Cracker had changed his underpants. There were two obvious signs:

1. They were on backwards, which happens a good 50% of the time these days, and
2. Instead of white with little airplanes he was now sporting solid red.

"Why did you change your underpants?"
"Ummm...ummm...ummm...they had water on them?"
"Uh huh. Where are they?"
"I hid them."
"Where?"
"In my woom."
"Where in your room?"
"Under the wocking chair. You know, the blue one?"
"Can you get them for me?"
"Sure!"
I follow him as he scampers off happy as can be. He lays down on the floor in front of the chair, takes a quick peek, and then gropes blindly. Voilà one pair of dinosaur underpants.
"Uh, these aren't the ones I was talking about. This morning you had on airplane underpants."
"Huh."
"Where are the ones with airplanes?"
"Lemme just think for a moment, okay? Hmmm...hmmm... I know! I hid them too!"
Behind his bed.

When the Cracker finishes peeing he always drips. First drips come approximately 10-15 seconds after the stop of flow, second set a good 30 seconds later, and then finally the third and final set no less than another 30 seconds later. J has tried to teach him to "shake it off" and the Ped says it's probably from being uncircumcised. Whatever the case, the Cracker is suddenly far too excited to get back to what he was doing before his potty break to wait for that third final set of drips.

Over the weekend he changed his drippy pee underwear 17 times. He's so good about taking care of business on his own now that we don't even think about the fact that he's slipped away until we hear a flush, at which point it's too late.

After everything we went through with PTing, DPU doesn't send me into a frenzy like it would have 2 years ago, and I'm *thrilled* that he finally prefers clean drawers when not all that long ago he was perfectly happy to sit in poop all day long.

As my Dad points out, at least he's not ashamed to tell me where they are. That is good. I'll point out that I'm glad while he's smart enough to hide them, he's not smart enough to realize how ratting himself out negates the whole point of hiding them in the first place.

Lots of positives here.

Warp Speed

Yesterday, bright and early, we had our first visit with the RE.

After discussing all of our test results and history, his main concern was viscosity just as it had been with useless OB wanna be RE. While he agreed that morphology and motility are low, he told us that he wasn't concerned since the overall count was good and we had gotten pregnant before. (No hamster eggs for us.) Based on the above, he suggested that he was leaning IUI and felt our chances were very good. Above average good. Cool. He did ask that I repeat the CD #2-3 tests (FSH and friends) since those test results seem to have disappeared from the OB's office. I will also get a chromosome analysis done at the same time to see if there are any obvious answers to my sucky m/c rate.

Woo hoo...vaginal ultrasound time. Right ovary had 7-8 follies, 3-4 on the left. (CD #5.) It was all happening so fast that while I heard him mention "a few cysts, but that's okay" it didn't register enough to ask any questions. Nor did I get any measurements on the follies, though I'm not even sure measurements this early in a cycle would mean anything anyway. As far as he could tell, my ovaries and whatever else are looking really good. (Tubes, of course, can't be seen this way, so who knows.) No signs of ageing beyond my years, which I was relieved to hear since early menstruation and early menopause run in my family.

Are you familiar with OPKs? Yes. We recommend Clear Blue because... Yes. But not the monitor. Yes. Have you charted before? Yes. Today is CD #5? Yes. What day do get a positive OPK? CD #13. Alright, let's do an IUI next week. Let's start with two or three rounds unmedicated. If that doesn't work, we'll try meds for a few months. If you still haven't conceived, then we will reevaluate.

WHAT? IUI NEXT WEEK???

Next week.

Oh, you mean, like, next cycle.

No, next week. You are set to ovulate next week, aren't you? (Flips through my chart and nods. Yes, his short term memory is intact.)

Yes...but this next week?

Yes.

Next week. I'm sorry, I'm not hearing you correctly. You said next week?

Yes.

Should we see a Urologist first?

It's up to you. We have a great one right here in town who I highly recommend who specializes in IF, but I feel confident based on your case that this is the next step.

What about repeating the SA? Shouldn't repeat the SA first?

Again, that's up to you.

What about the CD #2-3 blood tests? Should I do those first?

No. Next cycle is fine.

IUI next week.

Yes.

Ummm...do I have to?


Yes, I actually asked if I had to. Not once, not twice, but at least a half dozen times, even after he'd left us in the care of his nurse, who very nicely reminded me that their job is to get me pregnant, but that we would proceed when I was comfortable.

Because mentally I was back on long term TTC thinking. Meet him, spend a few months running more tests, wait a few months to get into the Urologist as a new patient, maybe actually decide on a plan in 3 or 4 or 6 months. Out of all the scenarios I'd been running in my head there was ever a next week one. Hell, since filling out the paperwork a few months ago when I'd been a friggin saint, I *just* started drinking a cup of caffeine most days again, just started getting lazy about taking prenatal vitamins, just started having the occasional glass of wine after the 2ww was over. The good girl crap was getting old.

False hope? Scam? No, the dude's got an excellent rep: this clinic, which he started when there were only a handful in the entire country, was one of the pioneers of IVF in the early 80s. He's been featured as one of the best by reputable sources, sources we've all heard of. His IVF rates are well above national averages. And he's local, which is just freaky, since we live where we do which is not a major city.

And I feel like an ass, because of course we're going to do it next week. Or at least we plan to unless we get there and are told we should cancel. I just needed a little bit of time to process it all. Because, seriously, suddenly there's a real plan: a plan that starts next week.

Little Love Notes

J Style

Whose vacation is it anyway?

I was awoken far too early this morning when my eyelids were forcibly opened.

"Mommy? I want to do somefing."
"It's still dark out."

And so began our first day of summer vacation.

Preschool resumes August 17th. Only 56 more weekdays to go.

If They Mated

Circa 2001, we were out at Dave & Buster's with our friends Brooke and Rusty when we came across one of those novelty takeapictureoftwopeopleandseewhattheirkidswilllooklike photo booths. All you had to do was fork over a few bucks, select your ethnicity, and smile for the camera. Rusty, as seriously funny as he is seriously Caucasian, and I should note married to a natural blonde, had to be talked out of selecting Asian.

Good times.













Really?

The laughs grew as we realized that our fake supposedly composite children resembled each other more than any of us. It was oh so not scientifically based.


A friend of mine was commenting today on her blog about how she had suddenly realized, through pictures, that her new daughter's hair is changing. I've always gotten a kick out of watching people grow up through pictures, trying to guess what they will look like as they get older, not just as children but through their adult years as well. Probably because I am an only child, I have always been especially fascinated by siblings. When anyone we know has a second child my first question if they resemble their older sibling as a baby. It's not so much the individual features that I'm interested in, but the overall picture.

Earlier this month J's sister had her second child. Our family had a great time guessing what our new niece would look like. Her son, undoubtedly is the spitting image of my ex-BIL. Taking my SIL's fair skin and striking red hair and combining it with her fiancée's dark olive skin and Cambodian roots was a combo that we just could not picture. She was only a few days when Jon's mother produced a picture of him as a newborn that you would have sworn was our new niece Emily. Freaky identical.

(I can't describe Emily except to say she's outrageously beautiful. There are a few pictures on Flickr.)

J resembles his dad, and he unquestionably resembles his sister, but she is certainly not just a male version of him. Neither of them look even related to their mother. When a long lost half-brother of theirs showed up at my FIL's door a year ago both my SIL and FIL thought it was J. "They could be twins!" Whatever...we didn't think so. But I did think he absolutely looked like my FIL. I've always been told that I look like both my parents, though I more strongly resemble my dad. Everyone agrees that the Cracker looks like my dad, but not usually like either one of us.

Confused? So am I, and I actually know all these people.


Today Jen reminded me of the time when I too realized, through a picture, that the Cracker had lost almost all of the dark brown hair he'd been born with. It was a really weird moment: you've been there nonstop but you miss the gradual change until one day it just slaps you upside the head.* We had just gotten a hiking backpack and I just had to take pictures of His Cuteness in it even though he was still far too young to actually ride in it.

*(Personally, I blame hats. I had quite a serious baby hat fetish. Trying to find a picture of his hair was way harder than it should have been.)














12 days old













6 weeks old














His hair quickly came back in: light brown at first, gradually becoming blonde.














And then there's that really neat point where they stop being infants and start being little people, and you can finally really see what they're going to look like as child. As they grow they look so much the same yet older.



















16 months

A few months ago, as I noticed that the Cracker's hair is slowly getting darker, I began to wonder what color hair he will have as an adult. I think the reason people ask about his hair is that he has the same weird almost greyish tint that mine does. (Or maybe I'm just going grey?) I suspect it will be in the brown family, and I'm really starting to lean towards thinking it will be the same as mine. (Except by then I will be grey, and we'll never get a good side by side comparison.)

Little Boys

This afternoon I came home to find the Cracker with a hammer, pliers, and every roll of Christmas/Birthday/Wedding/New Baby wrapping paper I've collected over the years spread across the living room floor.


"What are you doing?"

"Building roads."

I grabbed a vehicle, got down on all fours, and made a lame ass girly attempt at playing cars.

"Vroom, vroom."

(Shaking his head.) "No Mommy, the roads aren't done yet. Those are just the pipes."

Things You Hope Weren't Overheard

A while back we finally gave in a went to an Indian Casino buffet for dinner. It only took 4 years of everyone telling us to give it a try.

(Yum!)


As we were exiting the restaurant a Pow Wow was letting out.


"Hey Mommy! Hey Daddy! Look at all the cwowns!"

(Whispering) "Those aren't clowns, they're Native American Dancers."

"No they're not. They're cwowns! Wow! I weally like their cwown costumes!"

(Still whispering) "See all the feathers on their heads? Those are called headdresses. Clowns don't wear feathers."

"THEY'RE CWOWNS!"

(Hissing at J) "Stop laughing and walk faster!"

Touché

"Sweetie, I'm afraid that you're going to fall. Would you mind getting down?"

"I'm okay Mommy. I'm balancing. With my arms, see? And my ears too."

(Okay smartie pants, let's see how much of that you even understand.)

"Your ears, huh? How does that work? Your ears don't look like they're doing anything. They're not wiggling."

"No Mommy! The ears inside, in my head. You can't see them!"

Close enough.

Because I Had To

Dinner was ready, the Cracker was napping, and I had a good 4 hours to kill before the Grey's season finale.

(I've been reading on the net that there's going to be a lot of sex tonight. GA is my porn, so they better not be lying.)

I was checking in over at Wannabe Hippie when I found Elaine's post about becoming a bone marrow donor.

OMG...I have to do that.

Okay, really my first instinct was more along the lines of "I want to do that but it's a little bit scary." But being a sucker for sick kids and being a mother myself, it quickly turned into "I have to do that." Because if I am ever contacted it will be for a damn good reason.


I called J and asked if he had any objections, since if I did ever match he would have to deal with me. And take care of the Cracker. Of course it helps that he's totally used to these random kinds of phone calls at work.

So I did it. Already signed up, just waiting for my cheek swab kit which should arrive in 2-3 weeks.


Starting in 2007 (yes, New Year's Resolution, ugh, along with never ever again taking a bag at any store, which another post I'll probably never write) I promised myself that when a good opportunity arose I would stop hesitating and start acting. This is way cooler than donating 11 inches of hair to Locks of Love which was what I finally did two months ago after years of thinking someday. (Yuppers, chopped it short, from elbow length to above the neck, and no, I'm not sharing pics at the moment because the dude made my bangs too heavy when I wasn't even supposed to have bangs and I'm already trying to grow it out again.)

So anyway, it's something to think about. During the Thanks Mom Marrow Donor Drive they are waiving the $52 registration fee.

Oh the Horror!

Want to incite a riot? Let your 2 year old have a pacifier. Even sweet little old ladies will try to kick your ass.

BTDT.


When you're a first time parent, and then you don't have a second child in the socially acceptable amount of time, the number of crazy things with your firstborn that you most likely wouldn't do again the next go 'round increases exponentially. I'm an only child myself, so I get it.

Guilty.

(And let me just take this opportunity to thank all the people over the years who've told me that for an only I am not a freak like the all the rest. Yeah...uh...thanks.)

Here's to hoping the damage isn't permanent.


So here are a few admissions (and justifications):

At 4 years, 1 month and 2 weeks he still eats Yo Baby because he claims to hate all other yogurt. (He can't drink cow's milk and always prefers water over soy milk.) (I actually blame our granola Pediatrician on this one because she insisted that we not introduce other types of milk until he stopped breastfeeding at 19 months.) (And it's not because he's drinking juice, which remains high on his list of the world's evils.)

He still takes the majority of his meals at home in his high chair. (He can't get up while eating, which makes eating faster and cleaning easier.) (And he hasn't used a high chair in a restaurant since he was 2.)

We put on all shoes that aren't slip-ons.

He still wears a diaper at night to catch the occasional accident. (Cheaper than Pull-ups and Overnights.)

He still sits happily in a stroller. (BUT it's a jogger, and we only use it because A) we like to hike and he's too heavy for the backpack and B) after 2 miles under his own steam forward progress comes to a standstill.)


Believe it or not, we have made some progress in the last year:

He now dresses himself.

We no longer let my parents spoon feed him.

Yes, you read that right. Well into 3 the Cracker would insist he couldn't feed himself when the my parents were around. And they'd happily sit there for hours after squabbling over who had won the honor the last time. Hands in his lap, all he had to do was open wide, chew and swallow. Even I admit it made me a little sick.

I like to tell myself it's not all bad. If you're on his top 10 list of favorite people he will ask to "cuddle" with you and his magic blankie no less than a dozen times a day. I like to think his future partner is going to thank me for that one.


Last week at preschool I was making chit chat with one of the teachers and a couple of parents (we have an above average number of metrosexual stay-at-home-dad's in our Co-op) when I stupidly volunteered that the Cracker had only recently moved out of his crib.

Insert the look of horror.

"You mean a toddler bed."
"No, we never converted it. And he slept so well we figured why mess with a good thing?"
"Weren't you worried he'd hurt himself climbing out in the middle of the night?"
"He never climbed out. He climbed in, but never out."

Okay, so maybe we are turning him into a freak.

I had been telling myself we'd convert the crib to a toddler bed by his 4th birthday at the latest, but we were 2 months away and had yet to make a move.

This time the universe intervened.

I was wandering through Costco with my parents when we came across my deal of the year: the last unopened nearly identical evil twin of the Pottery Barn Boat Bed on Costco clearance and priced to move for $199. Yes, the 9 foot long mostly wooden complete with trundle whose coordinating nightstand alone is $299 + shipping + tax. (Ours is the Bayside Furnishings La Jolla Boat Bed also available at Home Depot online if you dare to compare.) And while I like name brands as much as the next gal, the fact that the base price of the PBK one was 4.9967 times more than our first car I was thrilled. G'parents bought the bed as an early birthday gift and we bought the mattress.

(Trundle doubles as storage for all those kid’s clothes we hope to use again. Oh the storage!)

If you're still shaking your head let me tell you that transitioning at 46 months was a breeze compared to stories I'd heard long ago from my colleagues. "This is your big boy bed and you will stay in it until morning" totally worked. Okay, he didn't always remain horizontal, but at least when we would peek in he was always sitting on the edge swinging his legs back and forth in a criss-cross pattern talking to imaginary seahorses.

The mornings went almost as well. We had one "Daddy why aren't you wearing any underwear in bed?" and two apparently not early enough interrupted sex sessions. (Because, of course, the week he got the bed was also the week that I was ovulating.)

On the plus side, we were able to imprison him in his high chair, slap a couple of Yo Baby's down, buying ourselves 10 more minutes of uniterrupted adult time.


Next up: wiping his own ass. With toilet paper.

I think it's time to put the Little People away

(Interestingly, it's only the people, never their animal friends.)

Me: Please take the Little People out of your underwear.

Me: No you cannot go to the grocery store with Little People in your underwear.

Me: Shoving Little People down the back of your underwear is no different than putting them down the front. Please take them out.

Out

If I wait until I have the time and energy to write one big fat post about where we've been so far pursuing an IF diagnosis I think we all know it will never happen. So instead, here are some memorable moments:

Waiting 2 months to get J in for a complete physical with his PCP, only to have him come home and tell me that all they did was check his weight and blood pressure. Oh, and btw, the latter is high. (He has since decided that the doctor was wrong and that the nurse who checked it at his office is right. But he refuses to prove it to me at any of those little pharmacy stands.)

(This is me, banging my head against the wall.)

The moment when we started getting taken seriously after a PCT done just to humor me/shut me up.

(Ah ha! "Everything has come back perfectly normal, so let's just wait a year" MY ASS.)

Having evil nurse swear that she called the lab again and that those darn semen analysis results still aren't available *2 months* after the fact. Picking them up directly from the lab in person and handing them to a stammering her.

(I believe I said "ours, but we'll allow you to make a copy.")

A late Saturday night, working our way through reams of paperwork at the kitchen table sent over by the RE, frustration with each other mounting as we try to agree on whether or not to check high blood pressure (see above) when SNL begins replaying Dick in a Box.

(A truly great moment.)

Ovulating at the in-laws. Suggesting we visit a naughty shop to get him in the mood for perfectly timed sex at his parent's while his entire family is congregating downstairs in a not-so-big house. And having him announce to everyone that his wife is looking for a sex store. And then having someone comment that I am looking for a new dildo I'd seen on the internet. And then having my FIL question whether or not I know that dildos don't make babies and aren't you guys ttc?

(And guess what? I'm expecting a positive OPK Thursday night, with travel back to the in-laws scheduled for Friday. Two months in a row? How sexy/conducive to baby-making is that?!)

And let's never forget the panicky last minute oh-shit-I-forgot coiffing.

(Hurrying is always a bad idea.)



(And I have to give a big thank you to those of you who have listened to me whine, complain and cry up until this point. It's so not over yet.)

Deep Thoughts: Marshmallows

Vegans have totally ruined marshmallows for me, which I find odd since I am not vegan or even vegetarian. Everything about their elasticity and meltiness now totally freaks me out and I find myself searching food labels everywhere for gelatin.

So we're standing on the corner

picking our neighbor's weeds, and this is what he chose to wear:



PS That is THE WIG we received this last Christmas from my crazy Grandma. She also sent us some very heavy rocks. The postage must've been a bitch.

Good manners or oppressive parenting?

"This is a store where kids shouldn't touch, right Mommy?"

Sick Day

Tuesday J was sick. He came home from work early, ate a little dinner, and then slept for 14 hours.

Wednesday I got it.

"Thanks for the germs. I'm miserable."
"Just go to bed. Sleep it off. I'm feeling so much better today."
"And what? Let our son roam the house unattended until you get home from work?"

I think not.


I take up residence on the couch and moan. Suddenly PBS Kids turns into Charlie Rose and while I'm stoked the Cracker is quite perturbed.

"Go find the remote! Then press 5-5 for Disney. Two fives!"

(I've started pushing PBS because of, duh, the Doddlebops. Death to Deedee, Rooney, Moe, I say.)


But he can't move, because 10 feet away from me he's somehow managed to get his fingers stuck in the slats of a chair.

And I can't get them out. And now he's screaming. The headache I thought couldn't get worse is now worse. And his fingers are getting more swollen by the second. And I'm trying butter. Olive oil. Regular mayonnaise. Vegan mayonnaise.

It's not working. It’s going on a half hour.

"I need you to be brave. I will be right back! Mommy's just going to run to the garage and get a saw..."

"NOOOOOO!!!" Apparently "saw" upset him further.

I try again. Nope, not budging.

I know I'm not thinking clearly. Surely there are more things around the house to try, but I cannot for the life of me fathom what the might be with the splitting headache and hysterical screaming child in my OTC drug induced haze.

Call J at work. No answer. My Dad is overseas. My Mom is back East were her cell is worthless.

Think woman! Think!

The Pediatrician's office! Because this is so something all little kids do at some point. Hell, I remember two different times that the fire department got called to my Kindergarten class to saw someone's head out form the back of a wooden chair.

Receptionist answers right away. I tell her what's going on. She takes my name. His name. His medical record number. His social. His date of birth. Please verify your address and home phone?

AND THEN THEY TELL ME TO CALL 9-1-1.

Fuck you.

Back to the drawing board. Crisco? Cooking spray? Liquid soap?

Finally they came free. I have no idea what finally worked, but I suspect it was a combination of everything.


(Now that I have a clear head, I'm thinking K-Y Jelly.)

Life in New Mexico

In line at the Costco Food Court

Middle-aged Caucasian-looking man: Your son has the most interesting hair.
Me: Thanks.
MACLM: What do you call that color?
Me: Uh.........blonde. (Is this a trick question?)
MACLM: Hmm.
MACLM: What's his natural color?
Me: Excuse me?
MACLM: You know, his real hair color? If you didn't dye it?

Car Talk

Listening to MC Solaar (French rap) this morning on our way to school:

"Hey Mommy, what's that other 'Panish called again?"
"French."
"Oh right! Fwench! Got it!" (muttering to self) "I ahways forget Fwench."

Internet Funnies

How to Prank the Telemarketer

iRack

What is it?

Something has sprung up in the old compost pile area again.

It's not a pumpkin.
It's not a honeydew.














Enlighten me.

Time Suckage Revisited

Remember the How many states can you name quiz? I innocently ran across the How many countries can you name? version today. I'm not even going to try until I've had a glass of wine.

We have worms!

And they're living in our new* compost pile! Dozens of them! And I didn't put them there! They put themselves there!



Holy shit...I'm vermicomposting!

What you have to remember here is that I live in the desert. Roadrunners, coyotes, and ants we have. Worms? Not so much.

I must admit that I have never been excited by worms before, so this is new for me. Growing up we had worms out the wazoo. In fact, when I think of worms it brings me back to my childhood, whining at my parents to clean up the dudes who came in under the front door and beached themselves on the entryway carpet during every decent rain storm. (And of course I also think of a baby Cracker. The avatar that really needs changing is the first worm the Cracker ever saw back at a pumpkin patch in October of 2004.) (Yeah, that picture is kind of old.)



This composting thing is a hoot.


*You can read about what happened in our first compost pile here.

The Bestest Unsolicited Junk Mail Ever

A big thank you to my new friends at Tide/Pampers/Kandoo marketing. The illustrated frog wiping his ass is genius and a delightful treat to unexpectedly find in one's mailbox.



Reward chart and stickers? Oh how you spoil us!



There is just one minor problem: the packet came addressed to yours truly, but my dear husband is insisting on taking it to work where he plans to proudly display it in his cubicle. (Something about checking off everything but "I wiped.")

Time Suckage

Am I smarter than a 5th grader? Probably not.

I came across this How many US states can you name in 10 minutes? quiz tonight. Turns out I can only name 49 states. But hey, I can do it in just under 3 minutes and they give 10. Does that count for anything?

I am humbled. I honestly expected a perfect score the first time, and then again the second time, and yes, even the third time. Ninety-friggin-five percent all three times.

(But can I have bonus points for knowing that 95 is Lightening McQueen's number?)


So here are my complaints with the test:
1. No map provided. I could totally do it with a map.
2. Incorrect spelling should count. I was finishing up with New England and could already see I was going to hit 49 again and in frustration suddenly was unable to spell M-a-s-s-a-c-h-u-s-e-t-t-s.
3. Instead of alphabetical order I would like them listed in the order that I entered them.* I do not even kind of possess the patience to go through again in my head geographically and then compare against an alphabetical list. Hello? Lazy American here.
4. I would like a grade me now/cheat button. When I'm done naming 49 states and have spent a whole additional minute half-assedly trying to figure out which one I missed this time I'M DONE. Making me wait until the clock runs out is really shitty.

(My misses in order: Iowa, Missouri, Minnesota)
*As it turns out, that was the original version. For tonight I'm done aggravating myself, but I might have to try tomorrow.

Also from the same site, a YouTube link to this.



My Dad used to reenact it for me as a child.

The Sharts

Do you treat them as a poo accident or cut the kid some slack?

P.A.M.I.L.A.

A week ago now I emailed my MIL and asked if we were still going to see her in March. She had made a big deal with "pencil me in! Are you doing it right now? Are you done yet? Am I penciled?"

"Yes, you're penciled." But not literally. I did not actually write anything down, because if my MIL picks out a particular weekend and tells me she coming A) the threat is enough to keep me from forgetting, and B) I don't actually believe her.

She has seen the Cracker twice since he was born: at 5 months and at 28 months. She lives 6 hours away by car, and likes to tell me about how she can fly here on Southwest $28 one-way. All talk, no action.

"Has he changed? Will I notice a change in him?"

No, developmentally he'll be the same kid at 4 that you last saw at 2 and not quite a half. He's just taller now.


So she makes this really big deal, informs me of the who (just her), the when (March 15-18th), the where (my house), and then I didn't hear from her again, at all. Finally she calls two weekends ago and J answers the phone. Did she mention the penciled visit? No, not a word. And of course J forgot to ask .

(Sorry, I’m distracted by the neighbor’s puppy across the street who is strutting up and down the fence line with a big ol tumbleweed in her mouth. It’s freaking adorable.)

So, to recap quickly: MIL informs me she’s coming to visit. Weeks go by without any contact. She calls, talks to J, doesn’t mention the visit. I e-mail her and ask nicely “Are we still going to see you in March?” More time elapses. She e-mails J today and again doesn’t mention it.

Why do I even care? Because I am trying to book a flight, and it turns out that the best time for us to go includes part of the days she’s selected. It’s too late to call her now and I have a sinking feeling that the fare will go up $400 at midnight when it becomes less than 14 day advance notice. (I forgot about stupid short February.) And I KNOW she’s not coming, but I have to pretend that this time will be different just because she’s the mother of my husband, and if the Cracker ever sees me they way J does her I will be devastated.

(And it was far too windy to play outside today. That always puts me in a foul mood.)

I care because I’m tired of playing this game with her. She picks arbitrary dates in the future 3-4 times a year, tells me she’s buying tickets and that she’ll call with the details in less than 24 hours, and then doesn’t. It’s not that I don’t like her, and I try my best to make her feel welcome because I want her to be a part of my child’s life, but my patience has worn thin. Her relationship with J is strained to say the least so the effort I make is for his sake as well.

“Why does she do this? And why do I let her get to me?”
”It’s the whole passive aggressive thing. Nothing’s changed.”

This brings me to our old code name for her, Pamela, which dates back to our newlywed days. Passive Aggressive Mother In Law Attacks. (Okay, so it’s not perfect acronym, but I was a friggin teenager.)

Further proof that we are evil: we did get a laugh at her expense today. In the e-mail she sent J, which he forwarded to me, she has added a new signature line:
“(Business name) coordinator #32,864”
Pyramid scheme, anyone?*



*Which reminds me of a bumper sticker I saw recently "Mary Kay: Enriching Women's Lives.” I don’t wear face paint more than once a year because I am far too lazy, but really? Enriching women’s lives? And I stupidly wonder why the princess thing has gone from an innocent game of make believe to so out of control that it’s hard to find a 0-3 mos Carter’s outfit that doesn’t say “Princess” on it somewhere. (But more on that another day.)

I Have No Words

Today's Parenting Lesson

Your child does something they aren't supposed to do. They knew that it was a no-no, but they did it anyway. You know they did it. Hell, you may or may not be sitting right in front of evidence; you may have actually stopped them in the act. Doesn't matter.

"Did you just wipe poo off your tushie with your stuffed bunny?"
"No."
"I saw you."
"Nope, it wasn't me."
"Honey, it's very important that you tell me the truth. I'm not mad, but I need you to be honest with me."
"But I didn't do it Mommy."
"If you didn't then who did?"
"Hmmm...I don't know."

And they are the suckiest liars ever. Their faces are this weird mix of guilt for the act and doubt as to whether or not you’re going to buy what they're trying to sell. Go ahead, ask until you're blue in the face, but the answer ain't changing.

"No."

But, ask them why and the suckers crack immediately. It totally worked.

"Because he's soft, and he was alweady in my hand, and I didn't know where the toiwet paper was."
"The toilet paper is right here, on the roll, where we always keep it."
"Oopsies!"


So, thank you mothers on the internet who've BTDT. Keep it coming.

Oh, we're poop trained now

Why didn't I say anything before? Because regression is inevitable. Seven glorious weeks without a single (not one!!!) accident and we're back to dirty drawers.

So now I can talk about it.

"Mommy mommy! I went poo all by myself!"
And you've already pulled up your pants = skid marks. (moan)
"That's great honey. Let's go wipe."
"I alweady did!" Pauses and then sticks out thumb. "But my thumb is dirty.........it has poo on it."
Visible poo.

Now, take that exact same scenario, fast forward a week, and replace thumb with pinky finger, and you have the second time it happened.

I am now attempting to cut his nails every other day.

Another Embarrassing Moment, Batteries Included

Whenever my parents visit my Dad is delighted to take on any job that needs doing around the house. And because he takes pride in his work the guy won't quit until it's friggin perfect. It's just...awesome. My dear husband, on the other hand, puts so much energy into bitching and moaning even if I'm not nagging about the prospect of having to do something that he exhausts himself to the point that he needs a nap before he can even begin, and so begins the process again the following weekend.

So last weekend my Dad asks if there is anything else, anything at all, that I'd like him to look at before they left. Yes, I have a clock that has never worked right.

"Let's start with a new battery."

So I go into our bedroom and reappear with AAs.

"Uh, actually it takes AAAs."

No sweat. Thinking nothing of it I head off in the opposite direction for J's office where all the other batteries are kept.

J, witness to it all, is dying.

And did he cover for me? Noooooo.

Bad husband.

Then, to rub it in, he makes me watch that episode of Coupling where the guys keep telling Steve to check out Susan's remotes.

In case you were wondering, yes, I still find ways to embarrass myself. It's a talent, really.

CRAP

Apparently the new skin is not working well and I am now having publishing problems. So yes, there is a reason you keep seeing the same post published and pulled hundreds of times. The darn preview no longer works and I can't tell if I've made any improvement until I publish. This sucks.

We Take Pleasure in the Little Things

"Hey Mommy, wanna know somefing weally funny? I'm pooped means you is tired! Bahahahaha!"
"Where did you learn that?"
"Dragon Tales on PBS Kids."

Everything I Know About HTML I Learned in 1996

Please forgive me as I try to ditch the ugly template I never really liked and can no longer stand.

How to Keep 12 Kids Amused for 99 cents

1 can shaving cream

I Demand the Return of My Living Room

Back in early December J and the Cracker hauled out all the Thomas crap and began construction on their biggest project ever. Over a period of weeks I watched the affected area of my living room grow. At first it was really cute to watch them, my two sons, discussing layout changes and playing trains, but as days turned into weeks it the damn thing kept spreading out and the cuteness faded long before their interest.

"Is it okay if I take this down?"
"NOOOOO!" "NO MOMMY NO!"
Arugh.
"Well, couldja kinda rework things a little, maybe move the roundhouse and the engine wash so that there's a path into the bedroom?"
"Uh, no! Do you know how long it took us to come up with this configuration?"

Sadly, I do.

(multiple nights in the preceding weeks)
"I'm going to bed, wink wink."
Picking my way around the above-mentioned obstacles I realize that my loving husband has not made a move.
"You coming?"
"I can't."
"Huh?"
"I think I may have figured out how to fix blah blah blah! You see the way it is now, blah blah blah, you get forced in this direction blah blah blah can't turn around to go back to blah. So I'm thinking that if can rework blah blah then blah blah and blah blah flow!"
(He looks up at me, big ass smile, oh so pleased with the plan.)
"Are you fucking kidding me? Sex! You'd rather play trains by yourself in the dark than have sex?"
"I'll be there in a little while."
"What you're not getting is that this is a limited time offer."


Yesterday I had one of my I've-had-it! moments and I declared (to no one other than myself) the branch lines of Sodor relocated to a more out of the way location where I will not trip over them quite so often.

Compounding my frustration is the fact that we have an actual playroom off our living room. (In the model they called it the formal dining room, but I find I love my family more when I'm not cleaning food off carpet.) When you walk into our home the first thing you see is the living room ahead of you. It isn't until you get halfway down the entry hall that you realize there is a playroom on your left as well. I like it like that: the toys are all in his reach, I can keep track of him from the LR or the kitchen, but you cannot see the chaos from the front door.

So why isn't it in the playroom? Because the configuration spans 8 feet, 2 inches by 7 feet, 1 inch.

Welcome to my nightmare.

Not even daring to take a breath I ever so carefully, section by section, begin moving the land of Sodor from one end of the living room to the other, cursing myself that I did not remember to first take a few digital pictures in case I accidentally rip it all apart and cannot figure out how to get it back together just so. Simultaneously I applaud myself for not buying more track for them at Christmas.

(Even with my 50% any one item at Michael's coupon I just could not bring myself to spend $1/inch for a few curved pieces.) (Most of our track is generic Imaginarium BOGOHO or the retired plastic yet compatible "Interactive Thomas" I bought on clearance 2 years ago at Target and later at Ross for a few pennies an inch.)

I move it to the corner recently vacated by our holiday tree. Crap, it doesn't even really fit there either. Should have measured first.

I spend the next hour wiggling it around the LR, a little to one side then the other, trying to figure out if minor adjustments will suddenly open up a fat path for foot traffic.

No.

Pissed and mentally exhausted, I get up and look around. Hmmm...maybe if I move the couch and the big chair...

Forty-five minutes and no solution later my mind yells out "WFT are you doing rearranging your living room furniture for Thomas and Friends? This is bullshit! You have totally lost your mind woman! (But, on the plus side, maybe I'll leave it this way for the night. Having the couch smack dab in front of the TV like that would give us a much clearer shot for throwing Pirate's Booty at the President during his address. Decisions, decisions...)

Google Me

I know I suck. The last month has been a flurry of illness, birthdays, get to the dentist/optometrist before the end of the year appointments, travel, record breaking snow and a little more illness. I just logged in and found a bunch of posts I don't remember even writing that I never published. (See below.)

Ahh! The holidays!

But I am here now, thank you notes not even started, inspired by the fact that I just checked for the first time in forever what searches have brought people's asses to my blog and found a fairly good one: renuzit room spray with a penis on the can.

Sweet.

(You can't see it, but I am swelling with pride. At press time I am the third link down on the first page. The first page!)

I originally got the idea from DGM. (Except don't follow the link yet, because then mine really suck in comparison.) Sometimes I will spend way too much time getting as far as page 20-something before I give up trying to find how "super glue locks rock-hard" brought them here of all places. It's amazing how quickly these things get buried if I don't check them, like, that day.

And for the most part the search terms aren't all that weird: I get a surprising number of hits from shoes I've mentioned, though the majority are along the lines of "poo stained panties" which has lead me to conclude that there isn't a lot of graphic potty training vents on the net. Shame.

Most of my favorites are from Ask.com, where I am/was supposedly a good resource to answer:

Where can I find Aloe Vera gel and how to use it on hair?
Will a jell dildo go through airport security?
Where can i find a monkey hitting himself in the head?
The inside of my belly button has a red rash and burning feelin (no G, which somehow makes it better)

And a few of the other stranger ones:

Sugar ants in dirty laundry
32A July (Thank you...that would be my old bra size)
why adults and teenagers would wear diapers on purpose
sex w/pumpkins
male bedroom finished in animal print
unpotty training
rash from alberta spruce