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    Thursday, July 31, 2008

    All You Fine, Sexy, Hot BlogNosh Readers (And Everyone Else, Too)

    A big, fat, ecstatic "HEY, WHAT is UP!!!" to all of you who've found me after seeing my posting published on the Pregnancy/Adoption/Childbirth Channel of Blognosh Magazine!!! Thanks for reading my stuff! (And of course, a big wet kissy lovey nuggle to all my faithful readers - you know who you are...)

    I may have rather limited internet time here for the next week or so, but if you're longing to read more of me, check my archives, baby. I am not too shabby a writer some days, and there's some good stuff to be read, if I say so myself. (There is also some crap, I'm sure - try to ignore that, or step around it. Pretend you're walking in my back yard and Greg hasn't swept the area for dog bombs yet. Yeah, like that.)

    But where to start, you ask? 183 posts is a lot - I can't read all of those? Are you nuts, lady? A little hint, please? What are the finest, brightest, funniest, most gut-wrenching posts here at FMFO? Let me help. I'm like your own personal guide through the land of Cathy's Brain. For you: some of my favorites, if I may, to read whilst I am off being responsible and busier than I care to be...

    Jerks Who Jack Around in Family Bathrooms

    On Turning 35

    Fast Food Follies

    Sweet Baby William - Part 1 and Part 2

    South Beach Deep Stuff

    Pre-SB Epiphany Exercise Bitching

    My Night At Westroads Post-Shooting

    Neck Nipples

    Thanksgiving Ruminations

    M*A*S*H-tastic Question

    Holiday in Review: Halloween Candy Thoughts

    To My Husband

    Jackson's a Big Boy (What'll I do when they leave me?) (Note: Deb called this one "perfect", if I may brag a titch...I'm just sayin'...)

    Tribute to my Mom...and her Finger...

    So lest you go away without having read more, I wanted to give you some direct links to some of my favorite past blogs. Check them out, and if you haven't already, don't forget to subscribe so that you'll know when NEW posts pop out of my brain and onto this page. OH, and BIG KEY here: pass me on! If you like something you read, use the handy-dandy "Email this Post to a Friend" button at the bottom of each post. It's an envelope with an arrow on it. One click, send it on. Voila! I'd appreciate it MUCHLY!

    Oooohhhh, and one more thing that I'm adding after-the-fact. This whole "internet sabbatical" business? I really need to do it. I need to start today. But the thought of ACTUALLY doing it - of shutting off my computer and hiding the mouse from myself for a week or two - makes my head feel funny and my chest get tight. Immediately thoughts of the absolutely NECESSARY things that I NEED to do on the internet start popping into my head (and thoughts of how I'll take the mouse off of Greg's computer and then sneak it back before anyone's the wiser). So don't bank on me being "gone" so much as "limiting myself to blogging because writing for you people keeps me sane". But I promise myself to only blog after my daily list is done, and after I've done the things I need to accomplish for the upcoming stuff that's...uh....coming up.

    Or whatever. It'll be some shit where I get stuff done more than I sit on my computer-chair-shaped ass. Look for more coming soon. You know I can't stay away for long.

    Deep Thoughts from Restrooms

    Someone sent me these today, and I am still LMAO. Just two I'll share here, but they are oh-so-to-the-point...

    For all you dogs out there looking for the next Ms. Right Now:
    No matter how good she looks,some other guy is sick and tired of putting up with her shit. ~Men's Room, Linda's Bar and Grill, Chapel Hill , NC

    The Truest Factual Statment E.V.E.R. about men and cars:
    A Woman's Rule of Thumb:If it has tires or testicles,you're going to have trouble with it. ~Women's restroom, Dick's Last Resort, Dallas , TX

    Wednesday, July 30, 2008

    Some People

    Some people do not know when to shut up. Some people have nothing better to do than argue about stupid shit that two people will never, ever, EVER, EVER, E.V.E.R. agree on. Ever. Some people like drama, and more drama, and seek it out and perpetuate it, and foist it on other people, until other people have a stomach ache, and a headache, and are snapping at their kids and then apologizing for it. Some people keep looking for more things for other people to add to the list of "Things We Are NOT Going To Talk About".

    Some people are becoming more trouble than they are worth. Some people are trying to get themselves call-blocked. Some people should know the warning signs very well, since A) there are approximately 4753 people in the world who already have some people call-blocked, and B) they were call blocked from other people's phone for NINE YEARS the last time some people couldn't have a normal grown-up relationship with other people.

    Seriously. Shut the fuck up. Stop leaving stupid messages on my machine about people I don't care to hear anything about, about issues you know I don't agree with you on, and for fuck's sake, stop making it impossible for me to continue a relationship with you. I am finding myself turning my ringer off and missing other important calls because the thought of hearing your voice makes my stomach turn. I don't like missing other calls. It pisses me off. Much like you do. So knock it off, or we'll see how another nine years of no contact suits your argumentative, delusional ass.

    I mean it.

    Monday, July 28, 2008

    Party Planning, Summer Fun and A Possible Sabbatical

    So it seems that July and August always end up being our busiest months of the year, especially since Jackson and the group of other August 06 babies were born, and this year is no exception. LOTS of fun stuff going on, none that we would want to skip or forego, but the days run sprints past us and are gone before we know it. Blink twice and that fucking snow will be back.

    This week we are planning Jackson's 2nd birthday party, slated for August 10th. Before that ever happens, we have a slew of play dates and family stuff planned, not to mention the major, MAJOR work that our yard needs before we can even consider having a party here. It's been a summer of landscaping slacking around here and now we'll pay the price. Sigh. Inside needs some help, too - as will I with the task of talking Greg into finishing some trim projects before the party rolls around. After all, I'm pretty sure the trim that's still not up is the SAME trim that "still wasn't up" LAST year for Jackson's party. Double sigh.

    Also, Samantha starts preschool just after Labor Day, and some major daily schedule adjustments are in order which need to take place gradually, and starting soon! We are excited (despite our disappointment at the morning class being full, and having to put her in the afternoon class) and we hope she will love every second. We are more excited for next year when school is, well, FREE - because preschool, in case you were wondering, is NOT.

    So, yard work, house work, play dates, family events, revamp of daily life, prepping for party and preschool, oh, and trying to get some more weight off before the snow flies - all these things are leading me towards another event - Internet sabbatical.

    I know, I know, if only I'll just budget my time online, or set me a nifty timer, or give myself a guideline of sorts, this wouldn't be necessary, right? Might be true. But I guess "necessary" is a relative term. Can I have an internal struggle every day, and talk myself into only spending 20 minutes online, and battle it while I try to get everything done? Sure. Maybe. But what I KNOW is that I'm spending more time online than I'd like to admit, and it's been going on for longer than I'd like to admit. Greg jokingly calls me a junkie, but I'm pretty sure his joke is rooted in truth (as most are, but that's another topic). So telling me to just check in once a day is vaguely equivalent to telling the drunk to stop at the bar after work but just have one drink, or telling the meth head to walk by the crank house, and maybe stop in, but just shoot one spoonful. Not gonna happen. It just never does. If it was under control it wouldn't be a problem to begin with, would it? Right.

    It's like this (This is not today, or any day, but it is more accurately similar to every day, if you get my drift):

    Time to get busy around here. But first, I'll check email "real quick". Just take a sec.

    14 crap emails, and one email requiring action - a PM on one of my message boards...better check that.......oh, yeah, uh-huh, better reply to that...and since I'm on the board already, better just check the board and make sure nothing "hot" is going on, right? Right? Just take a sec...{15 minutes while I read, reply to only the "essential" threads}...OK, somebody on here reminded me of something I wanted to post on a different board, so I'd better check in there, too...{15 minutes doing just that, and posting whatever and then refreshing two or three times waiting for a response}....ok, seriously gotta get busy....

    ...Op! New email (says the tweet from my PC speaker)...oh, so-and-so found me on Facebook...better confirm that....and oh, look who is on THEIR friends list...oh, need to add that person...I met her thru my sis, and that reminds me that sis messaged me on Myspace, so I'd better check in there, too, and answer that....{15 minutes on Myspace, reading bulletins that will 'just take a sec' and looking at pics of my niece, nephew and super cute new grand-nephew}...

    ...Op! Now it's after noon, so the hometown newspaper has updated their obits, so I'd better check in and make sure nobody died that I didn't know about...remember when Tom's dad died and you missed it altogether, geez, that yeah, check that...oh, and what's this local news story....that guy used to work with me at where ever...

    Alright, seriously. Time to get...'tweet!'...another email...South Beach board...have to click, don't I?...oh, yeah, Casey checking in, Melinda checking in, so nice of them to check on me, better reply quick, it'd be rude not to, right? {15 minutes reading and posting on SB board}...oh, I forgot to track my food and exercise in MY journal, better do that...oh, and I still need to print out that recipe Deb sent me...better print that out...where's that link?....

    And on, and on, and on...

    I can't be the only one with this problem. I just can't be. I wonder if there is an online support group for Internet junkies? And would that be like holding an AA meeting in at Coyote Ugly? Or like holding an OA meeting at the Hostess factory? Prolly. Still...I'll be damned if there isn't one. Swear to god: They offer online counseling, and - did I call it? - a message board for support. Quite possibly the funniest goddamned thing I have ever seen. Am I the only one who finds this freaking hilarious? Hey, Mr. Alcoholic - here, have some vodka, but pay to drink it out of OUR cup - that'll help you get clean and sober!

    Anyway. So, it may just be that in the days to come, for a week or two or three, Cathy may just fall out of cyberspace. But worry not - it's only because my house, my yard, my family and my sanity need me to. You know I'll be back, and I know I'll be back. So if you suddenly don't see me for a while, fear not. I'll be back as soon as I can get organized...get my ducks in a row...get my poop in a get the picture...right now I have to get all this down on paper, this monstrous list of things we need to get accomplished...

    But first I have to check my email. Just take a sec.

    Friday, July 25, 2008

    Happy Birthday Baby

    Greg, you turn 35 today. I already went ahead and scoped out "35" for you, it's not so bad - you'll handle it much like "34", I suspect. And you don't look it, anyway, you fine piece of man, you.

    Thank you to your father and especially your mother, without whom I would not celebrate this day as one of my Top Five Days of the Year each year.

    We will celebrate today, Friday, with a trip to the Omaha Zoo's Safari (the very prospect of said event thrills your daughter to no end, as you know), and dinner at your favorite rib joint (which I know thrills YOU to no end). My favorite part of the day is that you're not working, so it's one extra day this week for the kids and I to have you to ourselves.

    You, my darling, make every day of my life better because you are in it. Even when it doesn't seem like it, even when we're both tired and grumpy, even when you go to bed without remembering to kiss me goodnight, even when I stay up too late instead of coming to bed with you...I am blessed by you. The kids are blessed by you. Our families are blessed by you. Our dear friends everywhere are blessed by you. And your birthday seems like the perfect time to remind you of that. So know that you are a blessing, know that you're loved, and know how very grateful I am that every July 25th is a day I'll always get to spend celebrating YOU.

    Happy Birthday, Greg. Ten years ago today you were having a less-than-stellar 25th birthday, but the beginning of our "forever" was right around the corner. I wonder what the next ten years holds, and I can't wait for us to find out together. Just hold onto my hand, walk beside me, and I'll follow you anywhere, my love.

    Saturday, July 19, 2008

    Back From Grown-Up Fun Land

    Our evening out, while not quite as balls-to-the-wall-all-night-fucked-up-so-we-can't-stand-up-closing-down-the-bar-hot as we thought we might be, was a fun-enough-for-two-people-approaching-middle-age-who-are-total-lightweights-time. That means we had fun but could still open our eyes, talk and dress ourselves in the morning. A nice compromise between the riot we planned and the nursing home-like atmosphere we're used to at home, actually.

    Dinner at Stoke's, with GREAT service, GREAT food, and some perfect Amaretto and Cokes (uh, YUMMO! - my new favorite drink!). We then ventured out around the Old Market, stopping for drinks as the mood struck us, watching the diverse crowds around us and enjoying some street performances (if a guy in suspenders moving two balls around in his hands qualifies as a "performance", then we saw musicians, and that guy). We imbibed at Upstream, stopped at Homer's Music, which made me miss my days at Bogey's, to look for an out-of-print CD for Greg - no such luck - and then moved on. We walked by a couple of techno clubs, but Greg just was not feeling the techno vibe, so we moved on down, stopped at one other pub, and then headed back to the hotel. We talked, and sang, and just walked some of the time. We stopped at the hotel bar on the way to our room, had a couple more drinks (Kent took great care of us, and invited us back any night he's there, so he can perfect one of our fave drinks), and then headed back to our luxury two-room suite.

    What happened then is nunyabidness. But we both fell asleep with smiles on our faces.

    And the mattress in our room? Fabulous. What kind was it again? I can't rem....oh, wait, lemme think - it was that one kind, you know... OH, yeah! It was the kind that no children crawled onto and woke me up from. THAT's what kind it was. Sweet, sweet stuff. Possibly our favorite part of the whole night, which is fine since it was certainly the most expensive part.

    But morning brought my maternal instinct back with a vengeance, and we couldn't get home to our babies fast enough. We brought them Olympic panda bears, who they were more excited to see than their parents. And Cheesy Tots from Burger King, because we had to drive thru and get ourselves food on the way home anyway, since we slept right through our "complimentary made-to-order breakfast".

    The time we spent together Friday night was sweet, and good, and reminiscent of "back in the day", when we only had each other to focus on. It helped me see some things about our relationship now, to see some ways we can be kinder to each other even though we "don't have time" to now; and it gave us a chance to miss our kids a little bit. We giggled as we pulled in the driveway Saturday morning, anxious to get to them and snuggle them up. To hear Samantha shriek "MOMMY!" and Jackson bellow his "UH DADDY!!!!" was a big, huge rush to the heart.

    Strangely enough, the Saturday Morning Reunion Giggling was similar to the Friday Night Running Away Giggling we did when we left the night before, anxious to go away to play as they got to stay and play with Grandma (and they had a blast, too, by the way, the three of them!). So I guess we may have been as excited about one part as the other. And that's as it should be, no?

    A nice weekend, overall, and Mom and I even made some headway on the cookbook. Might get that done sometime this decade. But I'm not holding my breath. That's another blog.

    Night, all. Hope your week brings good things.

    Oh, one note on me. I'm going thru a week of P1 (at least) to detox starting tomorrow - I've been putting perfume in the gas tank as of late, so it's time to regroup and refocus. I have a SB online buddy who's going back to P1 with me, so she and I will be back on the straight and narrow. Frankly I'm sick of feeling like ASS, which is what happens when I make stupid food choices. Even too many "allowable good choices" can be a recipe the aforementioned ass-like feeling, so a date with P1 is just a good idea. That means I'll be eating my favorite veggie-type foods and good proteins with some yummy good fats, all week long, and loving it all. And lots of water. Detox never sounded so good, did it? Gotta love The Beach.

    Thursday, July 17, 2008

    Pondering Preschool

    I got the info for our preschool of choice for Samantha, and it looks very promising. I may even forego researching school options 1 and 2 if this one ends up being as cool as I think it is. It has a lot of great programs, and a lot of aspects I feel good about in terms of their curriculum. We will go take a tour soon, and I hope that will make our decision for us, because everything else seems wonderful thus far.

    So here I am, getting out of the river (Denial), drying off, and deciding where to send my child to begin her education. Scares the shit out of me. School was not fun for me, overall, and I pray every day that she has the exact opposite experiences that I had, and that I don't make my past issues her present issues. She is bright, funny, smart and sweet, and I hope she makes friends easily and does well. But she is also outspoken, loud, and can be a little bit snitty (you know, like her dad) - and those things can work against a girl in school. I hope to be dead wrong, and I hope she has kids lining up to be her friend. And I REALLY hope that no one teases, hurts or badgers my little sweet girl. I'm not sure I could bear that. And I'm not sure her tormentors would survive it.

    Ugh. No more thinking about that. Positive thoughts bring positive things, right?

    She will be great, and will love school.
    She will be great, and will love school.
    She will be great, and will love school.
    She will be great, and will love school.
    She will be great, and will love school.
    She will be great, and will love school.
    She will be great, and will love school.
    She will be great, and will love school.
    She will be great, and will love school.
    She will be great, and will love school.
    She will be great, and will love school.
    She will be great, and will love school.
    She will be great, and will love school.
    She will be great, and will love school.
    She will be great, and will love school.
    She will be great, and will love school.
    She will be great, and will love school.
    She will be great, and will love school.
    She will be great, and will love school.
    She will be great, and will love school.
    She will be great, and will love school.
    She will be great, and will love school.
    She will be great, and will love school.
    She will be great, and will love school.

    Hey, don't knock it - writing things over and over worked when I was in school, right?

    We're 35, Not 80...It's Time We Acted Like It!

    Tomorrow night Greg and I will be venturing out on our own, sans children. Mom is coming up, bless her heart, and giving us some much-needed time alone, out on the town - the kids are excited, we are excited, and I hope Grandma is excited. She's coming, anyway! So, we get to go out and order our own food, not have to cut anyone else's meat, and get to actually talk during dinner, and not about 'why raindrops fall on everything outside' and how 'sisters CAN marry their brothers, no matter what moms and dads think about it'. Maybe even enjoy a fruity drink that doesn't have the words "berry blast" or "frooty fun" in its name! Dance to something other than "We're Goin' To Mars" or the theme song to Curious George - the possibilities are mind-boggling! I hope we remember how to walk down a street holding hands, without a stroller to push or a monkey to swing between us!

    I adore my kids, and I love nearly every minute I spend with them. I seldom have moments where I truly, genuinely want to get away from them for any length of time, and time spent away from them is generally filled with thoughts OF them. They are my heart, my breath, my spirit and my compete joy. I know we will miss them while we are out.

    And I am REALLY looking forward to missing them.

    Hope your weekend is great, too!

    Sunday, July 13, 2008

    That Good Old River in Egypt

    A friend asked me tonight if I'm in denial about my son turning two in a matter of weeks.

    I have no idea what she's talking about.

    My son is NOT two. He is ONE. Oh...En....Eee... ONE. "My one-year old Jackson", I say so often to anyone who asks. "My two-year old Jackson"? That just sounds goofy. I just won't think about it, how about that? Fine, suits me.

    And while we're talking about things not happening, CERTAINLY my four-year old is NOT starting preschool in the fall. I think not. I know of no such thing. She has plainly stated she would like to stay home with Mommy "fir-EVER" and that is peachy-keen-jellybean by me. Leave her, with OTHER people, and go someplace else, without her? Sure, right. Whatever you say. Think I'll ignore that, too*.

    Baby boys turning two and and big girls going to school. Nonsense. Sounds about as realistic as my fine young self having turned 35 earlier this year. Crazy talk.



    *I will ignore it at least until the director of Preschool Prospect #3 emails me back tomorrow with info. Then I guess I'll have to get out of the river, dry off, and decide where to send my oldest child to begin her education. Sigh. For now, though, the denial thing is working for me.

    Saturday, July 12, 2008

    To Some Unknown Neighbors

    It's after the 4th of July, fucktards. Knock it off with the fucking fireworks. They were illegal BEFORE the 4th, and they're sure as hell illegal now. So knock it off. You're a complete loser, out there shooting off fireworks a week late, thinking how funny it must be.

    So you know, it's so very, very not funny, asshats. Wake my kids up with your bullshit, and I'm going to come over there and see if I can fire a bottle rocket out of your ass. Or maybe an M-80 IN your ass. And I'm using my husband's acetylene torch to light it.

    So knock it off. Get a life. Or eat a dick, whatever. Just get over the fireworks, you're goddamn killin' me.

    Friday, July 11, 2008

    A Story About A Window

    A long time ago (last winter), our bathroom window shattered in the middle of the night. It was a very cold night, and that bathroom gets very warm when the furnace runs. (We have since found out that the technical term for what happened is "SEAL FAILURE".)

    Only the inside pane broke. We got rid of the mess (it shattered all over the tub and the shower curtain saved us from a much larger mess), secured the existing pane, and said "Gosh, we'd better get that fixed." And then we closed the curtain in the bathroom.

    Probably should have left it open...out of sight, out of mind....

    So fast forward countless months. I finally found the name of the company which the previous owners had paid to install these windows "in 2003". That's what they said on their little disclosure sheet when we bought the place. As it turns out, "2003" in real estate lingo must actually mean "1999" because that's when they were really installed. Assholes. Oh, but that would deserve an entirely separate posting, the level of assholeness achieved by said previous owners. Don't get me started.

    Anyway, so I contacted American Building Supply. "Eric" promised to stop over the next morning to verify the window size, type, etc - "first thing" he said, "around 8 or 8:30" and promised to call on his way.

    He did not come in the early morning. He did not come in the late morning, nor the early afternoon. He neither called, nor emailed. I emailed, and received no response.

    FIVE FIFTEEN. PM. That's when he finally called. Five fifteen. Clearly he was suffering under the delusion that I had nothing to do simply because I am, in theory, home all day. I was LESS than pleasant. I told him that I was busy just that minute, I was getting ready to leave, but Greg said it was fine, he could stop by.

    So he, and his helper of some sort, did finally drop by. With no tape measure. Mull that around around for a sec for me. They stopped by, to check the window size, without a tape measure. Not so much as a wooden ruler. A piece of string, nothing. I was additionally irritated. Greg measured the window for them while I seethed in the kitchen. "Eric" then said he would get the replacement info and let us know.

    That was TWO WEEKS ago yesterday. We emailed good ole' Eric:

    It's been a couple of weeks since you stopped over and checked out the broken window pane in our bathroom at xxxx Our Street. You said you'd need to contact the manufacturer regarding replacing both the broken pane and the existing pane, because the window did not have tempered glass in it as should have been the case when it was originally installed. Have you been able to obtain information regarding the window replacement, and what our cost if any will be to get the correct glass in that window?

    Please advise. Thanks!

    This time I signed Greg's name instead of mine. I did not hold my breath waiting for an answer.

    Today, I got a response.

    Thanks for getting back to us. Eric is no longer with American Building Supply, Inc. I have left his e-mail up to tie up some loose ends that are out there.

    I have found some paperwork with your information on it, although nothing has been done with the manufacturer. I will get in touch with them this morning and let you know what I find out.

    Thanks again for getting in touch with us and I will get back with you.

    Jon XXXXX

    Gee, big surprise - Mr. No Tools Who Can't Show The Fuck Up On Time is no longer with the company. I am shocked. AND he did nothing with our issue? Staggering. It boggles the mind, really. I can't FATHOM why he's no longer with the company.

    Jon has gotten more done for us in 24 hours than "Eric" did in 2+ weeks. He and Greg have spoken, and he has already gotten the answers we need from the manufacturer and is expediting the process to get us taken care of. We expect to be receiving the replacement window, under warranty, very soon. Jon, with his integrity, pride and great customer service, has saved this blog from being similar to my friend Deb's recent Comcast blog (the first one), and has made me reticent to tear them apart - I'm holding out for Jon to see it through and I feel confident that he will, and that I will have a smile on my face the next time I blog about American Building Supply.

    Soon I'll be blogging about Alltel. I think. Right now I'm too irritated. That blog will NOT be pleasant and I do not expect to be smiling. Don't miss it*.

    *Oh, and don't buy an LG Glimmer (or two) from the Walmart Alltel booth and expect to use the rebate form, because they will wait till you waste your time doing their stupid fucked up rebate paperwork dance and then tell you it's "Invalid" because you didn't go see the cocks who work in the actual Alltel stores. If Alltel was a girl, I'd kick her right in the box.

    Ramblings from the Now-Empty Womb

    Jackson will be two soon. Samantha will be five in January. They are the brightest parts of my life (along with my husband), and I can't remember my life without them. But I CAN, and do, remember being pregnant with both of them. The time that I carried each of them was sweet, fun, exciting, depressing, painful, overwhelming, scary, life-changing and meaningful, all at once. Some days I look back on my pregnancies with each of them and think "Dear god, how did I do that twice?" and at other moments I wonder why everyone doesn't have twelve. For some reason I'm thinking a lot lately about being pregnant, or rather NOT being pregnant, and how I feel about that, and I'll tell you why. (NO, it's not because I am pregnant, so you can leave that thought by the side of the road. Seriously. No seriously, knock it off - I am NOT pregnant again. Fine, whatever. Think what you want.)

    Here's why. Right now, Jackson is the age that Samantha was when we conceived him. Just a couple of months before she turned two, we decided it might be nice to give her a sibling fairly soon. I had always wanted my kids to be two to three years apart, and I'm not even sure why. Part of me wanted one child to be at least close to being out of diapers before the next came along. Part of me wanted one who could at least bring me a diaper for the other, if not actually change it. For some reason it all seemed to center around diapers. That's kind of jacked up, now that I think about it. Hmm. Surely there must have been other reasons.

    Whatever. Regardless, we wanted them two to three years apart. And by "we" I mean "me-and-Greg-who-showed-up-when-I-asked-him-to-with-sperm-at-the-ready".

    So (much as we did with Samantha) we decided to, and actually did, become pregnant with Jackson the first time we tried. This seemed more a miracle than you might think, since I only possess one ovary and had never conceived a child before 2003. But the ole' reproductive system seems to work just fine, half-capacity or not, thankyouverymuch. And coupled with Greg's apparent super-sperm, two tries = two babies. I mention this because while it's wonderful to conceive with such great ease, it was my first source of emotional upheaval, both times. No WAY did I think I would get pregnant so quickly, and frankly I was hoping for at least a couple of months to get used to the idea...especially the second time around, when I KNEW what I was getting myself into. I remember feeling so hesitant, scared and unsure the second time around, much more than the first, having none of the blissful ignorance we are blessed with the first time. That's a whole 'nother topic, folks. Check out my original thoughts on the topic here.

    But hesitation eventually fades away, about 6 months after the second is born (...bah-dum-CHING!...these are the jokes, people...) and we work our way back to blissful. The joy of two is MORE than double the joy of one, somehow. And baby #2 grows and burrows into our hearts right next to the first, and we struggle to know how we ever doubted our choice to have him, and how we ever lived without either of them.

    And that brings us to NOW. Now, when I am planning his second birthday party, which I was doing for Samantha when I was carrying Jackson. So there is a small, tiny, eensy-weensy, itty-bitty voice in my head that thinks I should be carrying someone new while I plan a second birthday party. My life and my brain work on the basis of symmetry, of all things being equal and consistent, and similar. I'm anal like that. So frankly, NOT being pregnant again right now is a little bit of an emotional upheaval all on its own, but one of a different kind than being unsure I wanted to be "with-child" when I already was.

    How can I describe the flip-flopping I've done about this topic? How can I convey the indecisiveness?

    OK, I think I've got it. It's kind of like thinking about getting on a roller coaster. Cast your mind.

    You're at an amusement park. You're checking out this roller coaster. You watch other people get on and have a blast. Now, you've been on it before yourself (twice in this case). You KNOW it's a blast, but those loops up high are pretty scary, and you'd already decided not to get on again, for a number of reasons. And frankly, you really have other things you might like to use your tickets for, things you haven't done, things that might be equally exciting and cool. What if you use up all the tickets and then your kids want to do something and there's not enough tickets left? (There are no wrist-bands in this scenario, get over it.) But still, it's quite the ride. And there's only a few minutes left in the riding day - if you don't get on now, or soon, it'll be too late. And while you might never miss that last ride, and might be perfectly content with the two SUPER awesome rides you've already taken, you can't help wondering if you wouldn't dig riding it just one time more. And the line keeps moving forward, and you still haven't decided if you want to get in it. Maybe you'd like to, right? Maybe? You wonder...maybe you'll just get in line for a minute, and think it over a little...

    Then your husband taps you gently on the shoulder. You, standing near the line, pondering a ride he will undoubtedly enjoy but will have to pay for as well. He gently turns your face with his fingers, looks deep into your eyes and says "You have GOT to be shitting me, right?"

    Ahh, reality. The husband factor.

    Greg is DONE with pregnancy and childbirth, and I get why that's the case for him. I am truly some kind of frightening, unpredictable, unable-to-be-pleased, hormonal whirlwind when I am pregnant. And our last go-round with childbirth was scary, overwhelming and expensive - at least - and it culminated in our son spending his first week on Earth in a NICU. Greg would agree that Jackson was worth every second and every dime, as was Samantha worth the pre-eclampsia and the scary-ness that accompanied her hypotonic state at birth. That being said, Greg is unable to move himself past the relative horror we went through both times, the bills we cringed at with Jackson, and the crazy person his wife becomes every time he knocks her up. I can't say that I blame him.

    So the tiny voice inside me can talk till she's blue in the face. And I really get what she's saying, and I sometimes wish I could give her her heart's desire; and I really, really hope she can be content with the two sweet dollies who grace our lives and give us joy each day (I'm pretty sure she can be). I guess if God decides that the one who'll cure cancer or who'll bring us world peace needs to come to the world through us, then we'll have another. But until then, it seems the womb doors are closed. And...I guess that's OK with me.


    [This article featured on BlogNosh Magazine website on the Pregnancy/Adoption/Birth Channel]

    Sunday, July 6, 2008


    Yes, the shooting here in Omaha, in broad daylight, on a busy street, in traffic, an hour ago, was 25 blocks from our house.

    Yes, we are fine.

    No, we were not any where close to the action. (Unless you count living within walking distance as being "close to the action".)

    No, they have not caught the "not-yet-identified-as-gang-members" who shot the young men from inside a moving SUV.

    No, I have not seen a gray SUV with hooligans in it.

    Yes, we hate having crime so close to our house.

    Yes, we'd love to move to a neighborhood that is adjacent to a safer neighborhood.

    No, we can't afford to move right now.

    Yes, we plan to do all we can to move as soon as we can. Please advise if you know of anyone looking to move to the pre-ghetto, we've got a house for them.

    No, we are not afraid in our own home. These "alleged" gang members are not out looking for us. That we know of.

    Yes, I have an opinion about them shooting each other: they're not doing it fast enough*.

    *My husband will feel better if I include this disclaimer: I do not want them to shoot each other because I want them shot; "they're not doing it fast enough" is a remark rooted in being uncomfortable with such violence happening so close to our homes over and over. But apparently THEY want each other shot...because they keep shooting each other. As Dad used to say "Proof's in the puddin'..." (And by "they" I mean ANYONE who shoots another person for any reason other than absolute life-saving self-defense). So if they're going to shoot each other anyway, and they are having a hoot doing it, bein' all badass, mightn't they all get together and have a big shootout at the North O!-Corral? Mightn't they? I mean, really, mightn't they? Just go to it folks - have at it! Get it done and get on with it! Because frankly, the rest of us are sick of worrying about it.

    And yes, my flagrant use of "mightn't" is a direct result of watching "The Music Man" twice in one week. I'll have 76 Trombones in my head for a week, along with Shirley Jones asking "Mightn't they? I mean really, mightn't they?" So now, I share it with you. You're welcome.

    The Perpetual Gut Ache

    So we're now in day six of "Cathy Feels Like Ass". The diarrhea as far as I can tell is gone for good, but the aching in my right side persists. Oh, and I did double-check my suspicions on webmd and found that diarrhea IS often a symptom of appendicitis. I know, lucky me, right? I am NOT hoping for appendicitis (although a couple of days off laying in bed with only a scopic recovery area sounds not too bad) but I am hoping the shit either goes away or someone comes up with some miracle because I am TIRED of this already.

    The thought of going to another medical facility and discussing my poop and my body with someone who may be another nincompoop is less-than-appealing to me. I'm inclined to spend the day trying to ignore it and tell myself that hey, if it's my appendix, it's gotta burst sometime, right?

    OK, I know, that's not funny. But I did what I was supposed to, I went in and got checked and he said I'm gonna be fine - and surely Dr Carrot Maker knows, right?

    Right now I have to get laundry done and bags packed to take my kids to my friend P's house for swimming and fun tomorrow - unless it storms all day and night, in which case my kid will be furious. Or unless I fall over and then let's hope Greg is not so sick of my whiny ass that he lets me lay there and convulse because at least it means I'm finally quiet.

    Nice fucking holiday weekend.

    Saturday, July 5, 2008

    Thank God It's Not Really "Urgent"...Not That I'd Know...

    Our local UC center is generally good, the dr. we saw there when Jackson stuck his finger in the olive can was great, we liked him fine.

    The ole' guy (read: came out of retirement to practice in lieu of boredom) who saw me for my ongoing gastrointestinal issues...liked him not so much.

    Dr: So, you have diarrhea, nausea and right side pain? Show me where?

    (I show him where.)
    Me: Right here, (as he's digging around my gut) and I am party concerned b/c I have a retrocecal appendix, so my symptomology would be different than most if it was that. (normal appendix pain would be lower and slightly more central than mine) That, with the five days of diarrhea has me a little concerned.

    Dr: Oh, OK. have the shits! (chuckles cleverly to himself)

    Me: Uh, yeah. You don't even know.

    The conversation is too strange, self-contradicting and dull to repeat any further. By the time we were done, he had told me to be on only clear liquids, then told me to eat and quit starving myself, and that I was causing my diarrhea after the third day of it. Also said he couldn't diagnose appendicitis there but that I didn't have it.

    He said the abdominal pain was cramping. I said I didn't really feel like I'd had cramping, but I asked if he was saying that because I'd HAD intestinal cramping (which I didn't recall having) that THAT's what had made my belly so sore? He paused and then said "That could be causing that..." What could be causing what, you senile old fart?

    He also gave me prescriptions for 1) the diarrhea, which I told him had already stopped, and 2) cramping, which I never had but that he insists is causing my abdominal pain. He then said if I still hurt tomorrow I need to go to an ER and have an MRI done to see if it's my appendix, but he doesn't think it is because I "don't have a fever and I can jump up and down". Oh, and because I "look too good to be sick". Thank god I was on my way out the door when he threw THAT little gem out there.

    OH! The best part? The "miracle cure" suggestion he gave me. He wrote an entire pad detailing for me how to "make" what will "cure" my diarrhea (that I don't have any more): pureed cooked carrots. But you have to coin them before you cook them, see, that's the secret. Then puree them and add the liquid back in and drink it like soup. Yeah. Works like a charm "for the kids with the poops". Alrighty, Doc Methuselah, I'll give that a try.

    So now I REALLY hurt after he probed around in my belly forever, and I have two prescriptions that my now-closed pharmacy doesn't need to fill for me because I have neither symptom that they treat.

    Gotta love modern medicine. Although I'm fairly certain the most modern thing about this guy was his pen.

    Imagine My Surprise

    So what was certainly food poisoning is now in day FIVE, giving me a rather unpleasant evening last night (despite the WONDERFUL time we had with friends down at Casa D, complete with swimming, good food, good friends, sparklers, and big Missou' boomers courtesy of the C Family - thanks to ALL of you!), which left my entire abdominal area sore to the touch, and my other area sorer than I will even relay to you. Just take my word for it. I really thought I was improving yesterday morning, but by last night it was CLEAR I was in for another long night. And I was.

    Now a new day has begun, Day Five, as I said, and I dread eating anything, drinking anything, and god forbid expelling anything, by any means.

    I am starting to think this "food poisoning" is more like a virus. Which makes me SICK (er) when I consider how many people may have been exposed yesterday! Fingers crossed that I keep it to myself!

    Hope your fourth was explosive in the good way...not in the way that mine was...

    Wait, no. We did have good explosions, big boomers that lit up the sky, shook our chairs and gave all the lightning bugs heart attacks...but, you know, MY know...

    Great. Greg just came in and said his stomach hurts and he's been in the bathroom twice since he got up. Fan-damn-tastic. If the kids get it I'm running away. I can't take five days of this in diapers.

    Wednesday, July 2, 2008

    Sicky Day

    Thanks, Ameristar Casino Buffet, a mild case of the yucks from your LOVELY (not) food last night is just what I needed the day before I get some "Mom time" tomorrow. I should have been getting things in order to optimize my Jackson-and-Samantha-free-Thursday. I just ate for the first time today, and spent the entire day, and last night, feeling like dookie. I knew that chicken tasted funny. Dirty buggars.

    Ugh. I hate nausea. Gaggy. And the toilet is feeling very close to me today...well, the back half of me, anyway...