Christmas Letter

OH, HAI!!

Ok, so the Internets is alive with the talk of the Christmas letter.  A letter that you send to everyone you know telling them about all of the exciting stuff you and your family did that year.  I gotta be honest.  I've never heard of this!  I thought maybe it was a new thing or something, but no!  Apparently this dates back to before the Internets where people did this thing called writing to one another.  Crazy!

I can't imagine that people have enough huge life events to make a whole letter, though, so what does the letter entail?  I mean, mine would be all "Eric and I had a baby.  Big Man turned into a little fish and is doing wonderful on swim team.  Little Man earned his yellow belt in Tae Kwon Do."  That would be the extent of our exciting news.  What do you fill the rest of the page with?

"The cats continue to poo in a box.  The boys clean the bathrooms every other Saturday.  I do a lot of laundry.  The bot needs her nails filed often.  Eric types on a computer all day.  This little girl on Supernanny looks like Justin Bieber."  Looks like my Facebook statuses.  I should probably reevaluate that.

The Birth of Paige London

Friday, October 12, I woke up feeling a little stranger than the day before.  Since I’d been having frequent, painful contractions for weeks, I didn’t think much of it.  Got the kids’ lunches made and got them on the bus.  Eric went to work.  I was feeling funny, so I laid back down.  A few minutes later, a rather large contraction hit, so I decided to start timing them.  They were frequent and stronger than I’d had them before, so I thought maybe we should head up to my mom’s to be closer to the hospital.  We took our time packing up and heading out.  On the way up, my contractions got even stronger.  Eric suggested I call my OB and see what to do, so I did.  They asked me to come into the office for a quick check.  Herein lies a series of events that led, ultimately, to the most wonderful thing I’ve ever done.

We got to the OB’s office, and the nurse checked me.  She said she couldn’t tell if I was really, really dilated or not dilated at all since the baby’s head was so low.   She said she was going to have the nurse practioner come in to do the check.  The NP came in to check, and her eyes got really wide.  She called it 8 cm dilated with a +2 station.  Basically, baby is gonna fall out!  They rushed me into a wheelchair and through the halls over to the hospital.  My mom and doula thought they weren’t gonna make it.  They were prepping the delivery room like crazy when I got there, and a resident who was in attendance came in to catch the baby.  My contractions were still crazy strong, but I seemed calm, so she checked me again.

I wasn’t dilated at all.  The NP made a mistake.  She said I was the same 1.5 cm I’d been for the last few weeks of contractions.  Uh...ok.  Huge disappointment.  I thought I was about to have a baby!  She said my water was broken, however, so I needed to stay.  That was 11 a.m. on October 12.  No tests for amniotic fluid were done since I was bleeding as well, and that would mess with the test.  At least my mom and doula had time to get there.  They had all the time in the world, it turned out, because when I was checked 12 hours later at 11 p.m.  I had only dilated to 5-6 cm, and that’s where I stayed.  Pitocin was started.  I labored unmedicated for 29 hours total, so 29 hours of concentrating really hard at staring at the wall or ceiling and breathing and trying not to scream.  My mom, Eric and Tonya taking turns rubbing my feet, head, back and shoulders for hours.  Taking shuffling walks, sitting on the ball and the toilet, getting on hands and knees, swaying and rocking through the most painful experience of my life.  At hour 29, I was checked again.  Still 5-6 cm.  No progression.  In fact, my cervix had swollen, and my effacement had thickened back up a bit.

I broke.  I could push through the pain.  I couldn’t push through the emotions anymore.  I asked for the epidural.  I could no longer relax knowing that for 29 hours I had just done absolutely nothing, even with Pitocin.  I was doomed to lie flat on my back, not feeling my legs, for the rest of the labor.   The epidural was placed, and another crazy labor event happened.  My BP and Paige’s heart rate dropped to dangerous levels.  Suddenly, AWKWARD!  My nurse, Maggie, who has been an L&D nurse for over 30 years, started arguing with the resident, a meek doctor all of about 27 or 28 years old.  He wanted my Pitocin shut off.  She did not.  He was all, “Last I checked *I* was the doctor here!”  And she was all, “Don’t you dare touch my machine again!”  “I DIDN’T!  Another nurse did!”  He’d had another nurse turn it off when Maggie wasn’t looking.  Yeah.  We didn’t see that resident again.  Also, Maggie called for a check.  Dr. Bolin checked and...broke my water.  Which was never broken at all.  *sigh*  Once my epidural was in and we were stable, however, I was able to relax and joke and talk with my family again.  For ten hours we labored like that, mostly with me on my left side.  They rolled me to my right, and Paige’s heart rate dropped again.  Dangerously.  For a long time.  Enough to freak out the on-call physician.  After a position change, she stabilized, but we had to start talking C-section.  Paige was in a dangerous position.

We let it go for another 2 hours before it was called.  I was STILL only 5-6 cm after 39 hours of labor.  It was time.  Time for the weirdest C-section in the history of C-sections.  First, I was scared to death.  I’ve never had surgery before.  So, I was making all kinds of stupid jokes.  The anesthesiologist told me I’m hilarious.  Thanks.  I’ll be here all week.  Literally.  So, he pushed the meds and they started the draping and...OOOOOOOWWWW!!!!!  Uh...I wasn’t supposed to feel that.  The anesthesia didn’t take.  They had misplaced the drape and ripped it off (really hard, dudes.  I have a sore.)  I felt it.  She pinched me.  I felt that, too.  OOPS!  My spinal catheter had fallen out.  Time for a new one.

Six new ones.  I now have a lot of holes in my back.  Eric had to root around in drawers to find a new kit.  Ready-made surgical assistant!  So, they finally get it going to where I can’t feel a dang thing.  The anesthesiologist takes a call ordering a pizza in the middle of surgery.  Then, suddenly, I hear, “Step back! Step back! SOMEBODY CATCH HER!”  Yeah.  Med student was helping to stitch me up and nearly fainted into my open body cavity.  Luckily she fainted backward.  She had to be taken care of before my surgery was completed.  It lasted twice as long as it should have.  Freaked out my family for sure, wondering where I was for this short, “routine” surgery.  Paige was stuck in my sacrum.  She was never going to progress.

In the end, though, we got Paige London Kachelmeyer, at 10:19 p.m. on October 13, 2012, weighing 8 lbs 8 oz and 22 inches long.  Super long.  Like her daddy.

Life From the Exhausted Mother

I haven't written a blog in a long time.  Reason?  Writer's block a little and a lot of exhaustion.  There just aren't enough hours in the day.  My calendar looks like this:

See?  When would I have time to do any bloggy blogging?  Today is crazy, too, but I gotta get off of my feet, so here's some random funny and some baby news.

This morning, the dudes were playing Star Wars in the basement.  I got Big Man a Luke Skywalker costume, though he informed me that it is really Obi Wan.  Whatever.  He looks awesome in it.  I got Little Man a Darth Vader costume.  It is five sizes too big.  They were used, and continue to be used, every day since I've bought them, so WIN!

Anyway, they were playing, and Little Man was using this miniature basketball for something.  Big Man took it and wouldn't give it back.  Here is Little Man's reaction:

"Nooooooooooooo!!!! GIVE IT BACK!!!!!  Fine!  I'm telling Yoda!  AND I'm not playing Jedi with you anymore!  I'm finding a NEW master, and HE will let me have a ball WHENEVER I WANT!!!"

Haaaaaaahahahhahahahha!!!  Then I decided *I* was the new master, and the dudes should put their laundry away and clean their bathrooms and scoop the cat litter.  They did so very quickly and without complaint.  I used the force.  If by "using the force," I mean Eric told them that if they did it super fast, then they could play Halo.

In baby news, there's a lot of baby news.  I'm 34-1/2 weeks and experiencing new things every day.  On the diabetes front, I suck.  I could not keep my sugars controlled with the diet the nutritionist gave me, so we switched it around a couple of days ago.  Things have been going better, although not perfect, since then.  My doctor doesn't wanna do insulin, yet, so that's good.  Needles.  *shudder*  I'm sick of poking myself four times a day.

I'm also sick of not being able to eat what I want.  Changing my diet has always been really difficult for me, though I found it easier to "stick with it" since I have to be strong for the Bot.  I'm not just trying to lose weight or something.  I'm trying to keep her healthy.  The second she's born I'm going to have to look at Eric and say, "Congratulations, Daddy!  Now get thee to Starbucks immediately for a pumpkin spice latte, and by the way, a cupcake from Le Dolce Vita and a Big Mouth sushi special from Sapporo needs to be on the way, too!"

Trying to keep her healthy means flu shot for mama, too.  I've never had one.  Needle.  Ugh.  I get the death sick every year, though, and I'm sure this year will be no exception.  The dudes are already bringing nastiness back from the germ factory that is elementary school.  Coughing, sneezing, and poison ivy all around!

Contractions.  My stomach is rock hard, and I can feel her head in my nether bits.  These are weird and odd things.  I've been having them for weeks, but now they are stronger and more frequent.  Not frequent enough to be considered preterm labor, but strong and frequent enough to be considered more than a minor annoyance.  I hope they give me abs.  That would be awesome.  It certainly FEELS like they're workin my ab muscles.  I'll be the first woman in history to leave the hospital after giving birth with 6-pack abs.  I'll find some way to make a million dollars with the "prodromal labor" technique.  There will be a video.  And an infomercial.

I panicked about a week ago and was all, "OMGOSH WE ARE NOT PREPARED!!!"  I'm not scared of going into labor or giving birth anymore.  I think I've educated myself enough on them that I'm just all OOOOHM about it.  But, I'm TERRIFIED of when she is actually here.  I went all crazy like, "We have no crib! No dresser for her clothes!  No pack and play! No car seat! Not enough diapers!"  I went on a crazy spending spree.  We have all of those things now.  I acted like she was going to be here in the next few hours, and we'd have nothing.  I'm calm now, though.  I got better.

Eric's ex-wife text me yesterday and asked how I was feeling and if there was anything else I needed.  I was all cool as a cucumber calm and just, "Nope. We are totally prepared to the max, and I feel allllll riiiiight."  So she was all, "Great!  Pack your hospital bag!"

PANIC! PANIC!!! OMGOMG HOSPITAL BAG, WTF GOES IN THERE I AM NOT PREPARED!!

She told me what goes in there.  It's not that hard, Karen, you idiot.  Calm the eff down.

It's a National Holiday!

Is it "do whatever you can to try to get your brother in trouble" day? How about "sneak around the house breaking rules and trying not to get caught" day? No? Then surely it's, "act like a know-it-all teenager and pretend your parents are stupid" day.

I mean, they haven't been unmanageable or insane or anything, just obnoxious.  They fought downstairs so much that I quit refereeing and just shut the door.  The rule is, if your brother is bothering you, you calmly come upstairs and say, "Hey, so and so is bothering me when I am trying to play XX."  Then, I go down and get said bothering brother to come upstairs and let calm brother finish whatever he was playing in peace.  However, they don't go this route, usually, because it means pausing their video game or stopping whatever they are playing for the 3 seconds it takes to come up and tell me.  So, for an HOUR, it was screaming, "OOOWW! STOP HITTING ME!" "STOP BITING ME!" "I DIDN'T!" "GET OFF OF ME!" "STOOOOOOOP!!"  The hope is that I will hear this screaming tattle and come down and automatically know who "started" it.  Instead, I always just end up going down there and saying "game over.  Separate." and BOTH of them get into trouble because how in the crap should I know who is doing what?  It's a giant cluster.  Then the arguments of "he started it!" starts.  I remind them AGAIN of the rule, and that if they are both screaming, they both get in trouble.  Then they stomp to time out for 7 minutes or whatever, and go back downstairs, and it starts all over again.

Today I just turned on some music really loud, shut the basement door, and tuned out the screaming.  Eventually, Big Man's video game was over.  After screaming at his brother and pushing him and doing lord knows what in retaliation for whatever annoying little brother thing Little Man was doing, Big Man then decided that he was gonna try the "come upstairs and tattle calmly, blaming everything on Little Man" approach.  It didn't work out for him.  I told him I didn't want to hear the tattle.  They were both fighting, and they'd be separated for an hour.  I didn't even let them eat lunch together.  After Little Man was done with lunch, I told him to brush his teeth and clean off his bathroom counter while Big Man ate.  After Big Man was done, he had to do the same.  I told them not to even look at one another until 1:00.  They can play with one another then, and sorry if they're bored, but that's what happens when you're mean to your friends.

Little Man happily played Candy Land alone in the living room.  Big Man, however, tried to pretend I was stupid.  He went over to stand right next to Little Man and stare at him playing Candy Land.  I told him he was not to bother his brother, and to get out of the living room.  "I'm not PLAYING with him.  I'm just looking at him."  *eye roll*  I told him to get out of the living room, so smarty pants stepped back two steps into the tile entry way connecting it to the living room and continued to stare at Little Man and tell him what colors to pick, starting Little Man on the, "Don't tell me what to do!" argument.  From Big Man, "I'm not IN the room now."  I told him to either go up to his room or down to the basement.  He doesn't even need to be on the same floor of the house as his brother.  He went downstairs.  Five minutes later, I'm cleaning my own bathroom, and I hear a whispered argument.  Little Man had moved to where Big Man was playing this time to play right next to him to try to get Big Man in trouble for being in the same room.  I sent Little Man upstairs to his bedroom with the game.

Five minutes later, Big Man decides HE needs to be upstairs, too.  Of course.  That's where the biggest chance of provoking Little Man into an argument by just being near him is."  I told him he can go in his room and close his door to play, but he isn't to be anywhere near Little Man's room or in the loft separating the rooms.  At 12:45, a mere fifteen minutes until they are allowed to play together, Little Man sneaks into Big Man's room and takes a CD.  Big Man sneaks back into Little Man's room to try to have a "quiet" argument regarding the CD so that I can't hear that they are together and fighting again. 

I stopped messing around, then.  No more free range of the house.  I told them they've added another hour of not playing together, and for this hour, they'll be in their rooms with the doors shut.  If I hear a door open for anything other than the bathroom, another hour will be tacked on.  I've had enough.

Sure has been quiet, though, and I've gotten a lot of cleaning done with some great tunes in my ears.  They are allowed out in five minutes.  Let's hope we can get some family fun in before their dad gets home.

HOOLIGANS!!!

....the definition of the dudes when Indiana is under drought conditions with a heat advisory for nearly the entire summer, and stepmama is great big pregnant.  Drought conditions means no sprinkler or slip n slide.  Heat advisory means no trampoline or digging outside in the dirt or playing tag or hide and seek or even going out for longer than a few minutes at a time.  Pregnancy means no going down the dangerously steep hill to the lake or going to the Children's Museum for hours of walking.  Hence, we are all stuck inside all day every day.

This...it leads to fighting and a LOT of it.  The dudes have separate interests and completely opposite personalities.  The Big Man wants to play video games or watch TV and movies all day.  The Little Man gets bored after 10-15 minutes of screen time.  He prefers running around the basement making noise and playing construction or trains.  Big Man prefers to be alone.  Little Man won't play unless Big Man will play with him.  Therefore, Big Man has perfected the terrible tween "get out of my face" persona, while Little Man has honed his annoying little brother skills to absolute perfection.  After 10-15 minutes of being in the same room together, it begins:

Big Man: OOOOOW!  STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT! OWSTOPIT! STOP! STOP! DON'T YOU DARE! STOP!
Little Man:  *shriiiiek giggle giggle*
Big Man:  O.M.GOSH.WHY.ARE.YOU.*insert yelling tattle here so that he doesn't have to pause his game to get up to tattle and instead yells so that he knows I HEAR the tattle*
Little Man:  *giggle giggle haha*
Big Man: STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP!!!! STOP IT! OOOOOOOW! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!  WHY DO YOU KEEP PUSHING ME?  *eyes never leave the TV screen but begins flailing hoping to connect with annoying little brother flesh*
Little Man: OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!! KAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAREN!  HE HIT ME!!!

Abouuuuuuut 452 times a day.  So, I separate them.  And all is quiet.  Until they are bored being alone and try to play together again.  Then, lather, rinse, repeat.  I try to play games with them.  One always accuses the other of cheating, then one will throw the cards or the pieces across the board and declare, "I'm not playing anymore!" and stomp off.  I try to take them out.  Constant complaints.  It's too hot out here.  My feet hurt.  The water's too cold.  I don't care that I had a popsicle before we left the house, I want you to spend money on ice cream now!  The drive is too long.  He's on my side of the car.  He's touching my blanket.  His blanket is touching my leg.  He looked at my car.  He said I cannot pretend that my car is an airplane.

I had to pull over on the side of the road for them to get out of the car and stand in the grass in time out yesterday.  I know it's normal and that it's boredom and that a lot of it is that we just moved and they only have one another to play with until school starts and they make friends at the new school, but for real...I need a bicker break!

They were fighting this morning.  I was chatting with my friend Amanda and told her I needed to make them lunch.  She suggested bread and water because, "if they're going to act like convicts..."

"Here's your bread and water."
"After lunch, I'm going to put you out in the yard with a weight bench and a basketball."
"After rec time, we'll go ahead and tattoo you guys with Mom hearts using a toothpick and an ink pen."
"Craft time will show you how to make a homemade shiv."

Damage Control

I have to go behind the couch in order to open the windows in the house.  I can no longer fit behind the couch.  Generally, I like to shut the AC off and open the windows in the mornings before it gets too hot, and then I'll close them and turn it on when the heat starts showing up.  I was going through the other morning doing this, and I had to get behind the couch.  I didn't fit.  The dudes were on the couch, so I asked them to get up for a second so I could move the couch out an inch or so.  The comments for this were as follows:

Little Man:  Yeah, we have to get up because Karen's body is so fat.
Big Man:  (attempting damage control)  No!  Her body isn't fat, it's just her belly that is really fat!

Er...it totally is.  I'm at the stage in pregnancy where I don't fit places that I used to and where I'm kinda sore and tired all of the time.  I'm about 28 weeks along and starting to feel like an elephant.  My feet and lower back hurt all of the time, and I feel exhausted if I climb a flight of stairs.  There's heartburn and uncomfortable (non) sleeping.  I'm ready to meet the Bot and cuddle her and love on her.  I have around 2 to 2-1/2 months to go.

I hired a doula!  I'm totally excited about this.  I was really worried about having someone there that can help calm me down.  I'm going for an unmedicated birth.  I don't want to do anything to slow her down coming out, and I REALLY don't want to do anything that would slow down her functioning after birth so that she can breastfeed right away.  I know my family will see me in pain, and as soon as I say, "OMGosh DRUUUUGGGGS!!!" they will not want to see me in pain and demand drugs, too.  A doula will remind me of my birth plan and calm me down a bit to work through it.  Totally excited to the max.

I had other stuff to say in this blog, but the dudes started fighting, and Big Man woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning with a hellacious attitude, so I needed to send him back to bed.  Then Little Man accidentally erased Big Man's Mario game on the Super Nintendo, and Big Man was all of the way to the end castle, so TRAGEDY!  I've been trying to console a crying Big Man and find another Super Nintendo to put in Big Man's room that Little Man can't touch so that this doesn't happen again.

*sigh*  Oooooh, the tribulations of a SAHM.  *hands to forehead.  dramatic sigh.  faint.*

A New Look!

So, the bloggy blog has a new look thanks to my friend, Alex, and her amazing HTML knowledge that reaches much, much further than my own.

What do you think?

What's That Smell?

A fun game, to be sure.  WTF is that SMELL?!?  I've been playing it all morning.  Is it the kitchen sink?

GAH, YES!!!  *clean clean clean scrub scrub scrub* 

*sniff*

OMGOOOOOOSH, what is that SMELL?! It's still here!  Is it the TRASH? 

YES! *remove remove scrub clean clean* 

It still smells like moldy buffalo ass in here.  WTF could it BE?  I'm about to shove bleach up my nose.

-------

In other stinky news:

A lot of Aspies have a very acute sense of smell.  I can't really describe it.  It's part of sensory processing disorder.  It's not that we can smell BETTER necessarily, it's more like certain smells connect different synapses in our brains that cause emotional response (big words make me sound smart.)  As such, smells are a big emotional trigger for me.  Right now, I've Febreezed the house to death and lit a million candles, and it still stinks in here, and I can't figure it out.

On a daily basis, though, as anyone who has little boys will tell you, my house has the distinct smell of old, crusty urine.  I play "where's that urine" a LOT, too, to try to figure out what exactly HAVE they peed on, and how can I best clean it as to not dig my sinuses out with a spoon.  It's like they mark their territory.  The dudes use three of the four bathrooms in this house.  The master bath is a little-dude-free zone.  When you walk by any of those three bathrooms, you have to hold your breath.  Or die.  The dudes clean the bathrooms on the weekends they are here.  I refuse to venture into those and prefer to just keep the doors closed at all times and pretend those don't exist and that my dudes poop in the woods.

So, imagine my surprise when I was upstairs (the kids' domain) today and forgot to hold my breath as I walked past the bathroom (with an open door) that the Big Man uses and smelled....nothing.  No pee.  That bathroom hasn't been cleaned in over a week, and there was NO PEE SMELL.

Have we reached a turning point, dear readers?  Has the Big Man finally learned that pee goes IN the toilet instead of AROUND the toilet, on the back of the toilet, on the floor, on the walls, or in the sink?  Has he learned how to flush properly?

Stay tuned...

Why It's OK to be the "Evil Stepmother"

I wrote this for Circle of Moms, and they reviewed it but didn't pick it up to publish, so that means I can publish it here :)

I'm an Evil Stepmother.  There.  I said it.  I make my stepdudes (6 and 8) clean up after themselves AND do some other chores around the house like taking out the trash or cleaning cat litter.  Messes they didn't even make!  I also put them in time out, take away their toys and send them to their rooms if they are being disrespectful.  I do not wait for Daddy to get home from work to deal with the problem.  I'm not another child in this house, tattling to Daddy.  I am an adult who is to be respected.  I am responsible for the safety and well being of these two little dudes when they are here with me.

If I had birthed them, this would be called "parenting".  Since they came from someone else's nether regions, it's not parenting, it's evil and not my place.  I'm here to say, "Heck, yes, it's my place!" for two reasons.
One, this is my home.  My sanctuary.  I have every right to live in a peaceful, clean, respectful environment.  Stepparents have just as much of a right to this as biological parents do.  I absolutely refuse to be a hostage to children in my own home.

The second reason is the more important.  It's because I love them.  The dudes are not visitors here.  This is their home, too.  They also have every right to a peaceful, clean, respectful sanctuary.  One without a brother taking toys away, calling names and having screaming fits when he doesn't get his way.  My stepdudes have the right to happiness and a loving home.

As a stepparent, it is my job to guide these dudes to be the most amazing adults they can be, just like their biological parents.  We can't do that if we allow them to disrespect me and our homes.  Notice the use of "we".  "We" is key in the discipline situation.  In your home, you and your husband must communicate effectively to decide what punishments go with what crimes.  He must back you up.  The kids need to see you as Team Super Parentals (Dun Dun Duuuuuuuuuun!)  Don't think they don't know how to pit you against your husband (or you and your husband against his ex-wife) for maximum juvenile benefit.  If he doesn't back you up, undermines your discipline (i.e. ungrounds when you've grounded), etc. it's all over.  Your children (step or not) will see you as a peer rather than an authority figure. 

Eight Crazy Nights

We have just gotten back from a glorious 8-day vacation aboard the Disney Magic!  Here's a picture of a picture, since I got a new machine and can't figure out how to install the scanner.

This is a family picture for the Bot's room :)  The nursery has a Paris theme, Belle's French.  It's a stretch.  Whatever.  I was hoping for one with Tiana.  Not only is she French (New Orleans French), but her pale green dress would go better in the nursery than Belle's sunny yellow one.  We, unfortunately, could never get in line early enough to get a photo with Tiana.  One of my only complaints about the Disney cruise experience.  If you didn't get in line 20 minutes early for a character, there was no way you were getting a photo.

The family "babymoon" was LOADS of fun, though, with even a little bit of relaxation thrown in there.  Disney has the Oceaneer's Club, which we let the kids go into any time they asked.  It was like a day camp in there!  There were counselors and other kids and tons of games and activities to play.  There were two little phones per room, and once the kids were tired or done playing what they wanted in the club, the club would text us to let us know that the kids wanted picked up, and we'd go get them for family pool time or dinner or a show or what have you.  There were two aspects of it, too, the Club and the Lab, so if the kids were annoying one another, they just self-separated, and one would go into the Lab to do different activities.  AND the spaces were open for "family time" for a few hours a day, so we could go in and do activities with the kids.  We made cookies!  And Little Man learned a new song, which he sings all of the time.  "I like to mix it, mix it.  I like to mix it, mix it!"  We were on the Salt team.  We kicked Pepper's butt.  The cookies were amazing.

We DID hear the normal bickering, of course, and it was annoying but funny at the same time.  It was annoying because we had to keep saying, "For Pete's sake! Knock it off!" but it was funny because every time we walked down the hall, we heard the EXACT SAME bickering from every set of siblings on the boat.  "It's MY turn to push the elevator button!  It's MY turn to use the room key!  I NEVER GET TO DO IT!!!!!" haha

While they were in the Club/Lab, Eric and I got to sit at Quiet Cove (adults only/scream-free zone!), or play basketball, or watch a real live Iron Chef-esque competition, or go see a show or a movie if we wanted (we never did, even though The Avengers was playing).  Eric got second in a free-throw tournament.  I got last place.  Even though I asked for 10 points of handicap for pregnant status.  Even with the 10 points, I still got last place.  Turns out, I can't really throw a basketball all that far :)  I also got last place in an 80s/90s music trivia game.  I blame that on pregnancy, too.  I KNEW those dang songs.  I just couldn't remember the names of them.  Big an won a ribbon

IIIIIII....I just died in your arms toniiiiight!!!  Had that on record when I was a kid.  Still couldn't remember the name of it.

The absolute best part of the experience was dinner.  Well, it was stressful for me and Eric because it lasted a long time to keep kids occupied, but it was AWESOME for the kids because of Jimi and Anna, our serving staff.  Little Man was constantly asking when they got to see them again.  They played with the dudes and entertained them and showed them magic tricks and remembered their names and sang happy birthday to them and knew all of their favorite foods.

We had a port day in Florida with a bus ride to the Magic Kingdom that was a bust, unfortunately.  It rained all day.  We all came back cranky and wet.  All of the rides shut down.  We did climb the Swiss Family Robinson Tree House at my request, which I thought was neat.  We got to ride Pirates, and then the kids got to do their first roller coaster, Big Thunder Mountain!

Little Man even put his hands up!  That daredevil.  Anyway, after that, the rain really started coming down, and the rides all started to close up, so we went and built light sabers and hopped back on the bus, down a hundred bucks.  I did get a really great blueberry muffin and enjoyed people watching a bit.

The day we came home was 15 hours cooped up in an airport or on a plane on the Big Man's 8th birthday (sorry, dude).  The kids took that like a champ, and Little Man only acted up once we were at our home airport four hours after his bedtime and only for like five minutes before he passed out in the car.

I have one really AMAZING memory that happened on the cruise.  The kids were in the club and Eric was out playing basketball.  I was just hanging out in the room relaxing, watching a movie, when The Bot woke up and started Ninjitsu practice in my tummy.  She was hitting me really hard, so I lifted up my shirt, and SURE ENOUGH! I SAW HER!!!  My belly was jumping all over the place.  I laughed so hard and immediately called Eric on the little cell phone from the room.  It was MAGIC!

This blog post is long and unfunny, but I wanted to write down some memories.

Love Blender

I'm changing the look, description and name of my blog this morning to "Love Blender".  The address will be the same, since Loveblender.blogspot is already taken, though it only has one post, and it was years ago, and it's not about anything parenty, so I'm sure it's fine that I take the name.  I'm writing a post for Circle of Moms about identity and definitions, and I decided The Autistic Stepmom is just too much definition for me.

Hope you enjoy the new format, and if not, poop on you!

I bought LuLunacy.com!

I want to put this picture on it.  Just have to figure out how :D

Creative...Discipline? Parenting? Party Games?

The east-side Indianapolis Walmart.  Always a grand adventure.  You all have one of these Walmarts in your town.  The Walmart everyone avoids because it is just TOO trashy to be seen near.  Not even a roll back to free hand sanitizer can get you in there unless you've been promised VIP status, and the Walmart will be cleared of all other customers before you set foot in it.  Yeah.  I was there today.  Herein lies the fun.

First, I get there at 10 a.m.   There are four items on my list.  I grab the first from the bakery and head to the toy section for a pair of swim goggles.  This is when my adventure begins.  Teeth cringing through some horrid country song on the PA system, I am relieved when it is shut off mid-song, thinking, "Oh, good, some generic announcement about $4 prescriptions is much better than that twangy crap."  But, was it an advertisement?  OH, NO! No it was not!  It was someone changing the station.  To a VERY loud, VERY vulgar rap song.  I actually had to stop my wonky cart with the gum stuck to one wheel (kerthump, kerthump, kerthump) to comment about it on Facebook.  Someone figured it out and shut it back off, and I was placed back into the hands of Carrie Underwood with a new appreciation for songs that don't say "bitch" every other word.

BTW, the east side Walmart?  Out of adult-sized swim goggles.  So, on to Electronics where a nice young person calling himself "Hennessey" assisted me for 0.35 seconds before he was pulled away from a customer (me) for a very important mission with a handrolled cigarette back behind the box bailer.  His replacement cashier was an extremely thin woman with "RIP some dude" tattooed on her neck who was chewing gum with her mouth open so wide that she may have won a cud-chewing contest against six prized dairy cows.  She couldn't get my gift card to work.  "I can never get them gift cards to work right."  Them.  Them gift cards.  *sigh*  Faith in humanity?  Destroyed.  Kerthump, kerthump, kerthump I go out of the store.  Finally.  Where I see the most disturbing thing I've seen in quite a while...

Walking to the car behind me was a woman and a young boy, perhaps 10 years old.  The boy was in handcuffs.  Behind his back, cuffed.  The woman was NOT a police officer.  In fact, by the resemblance, I would assume she was his mother.  He did not seem distressed or disturbed by his cuffs in any way, meaning he wasn't trying to fight them or anything.  He didn't seem sad or upset, either, or even all that embarrassed.  She had the key, so SHE cuffed him.  She uncuffed him so that he could get into the car.

WTF, T?!?!?  I was trying to make up stories to why this is possibly happening, but most of them in my head were really disturbing.  Like, he has special needs and flails and needs controlled.  But, for real, I think that's considered abuse.  Then I thought, maybe this is some sort of creative discipline.  Maybe, junior got caught shoplifting or something.  "For our next 20 trips to the store, young man, your hands will be cuffed behind your back so that your sticky fingers can't touch anything!"  Then, in my head, I said, "haaaaaahahahahahahha!"  I've often thought about what kinda creative discipline I would employ if I caught my kids shoplifting when they got older.  That may go in the hat.  I was thinking I'd have them go on the PA system in the store and apologize to all of the customers because of the higher prices due to the five-finger discount he was trying to employ.  "I was just trying to get a discount, Karen!  You love a good deal!"

As I left the east side Walmart, there was, of course, a lady standing at the intersection with a sign asking for money.  I didn't give her any.  Hardly anyone I know gives these people money, but lots of other people do.  I don't give them money mostly because I don't carry cash.  Other people's reasons are different.  Like, "I don't know what they are going to do with it."  I don't know what my waitress at Steak N Shake is gonna do with her money, either, but I still tip her.  Maybe I'll start giving them coupons instead.  That way, I KNOW they are spending it on 3 boxes of Keebler crackers 12 oz size or bigger.  Or, "I saw on the news that those people make a ton of money and aren't really needy."  The lie that they are homeless or needy IS annoying.  However, I don't care if they make a ton of money.  They do work for it.  Standing up for 8 to 10 hours on the side of a highway in all kinds of weather seems like the shittiest job ever.  At least they are their own boss.  Hey, they're livin the dream!  No workin for the man for those folks!  You take that vacation day if you need it, Harold!  No one can stop you!

Those Oddball Attachment Parents

So, this horrid Time magazine cover has spotlighted two things.  One, the mommy wars, so eff them for that.  “Are You Mom Enough?”  Yes.  Thanks.  I don’t even have to read your stupid article to know that I am.  I won’t be reading it, as it is, as something as ridiculous as that will certainly not earn any of my money.  The second spotlight, and what the article pretends to be about when it is really about sensationalism, is attachment parenting.  That’s what this Snoop Bloggy Blog is going to be about.  Breastfeeding, co-sleeping, baby wearing, etc.  All are signs that you are an attachment parent.

So, when we got pregnant I had lots of ideas for my labor and delivery and how we were gonna feed the baby, etc.   Turns out, we’re kinda attachment parents, by frugality and convenience really.  Now, I had heard the term before, but I have never read anything about it.  I’d never heard of Dr. Sears, and I still haven’t read anything he’s ever written.  I had heard of and read Dr. Laura.  Off topic, but eff that snooty mcsnootsnoot.

Attachment parenting is the subject of much ridicule.  I was unaware of this.   Because…why?  This makes no sense to me.  I’m gonna breastfeed this kid.  Why does that mean I get ridiculed?  Formula is expensive, dudes!  Breastfeeding is like the ultimate extreme couponing but without the hoarding.  Er…scratch that.  Ask me again when I’m engorged and nowhere near a baby or a pump.  I’ll be all BREAST MILK HOARDERS!  TONIGHT ON TLC.  Anyway, there hasn’t been much discussion from people about this other than my husband and my doctor saying, “Hey, how you gonna feed the bot?” and me responding, “Through these AMAZING boobs!”

Apparently, though, once I actually start feeding my kid, in real life, instead of just talking about it, I will get points and stares.  The heck?  This makes NO sense to me.  I will also get points and stares if the kid is crying and I DON’T feed it, because, “Hey, shut that kid up.”  Oh, man, I didn’t even know she was cryin, dude!  Thanks for pointing that out!  Lemme go ahead and duct tape her mouth for your convenience, since I’ll get even more rude comments if I actually FEED her.

Ok, ok, fine, I understand about some of the ridicule or why there is ridicule.  Breastfeeding makes others uncomfortable.  Not my problem, really, and I’ll feed the bot whenever or wherever he’s hungry if he’s with me, but I do see the other side of the coin as to WHY there is “debate” about this.  I also wanna breastfeed the bot until at least a year old and then slow weaning at nighttimes until maybe 2 or so, because this LINKY LINK!    

It’s from the American Academy of Pediatrics, so not one doctor trying to sell a book but lots of doctors who are peer-reviewed and have different ideas about stuff.  Scientists, not sensationalists.  It says breastfeeding to a year is preferred, so I’ma do that.  Big kids attached at the boob is debatable, too.  I don’t care, really.  I’m not gonna take pictures and put it on the internet, but I’m gonna do what I think is best for the bot.  Still, I get why people talk about it.  It’s not the norm in the US.  Whatever.

What I DON’T understand a debate about is babywearing.  I had no idea this was so controversial.  I still don’t understand WHY it is so controversial.  I bought a sling and a Baby Bjorn and a hip carrier.  I registered for a Moby wrap.  I didn’t know this was weird or not normal.  Hell, the picture on the Baby Bjorn of a dude wearing the baby looks like it was taken in 1982.  (Note to manufacturer.  Maybe it’s time for an update, hmmm?)  Then a post popped up on my mom’s site about people getting stares and points for wearing the baby.  Wha?  Then a friend was discussing the ridiculous Time cover on her Facebook page, and someone replied with “whole insane goddamn sling thing”.  Uh, double WHA??  Wearing a baby is “insane?”  I’m gonna do it because have you ever lugged that danged, heavy-ass pumpkin seat around with you wherever you went?  It seems so much easier to just pop the kid in a carrier, and you can be hands free, right?  I cannot even remotely find the logic in thinking that people who wear a baby are weird or that it’s an insane thing to do.  There was no explanation as to WHY it is insane.  Just that it is.  Can someone explain this to me?  It just seems so…convenient!  Kid in a backpack, instead of bicep curls with the baby seat walkin through the mall and trying to figure out the crazy travel stroller thing while the kid screams in the back of the car because you’re out of her line of sight for 30 seconds while you unfold the thing.  I thought I was gonna wear this baby in order to KEEP my sanity. 

Also, been practicing with the cat.  The tail has been a problem, but I think the wiggle factor is about right.

 

I don’t have anything to say about co-sleeping.  I’m not putting my baby in my bed.  Though, the bot will be NEXT to the bed in a pack and play with a raised bassinet attachment.  Again, convenient.  I can just slouch on over there, put him in the sling and shove a boob in his mouth at 3 a.m.

I’m WEIRD?  Huh.  Well, putting a cat in the sling IS weird, but in general.  I mean, I’ve never pointed and stared at a kid breastfeeding or being fed formula, or in a baby wrap, or in a stroller.  I don’t plan on starting either, now that I know that some of these practices are abnormal, apparently.  This all just seems so strange to me.  I always assumed that we were all doing the best we could with what our guts told us to do.  That we were ALL “mom enough.”

Here We Go!

I have SO MUCH to say!  School is finally over for me.  I'm walking in the commencement ceremony in six days!  Ok, so first.  There will be topics!  I have THAT much to say.

THINGS THAT ARE NOT WORDS:
Supposibly.  Supposably is also not a word.  That red line under it doesn't mean that you spelled it wrong.  You can't spell it correctly.  Supposed.  Now THAT'S a word.

Irregardless.  HAAAAAAAAAAATE! STABBY STABBY!  Regardless = word.  Irregardless = making you look like a moron.  Actually, this may be one that is used SO egregiously that it has become a word now.  Either way, it's redundant.

Conversate.  Converse will do.  Oh! Unless!  Maybe we are starting to conjugate verbs with super special endings.  Like romance languages.  English.  Ah.  So romantic.  *flutter eyelashes*

Condensate.  Much like above, not a word.  Condense.  Water...it condenses on things.

CIRCLE OF MOMS:

Y'all did it!  I made it onto the Top 25 Moms of Blended Families blogs on Circle of Moms.  You can click HERE to get to the COM Round-Up.  WHY would you want to do that, you ask?  Because as number 22 in the Top 25, I have been invited to guest blog on the Round-Up.  This means LOTS more readers!  But not here, because I can't just write a post here and then copy it to send to the Round-Up.  I have to send it to the Round-Up first, and then, if they like it and publish it, I can copy it to here.  If they hate it and don't want to publish it, then I could copy it to here, too, but, then again, I'd have already been told it sucked, so why would you awesome dudes wanna read it?  Never stopped me before, I guess.

Anyway, the point is to say THANK YOU!  Your votes have really, REALLY helped me out.  More readers means more exposure.  More exposure means a better chance of success for...

LULUNACY:

I'm getting art supplies today!  That means that LuLunacy begins now.  I'm going to draw LuLu so that I can have a picture of her in my head as I develop her.  I'm going to draw her blog design, so I can show it to Eric and say, "Hey, babity babity babe, can you make this picture a reality on the internets?  I'll make you an English muffin."  I'm going to start drawing story boards.  I need to start at the end, I think.  Where do I want LuLu to end up?  I'm not sure, yet, but I think I need the end before I write the beginning.

SCHOOL:

There's not much to say about it.  I'm finished.  I have the highest GPA of the Political Science Department.  Maybe.  Two of my grades haven't come in, yet.  I think I got a B in Geography.  That sucks.  I've never gotten a B as a final course grade before, and it happened on my last class ever and because of a GROUP project that I got a D on.  A D!!  Relying on others for my grades is lame.  I may have still gotten an A.  If I was able to pull 41 out of 50 points on my final exam, I can still get one.  I'm not too confident about it, but maybe I got it.  Grades are due this evening, and then they update them in the morning, so I'll find out then.  Pregnancy has wrought havoc on my studying the semester.  I was just so tired and unable to concentrate.  I'm shocked that my Terrorism and African Politics grades turned out the way they did.  I really thought my AP paper was crap.  Apparently my professor thought otherwise.  I do speculate, though, that I didn't really EARN that A on that paper.  I think there was some bias.  That particular professor knows a lot about my history.  He's my advisor.  He knows about my high GPA and what I do to maintain it.  He knows I had an unfair grade from another professor due to negative bias on a GOOD paper I wrote.  He knows about my autism.  His son has it, too.  I think he may have done me a solid here and maybe added a few additional points.  Not a lot.  I mean, it wasn't a FAILING paper by any means.  I did work hard on it.  I just didn't focus well.

FEELINGS.  NOTHING MORE THAN...FEELINGS:

School ending has been really tough for me.  I loved it, and more than that, I was exceptional at it.  I'm now a full-time wife, mom and homemaker.  These are things that I do not feel that I'm exceptional at.  Add pregnancy hormones to that, and it's been a rough transition.  I can't go back to work at this time.  I'll have the dudes home with me all summer and then the bot in the fall.  It's a hard pill to swallow working so hard for so many years, spending over $50K on an education, and then...making peanut butter sandwiches, doing dishes and playing Candyland all day.  Mentally stimulating it is not.  That's why I have LuLu.  Adult interaction, though, I think is going to be the rough spot for me.  I need to talk and hang out with humans often that are over the age of 8.

THE DUDES!

Birthdays are coming up!  Little Man will be 6, and Big Man will be 8 in just a few short weeks.  They are getting the birthday bash of the century this year.  We wanted to do something big for them since the Bot is coming.  We're taking the dudes on a babymoon.  In 3-1/2 weeks, we'll be setting off for Manhattan to hop on board the Disney Magic for an 8-day cruise to the Bahamas, PLUS a day at Disney World!  The dudes are SO excited.  They wake up once a week and ask, "OMGosh, is it Boat Day?!? IS IT BOAT DAY!?!?" haha

Then, they get to come home, and the next weekend have a huge family party down in Kentucky at one of their favorite places where there is a pool and a trampoline and horses.  Making out like bandits this year.  Which is good.  Since they have no toys left.  Explanation to follow:

BEFORE:

This seriously happened.  Two dudes + one playroom = THIS.  And this is only half of it that would fit in the picture.  The mess extended another 200 square feet to the right.  This is a HUGE "L-shaped" room.

There were warnings.  Two weeks of warnings.  "I'm going to come down here with trash bags."  "Seriously, dudes.  You do NOT want me to clean this up.  There WILL be trash bags involved."  The dudes.  They did not listen.  Instead, they dumped out yet ANOTHER tub of toys onto the floor.  Then, one day, Little Man came upstairs sans glasses.  "Where are your glasses?"  "I dunno.  Downstairs somewhere."  *Head asplode*

So.  The next day.  I cleaned it.  For 8 hours.

Happy dudes this did NOT make.  There was much crying and gnashing of teeth and sorting through the trash to see if they could sneak some salvage back into their lives.  They couldn't.  There were WARNINGS!  Still always a shock when we follow through with discipline.  Always.  It's been 5 years of always following through.  No idle threats.  WTF?

Anyway, I did NOT throw away all of it.  I threw away about 1/3 of it.  All broken, missing parts or unused for years.  Dried Play-Doh and markers that haven't seen the light of day (or a lid) in 6 months, full coloring books, plus thousands of little bits of paper.  The dudes are obsessed with cutting paper into teeny tiny bits.  With all of the broken stuff, I still managed to fill two lawn trash bags to be sent to the curb.  The toddler toys went into two large tubs to be sorted for garage sale.  About 1/3 of it went into a separate room for them to keep.  It's the stuff they actually try to play with but, shockingly, had no space.  Seriously, who could set up a train track or a race road in that mess?

So we've gotta new system, and it seems to be working out well.  The kids check toys out of the storage room.  They've even made it fun for themselves by making a little library card to pretend to swipe when they check out toys.  When they are done with those, they clean them up and exchange them.  The best part is that they have all of this SPACE to play!  They can put on skates or build a huge train or just run in circles in here now because it's empty.  Good stuff.  Of course, after birthdays, we're gonna have to find a little more room in the storage area for the new toys.

Unfortunately, I did NOT find the glasses.  They weren't in there.  Two days later, Eric found them in his office, on top of a box of tools.  They were blending right in with the hammer.  He owes me 8 hours of back and foot rubs.  Finally...

THE BOT!

The Bot will be 18 weeks in the tummy in two days, and we find out if it's a male or female bot in about 2-1/2 weeks :)  She's tumbling around in there like CRAZY and measuring a full week bigger than she's supposed to.  I'm hitting lots of pregnancy milestones early, like feeling movement, feet swelling, etc.  I wonder if that means I'll give birth early.  I'm enjoying the pregnancy and everything that comes with it quite a lot, though the heartburn so far is the worst.  I feel like I can't breathe, and it stops me from sleeping for a while most nights.  I have to talk to my doctor about a better solution than Tums.

Ok, I HAVE to stop writing now and get to my to-do list.  I wanna attempt my first batch of cupcakes from scratch today.  Try to make my homemaker skills a little higher than mediocre.

Vote for me!

I don't know how to put the little button in the blog, so I'll just link it here.

CLICK ME!!

I'm number 25 on the Circle of Moms Top 25 mom's with blended families blogs.  Voting ends tomorrow, so if you could, hook me up with a clicky click.  Just click above, scroll down and hit the vote button for me?  Please? 

THANK YOU! YOU'RE THE GREATEST!

Inheritance

I love that the dudes have inherited things from my persona, even though we are not blood related.  Big Man inherited daddy's shyness, and Little Man inherited mommy's ability to attract friendship wherever she goes.  They may have their father's beautiful eyes and their mother's gorgeous hair, but a lot of their sense of humor is all me.  Big Man is downstairs running in circles and screaming, "I'm running around like a crazy person!!!"  That's MY influence.  *puffs chest proudly*

In about 28 weeks or so I will have a little one that WILL look like me, though.  One that will call me "Mommy" instead of "Karen".  Maybe.  It's likely that the little one will be confused, as everyone in the house calls me "Karen," so that may stick with him or her, too.  That would hurt, seeing as I pushed that watermelon outta a peach.  I'll be like that Mindy cartoon on Animaniacs, where she just calls her mom "Lady" all of the time.  I bet it's funnier when you're watching it on TV.

I got off topic.  Shocking.  Ok, HERE'S the 8-week picture of the bot.

He/She has little arms and legs :)  That was four weeks ago.  Of course, you can't tell if he's got my features or Eric's, yet.  I stare at the picture and hope she gets Eric's perfect skin and lovely blue eyes and my little ears and pretty hair.  I stare at the picture, and I hope he gets Eric's masculinity and brain power and my determination and grace.

I stare at this picture and ask myself if I've ruined her life by conceiving her with my maybe-broken-a-little-bit genes and adding my nobody-knows-if-they're-messed-up chromosomes and pumping her full of my science-can't-figure-out-if-this-causes-it blood.  Is he doomed to a life of training, therapy, doctors and medications?  Are we?  Will my high-functioning Asperger's mutate into her low-functioning autism? Will his big brothers be defending him in school and at the park and in Kroger for the rest of their lives?

Will he or she live a full life anyway?  I do know that answer.  Absolutely.  This bot is loved.  Unconditionally.

I'm glad I don't have jowls

I'm going to make the first installment of LuLunacy a picture book, I think.  Just to get the juices flowing.

The end.

It's official...

I've got the senior eff-its.  I graduate in six weeks.  SIX WEEKS!!!  Totally excited to the max.  Except I won't graduate at all if I don't finish these four papers that are due in that time as well.  Er....the first one is due Tuesday.  As in, four days from now.  Is it done?  I assure you it is not!  How close to done is it, you ask?  Still in the note-taking stage.  But, Karen, shouldn't you be doing that NOW, on your last quiet day before the dudes are home all weekend being all noisy and Skywalkeresque?  Why are you, instead, blogging and playing on Facebook and shopping for maternity swimwear?  BECAUSE I'M ALL ABOUT "EFF IT!" I'M A SENIOR!  That's why.  I better get my tush moving, though, or you'll all be reading this blog next semester thinking to yourselves, "Geeeeeez, why is she STILL whining about being a senior?"

Ah, heck, I just broke a nail grabbing a book out of my backpack.  See?  SEE?!?!?  This is what happens when I start to do the work.  Broken nails.  That's okay, though, because it's the stupid "buffed" nail of doom that is not supposed to be there.  Some total Summer's Eve in the mall at one of those stupid kiosks that sells Dead Sea salts and other beauty products grabbed me and took my nail polish off of my thumb without my permission.  WTF, T?!?  I was walking by.  He tried to hand me a free sample.  I said, "No, thanks" and kept walking.  I was on a mission!  A mission to...er...well, not do this paper and hang out in the mall instead.  Anyway, I kept walking, and he pointed to my chest and said, "Oooh, can I ask you a question?"  I assumed he wanted to know if my tattoo hurt (the answer is always, yes.  There were needles grinding into my flesh.  It effing hurt.)  So, I stopped and said, "What?"  Big mistake.  I didn't realize that when he pointed at my chest, it wasn't my tattoo he was pointing at.  It was my fingernails, as I had reached up to scratch my boob.  In public.  While talking to a stranger.  Klassy with a K.  He took that, "What?" to mean "Go ahead and grab my hand and wipe my fingernail polish off of it in 0.243 seconds."  I just stared at him and then down at my nails.  I said, "Oh.  Now I have one unpolished nail and 9 pink ones.  Gee.  I look awesome."  He looked upset.  "Why are you so upset?  This technique is wonderful.  From Israel.  Invented because a woman had such a hard time keeping polish from chipping off of her fake nails."

One, my nails are real.  A fact that he refused to believe.  That's the question I didn't hear him asking when I thought he was asking about my tattoo.  "Are your nails real?"  The answer I gave to that wasn't "yes".  It was "what?"  Apparently, in Yiddish, that means "no."  So I'm trying to pull my hand away, and he's buffing the stupid thing, telling me my nails are fake, and he can tell because there's a white tip on them, and natural nails don't get that.  Great.  I'm dealing with a brain surgeon, apparently.  I finally yank my hand away, and he's like, "You are not happy, but it is beautiful!" 

No.  It isn't.  It's shiny and DIFFERENT THAN MY OTHER NINE NAILS!  Now, when I scratch my boob in public, it will be REALLY noticable.

WTF? I should work on this paper, for real.  I have another one due next Thursday, so 13 days.  Ten pages.  What stage is that one in, you ask?  It's in the "haven't even opened a Word document for it and put a name on it" stage.  This is so unlike me.  I generally have papers done at least a month in advance.  =/

Checkin the stats...oooh, yeah

I checked my site stats this morning.  That's where I can see who searched what and how they landed on my page.  You guys...there are some HILARIOUS search terms this week.  Here they are.  In top 3 order.

Number 3:  "I hate my double chin".

I don't remember saying this, but HAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHHA I had to have said it at some point.  I love that if you Google this, my page pops up.  I do have a double chin.  I hear if you chew gum, that makes it go away.  I hate gum.

Number 2:  "I've gotta bagel hey hey hey".

Someone else in the world sings "hey hey hey" after everything they've got.  That's awesome.  I know it's after EVERYTHING they've got because the original is not bagel.  It's "a dollar".  And then it's "two pickles" (I think).  I haven't seen the Little Rascals in a long, long time.  I don't even remember who said it.  I could look it up, but no.

NUMBER ONE:  "Stepmom in a chicken."

W.T.F.?

Honorable mention:  "Jackie Chan House".  I don't live in his actual house.  Our house is just called Jackie Chan Estates and Szechuan Chicken Farms.

Also, I have gotten tons and tons of hits from some site called probloggers.  I don't know what you are, but thanks.  Well, I mean, it can't be that hard to figure out what probloggers is.  I'm assuming it's not just a clever name, and it's a site where blogs go to be searched.  Hopefully it's not a place where blogs go to die.  Then it would be called deadbloggers.com.

I'm 8 weeks 5 days pregnant.  My kid has elbows and fingers.  That's pretty cool.  I wish the bot liked food.  Or drink.  Or anything other than making me sleep and vomit, really.  She even hates yoga.  WTF?  Who doesn't like yoga?  Or yogurt.  Mmmmm, yogurt.

WHAT?! NO FEBRUARY BLOGS?!

Hi, February!  I've 15 minutes before class begins, so I'm gonna make this super snappy.


SUPER SNAPPY!! SNAP SNAP!

News:  We're having a baby!  In October!  Totally excited to the max.

Also, school is NUTS!  I'm afraid I won't get it all done, and that is what I have been doing with my time, between vomiting every meal I eat and sleeping more than I've ever slept in my life.  Writing papers and more papers.  I still have four to go, two due next month and two the month after, but then GRADUATION IN MAY!  WOOOOOOOOO HOOOO!

Ok, for real, someone remind me to bliggity blog a little more, yeah? Yeah.  Gotta go to class.

The Morning of Hilarity and Love

Sometimes I wake up in the morning after a bout of insomnia and feel overwhelming love and affection for my family.  This is one of those days, and it's only gotten better since.  Except the part where I walked 15 minutes in the rain from the parking lot to my class building this morning only to find, the instant that I stepped on the wet pavement, that my shoe has a hole in the bottom.  I wish it had a whole bottom.  You see what I did there?  Hello, Wet Sock! You are the bane of my existence, and I will now have to tolerate you for the next 8 hours!

So, I woke up this morning full of love for my wonderful husband and my two little stepdudes, and today...it was POAS day!  The day when I find out if I get to have THREE little dudes or two dudes and a little lady? chick? girlfriend? (If I have a girl, I will need an equally awesome nickname to call her on this blog.  Be thinking on that, loyal readers.)  Anyway, I peed on the stick, and it was negative.  Boo hoo for me, but totally whatever because we will keep trying again Dori style.

Great.  Now I'm going to have Ellen DeGeneres stuck in my head the whole time we are trying next time.  At least she swings my way, so it's not a total loss.  Tricia Kincaid, the creator of my current Mary Kay skin care regime, once told me that I should not forget to moisturize my throat, or else I will look like Ellen forever.  Now I can't look at her without thinking "throat of destruction" and then thinking about Tricia.  Now I will add babymaking to my ever growing list of DeGeneres association.  Sweet.

The Little Man was INFINITELY hilarious in the car this morning.

Driving in the rain:  "Stop, rain, or I will punch you in the face!"
Big Man (matter of fact):  "Please.  Rain doesn't have a face."
Little Man:  "Pfffffft! Yes.  It does!  It's right there on the side of the drop.  I'll punch it there."

He gets the "punch inanimate objects in the face" gene from me.  It's not genetic.  It's sponge-etic.

"Karen, are we going to a different school next year?"
Me:  "Yes, buddy.  You won't have to get up so early, and you can get on the bus at our house instead of having to drive an hour to and from school."
Little Man (clearly alarmed):  "But! I won't ever see Jackie S ever again ever!  How will I ever find a wife?!?!?!? WHO IS GOING TO BE MY WIFE!!!???"

Apparently we've ruined his marriage.

Lastly, a car on the highway was speeding like crazy, cut me off in the pouring rain, and squeezed himself between two cars to take an exit at the last minute.

Me:  "Holy mackerel! That guy almost caused a big accident with his crazy driving!"
Little Man:  "If he knows he is breaking the speed limit, then it's a big on purpose."

These days are the best part of my family.

Oh! Also, my brother, Russ, had an interview in the Nuvo yesterday.  Pretty flipping cool.  You can read it here.  CLICK ME AND YOU CAN READ THIS SUPER ARTICLE OF AWESOMESAUCE!

Ya'll should go see him at the Ugly Monkey for the TEN days before the Super Bowl.  I'm a proud sister, oh yes.

I have stalled almost long enough to head to class!

An Open Letter to Parents of Autistic Children

An Open Letter to Parents of Autistic Children:

I've been ruminating on this post for quite some time, so bear with me.  Like most of my posts, this one will likely be long, rambling, and not as funny as I think it should be.  However, I think it is important.

This blog gets a lot more traffic than the "following" widget shows.  While some of my readers land here looking for porn (seriously? nude Aspie?), most people use search terms such as "what to do with my autistic child?" and "will my autistic child be ok?" or variations thereof.  I do, invariably, get a little bit of e-mail from people that land here.  Some of it is rather rude, but most of it is sent from a place of desperation and a need to feel that everything is going to be all right.  This letter is for those parents who feel as though they have an endless struggle on their hands, and they are looking for a little encouragement.

I would like to apologize to you.  I cannot tell you that your child is going to be okay.  I cannot tell you that he is going to be high functioning.  I cannot tell you that your child is a genius inside his silent shell.  I can't promise you she will ever speak to you or hug you or be able to wear jeans without melting down.  In short, I cannot lie to you.  Some of your children will never say "I love you, Mommy."  Some of them will never look you in the eyes.  Some of them will never move out of your basements.  I'm very sorry.  On the other side of the coin, some of your children will learn affection, and some of them will soon talk your ears off and some of them will get married and have children of their own and tell stories at Christmas like, "Remember that time that I stood on the kitchen counter and shouted 'Bebo! Bebo!' over and over again because it was the only sound that I used to be able to make?"  Some of your children are Albert Einstein or Temple Grandin inside.  I wish I could tell you that your little Bert or Gertrude was that person, but I can't.  I cannot lie to you, even if you are desperate to hear it.

All I can do here is tell you how I function and how I feel about things and ideas that work for me to keep me functioning on a day-to-day basis.  I am but one person with autism, and I'm different from all of the others.  Therapy and social training worked for me in ways that it has not worked for others, as we are not all the same.

What I can do is give you a little shimmer of hope.  All is not lost.  I consider my story a success, and there are many other successes out there as well.  Your kid's may be one of them.

I know that a lot of you feel as though your child's diagnosis is a death sentence for your hopes and dreams for your little one.  I also know that you can't say that out loud without judgment.  If you need to say that, you can say that to me with zero judgment at all, and I can promise you that.  That feeling is perfectly ok, and it is perfectly normal, and, for some of you, it is perfectly valid.  For others, new dreams will emerge, and for others still, all of the original dreams will still come true.

To conclude, I want you to know that I am here for you, and you can vent to me, but please don't ask me to lie to you.  I can't.  I respect you and your unique child too much to do so.

With as Much Love as I've Learned to Give,

Karen