Domestic

This is my husband, Lars. We met when he was 9 or 10 and I was 8 or 9. We started dating when we were in the 16/17 range. We went to the same college. Got married at 22-years old. We've been together around 14-years, married for 9! That's just about 1/2 our lifetimes together at a couple. Crazy, huh?

Lars is 31-years old now. He works for big pfarma. He is a micro/molecular biologist specializing in microscopy. His research is specific to cancer. He's a bit of a jack-of-all-trades, though. He can do plumbing, electrical, computer thingies, tile work, carpentry, manicures and pedicures, girls' hair, boys' hair, mohawks and fauxhawks. He has a great ear for music, he can plunk out anything on the piano or guitar. He'd like a mandolin. He's not so bad at singing either. 4 out of 7 nights, Lars makes dinner for the family. He has coached soccer for little ones since Petra was 3-years old. He plays soccer on his big pfarma league. He can skate board and snow board and just picked up the surf board.

Today he had to stay home. He got the kids up and dressed, breakfasted, teeth brushed and off to their schools. He went to two different grocery stores where he bought sustainable and organic goods that were suitable to my snobbery. He went to Home Depot. He mowed both lawns and weeded. He took a shower. He got his haircut. He made 2-loaves of zucchini-banana bread, one with nuts and one without. He picked kids up from school. He put a lasagna in the oven. He got the kids a snack and water bottles. He took Petra (with Thing 2 and Thing 3) to gymnastics and then soccer. He brought everyone home in one piece. He made an organic baby greens salad with Balsamic vinaigrette. He had all the kids sit down at the table for dinner. He cleaned up the kitchen. He helped Petra with her homework and quizzed her on her spelling. He made the kids' lunches for tomorrow. He had them get jammied and teeth brushed. He had the kids prepare their backpacks for tomorrow. He welcomed me home when I finally walked in the door at 8:12 pm after leaving the house at 5:55 this morning and pulled out a chair for me to sit in. He carried Soren to bed. He helped me tuck in the girls. He ordered Petra and Soren's school pictures on-line. Finally, he picked up his brief case and walked out the door at about 9pm because he desperately wants to cure cancer.

I didn't get the chance to thank him.

Say what you will, but we all know what you're thinking . . . (that I've done a good job raising my husband)

Very Vomit-y

We came to an agreement last night. I'm staying home. I called my boss, she was none-to-pleased, but understood. Shortly after I placed the phone call to her last night, Petra started puking. I had to get down on my hands and knees and scrub emesis out of the grout in the bathroom, not pleasant, but I got to use bleach -- I love a good excuse to use bleach. Poor Petra proceeded to vomit every hour until 3am, at which point she developed a high fever and was absolutely miserable. I had her sleep next to me (and Maggie) all night because I was paranoid she would have seizures or something. Although Soren is feeling much better, he still is out of sorts. Lars slept in the Grandma Room which is strictly against the rules of the Grandma Room, sometimes you have to break the rules. During one of our bathroom visits last night, I was holding Petra's hair back when I figured that I was probably next with all this monstrosity so I threw my hair up on top of my head. I was very pleased when I woke up this morning and realized that I hadn't been sick, a little disappointed in my hair-do, though. We kept Annike home for good measure, she was very sleepy this morning and didn't wake up until after 8am. We took that as a sign that there was still more to come, however, at this point she seems just fine. Lastly, Maggie was out on the lawn just a bit ago puking. It's ironic because I'm pretty sure that my kids have a species-specific virus, maybe it was a sympathy puke on Maggie's behalf. What a sweetie!

Ucky Blucky

The weekend that wasn't . . .

The kids had Maddie over on Friday night to make a butterfly cake. Saturday morning I went with Soren to his game, he scored several goals. Daddy went with Annaslugger to her game. We met at home and did some housekeeping. In the afternoon, Daddy took the kids to the neighbors' house to swim and I took a nap to prepare for work. I left for work, totally unsuspecting. It was the night from Hell. I did 6 deliveries, our birth center was so busy that we had to turn away patients. We had patients laboring in the hall, in the chairs, etc. We had patients laboring in rooms but no nurses to take care of them. I have no idea what was going on, but it was nuts. I delivered the baby of a 17-year old patient having her 3rd baby (first at 12-years old), her mother made me so mad -- but I don't want to go into it. It was a nutty night, peanutty. I didn't urinate once the entire night, too busy. At around 4 a.m. I walked past my office, couldn't go in but walked past it, thought I heard the phone ringing but couldn't answer it because the 17-year old was about to birth and I needed to waddle at top speeds to her room. Turns out, the phone wasn't ringing, but a mother knows . . .

At 4 a.m. my little Soren, the Great Brazilian Defender, walked into our bedroom to Lars' side of the bed with his hands full of vomit. Poor Soren. Poor Lars. Until Petra was well into toddler hood, Lars couldn't even handle hearing the word 'poop' without dry heaving. These days, the man is a pro at wiping emesis off of little mouths without so much as a shiver. Still, I feel horrible that I wasn't there for the two of them. I feel especially terrible that when I finally arrived home at 8:30 a.m. I had to go straight to bed. I couldn't function. I was a bit emotional myself from having been so physically taxed throughout the night, I couldn't bend my legs at the knees because of the extent of swelling I had incurred, and the lack of sleep was making me feel out of my mind. Soren has not stopped vomiting. He can't keep anything down. He did bravely try to sit through Petra's soccer game at 2pm (his idea) but couldn't manage so I took him home, but not before he threw-up in the car. Ugh. He's had some sips of a juice box in the past few minutes, nothing yucky yet.

The dilemma of the week . . .

Our next problem is this, as you all know by now I am employed outside the home. In fact, I am very well employed. A little too well employed for my own tastes. As I sit here blogging to you I am sipping a Pomegranate Izze, a sparkling beverage that is quite pricey but we can buy these sorts of things because I bring home the majority of the bacon. In the past, when the meconium has hit the fan, Lars typically takes the day off of work because it is logistically much more difficult for me to take the day off. If I don't go into work, my patients don't get seen, or my colleagues get screwed. Added to this problem is that I was hired in to my current position without benefits in exchange for greater pay. If I don't go to work, I don't get paid. I have no sick leave, no paid time off, no paid vacation. My husband has all these things. The developing problem is that my husband is planning a day off on Tuesday to manage some family affairs. He feels nervous about taking tomorrow off, as well. Additionally, my husband is curing cancer. He's really into his job. He wants the world to be cancer free and feels connected to what he's doing. Now some of you may have very firm ideas about how this should be handled, but it's not that straight forward. Yes, I am the mother. Yes, my son needs me. Yes, I am the family's primary bread winner at this time and losing a day of pay is very scary to us. Yes, Lars and I co-parent and are both equally capable of administering to a sick child with love and kindness. We both have so many roles, each so vital to our family's livlihood. It's not so cut and dry, you see. Plus, I'm about to take an unpaid maternity leave (which I've diligently saved for). My husband gets 6-weeks of paternity leave at full-pay. In the meantime, we have a pukey, dehydrated Kung Fu Master (tomorrow is karate for Soren) moaning and groaning on our couch.

I hate this. I hate that the plan for tomorrow is not obvious. If we lived in Michigan, my recently retired mother would no doubt come in her Subaru station wagon and sit with Soren. Or Soren's Bubba would come and hang out with him, as he has done for us in the past. Even Mommela has jumped in for us to tend to a sick young 'un of ours, despite having her own child that she could spread infectious diseases to. No dice out here. Sometimes, I wonder about the choices my mom and step-mom had to make as they were parenting without partners, both working full-time. I know us kids got sick. I think that was around the time my mom got cable, that way I could stay home alone and have the TV. I was 9-years old then, Soren is only 5. Different times, different deal.

Soren is too sick today to go to school tomorrow. Lars and I both need to be at work. Stay tuned . . .

What is 8" tall by 20" long and smells like a Frito?

This is Maggie, our heifer/Basset Hound. She doesn't run away, she moseys away. Fortunately for her, when she follows a scent away from our home many people stop to watch. A Labrador Retriever on a solo walk wouldn't look so bizarre, but Maggie clearly is a dog that belongs on a Sealy Posturepedic. She draws a lot of attention when she leaves our home unchaperoned. Typically the phone calls start coming in before we even realize she's gone. Usually, the caller on the other end is laughing because Maggie is just so darn funny to look at, nose to the ground waddling slowly on a mission, unaware of the world around her. Maggie is excellent comic relief for me as well, when I'm feeling blue I just need to go look at her to put a smile on my face. She followed a scent out of the basement and up the street today. Lars got the phone call and dashed out to get her. She's been a bit snoozey ever since.
Now for a quick Ultimette update, at her growth ultrasound today we learned: her head is in my left rib, she's got a cute nose, she weighs 2lbs and 15-ounces.

Peace, love and Bassett Hounds!

A New Camera, A New Set of Problems

We got a new camera! We've let the old Sony gracefully move into retirement where it'll spend the rest of it's days playing Scrabble and taking a photo every now and again. The new camera is a Nikon D40. There's some drama with it. It's all my husband's fault, he likes things to be far more complicated than necessary. We've already argued about the camera, I wanted to strangle him not more that 7-minutes ago. Instead of strangling him, I cried and probably told him to go eat some Haggis. I'm good now, I have cute pictures to show you, and more importantly in this argument with my husband I am the winner, he is wrong and I am right. Yep. Me. Right.

A list of things to tell you:
1) Petra is still on a high from the big gymnastics triumph last week. It seems to have boosted her confidence in general. For example, she did really well (for her) at her soccer game on Saturday. She actually spent some time kicking the ball and running down the field with it. She helped the team out! This was a big step for her, she got aggressive and took a risk. After the game, Coach Gina came over to tell her how proud she was of her her, Petra was ecstatic and super-dog cute with her toothless smile. When I asked Petra why she played so differently, she said "because usually Coach Gina puts me in defense but today she put me in fohwahd and I pwefeh fohwahd watha' than defense." She actually said "prefer" and "rather," she's good like that. No matter the reason for the improvement, I'm just so darn proud of her for trying so hard. Makes me eyes a bit wet.
Below, Petra - age 7, with Coach Lalo doing some bar work.
2) Ice. I want ice all the time. I dream about ice. I eat ice whenever I can. I go out of my way to get ice. Fortunately, we have an ice maker. The issue is pica, I don't want to go into it, I'll let you Googawho it. It's an issue. Mr. Doctor OB called the other day, I'm supposed to take an iron supplement because my hemoglobin is 9.3. That is terrible. It hasn't been that terrible since the day that some resident incised me hip-to-hip and dislodged Petra from my pelvis via my abdomen after the previous 24-hours of labor, including 10-hours of pushing, failed to produce a baby. After that, my hemoglobin was pretty bad, worse than it is today. Following Petra's birth I looked like a marshmallow in a pre-Smore stage, white and sticky. These days, Suthn' Cali gives me a glow that I didn't have with any of my previous anemia episodes. Now I look like a marshmallow that has just hit the flames, ecru and gooey. Probably tired lookin' too. I'm super-dog tired. All I wanna do is sleep, eat ice, quit my J-O-B, and eat marshmallows -- thing is, I wonder if that is a little bit of a cannibal of me . . . to wanna eat my kin, the marshmallow. Oooh, shiver.
3) Speaking of cannibals, anyone read the most recent National Geographic about the Neanderthals? I suggest you do.
4) I can't even tell you how I'm feeling about Little Annaslugger after her t-ball game yesterday. She knocked my socks off. She probably hit that whiffle ball at 10-miles an hour, too. Baby's got bat! I tell ya'! 3-year old Annike, below.
5) Soren the Great Brazilian Defender. He loves playing back by the goal. His daddy says he's intuitive. Plus, he can read really well! He's like an academic and a jock. I remember those boys from high school, their parents spent a lot of money on college for them. Hmmmm . . .
Soren, age 5, below.

6) Lars was testing the sprinkler system today. It made my blood run cold. I had to take to my bed with a Xanax and a bottle of red wine where I put little cucumbers over my eyes and chanted 'ohm.' Well, quite honestly, I didn't have any Xanax but I wanted some. Additionally, I didn't drink a full bottle of red wine. I did, however, take to my bed because I couldn't stand the noise of the running water. I dreamt about eating ice, custard filled donuts and marshmallows. My marshmallow next of kin -- I woke up screaming. Then I went to my Finer Things Club meeting where we discussed Skinny Bitch, talked about the importance of being vegan, and then was presented an eclaire avec custard with 31 gleaming candles. So sweet. I'm sure it was vegan custard, except that it tasted really good.

7) While I was at my FTC meeting, the husbands and children went to our house. They played Rock Band, ate dead animals, drank beers.

8) Lars made falafels for dinner tonight. Lars, Petra, Maggie and I liked them very much. Annike declined them initially and they made Soren gag. Lars' new motto is "it's what is for dinner." He says it applies to every situation in life, a la you-get-what-you-get-and-you-don't-throw-a-fit. The only way we got those two little rats through it was by allowing them to stand on their chairs and march in time to Petra's cheering. They each finished their falafels, no puking, no worse for the wear. Long live the chick pea!

This week has me working a boat load (under a new moon), soccer practices, gymnastics, karate, parent-teacher conferences for P and S, and dental work for Little Miss Extra Front Tooth Presently No Front Teeth.

Namaste my brothers and sisters.

Toothless Wonder!

Toothless!
Petra lost a tooth early Tuesday morning while I was at work and Daddy was asleep. As many of you know, the Toothfairy has a clause -- no pick-ups or deliveries on teeth lost after 10pm. Then, Wednesday afternoon, she lost the other snaggle tooth! She has 3 cute little holes in her mouth. See?
Wonder!

After spending some extra time working with Coach Lalo on Wednesday night, Lars took our little Petra to her big gymnastics assessment this afternoon. Now Lars isn't one to give much in the way of details, in fact, his tendency is to downplay everything. But, from what he told me she got a very nice little review. The coach that does all the testing said Petra is "very strong."
Annnnnnnd . . . they moved her up another level. Good for our little girl, eh? Petra called me at work to tell me. Because I'm sometimes a bit worried that she's being pushed to do this I was relieved to hear her sound so excited. She's such an amazing little girl!

Full Moon

Annike Maria - hiding in our washing machinge, age 3, a.k.a. Annabeaner, Beanie, Beaner. "Peek-a-boo, Daddy!"

The full moon's powers were hard at work the other night. My little birth center was hoppin'. Lots of women (and girls, for that matter) came in with their bags of waters leaking, lots of women contracting, and then the usual busloads of wanna-be's (women who desperately want to be in labor but aren't). I, myself, was contracting throughout the night but that may have been more due to being on my feet so much rather than anything else. I've had this talk with my step-mom before, as an avid sailor, she knows all about the moon, tides and barometric pressure. Anyway, I forget which one has the most influence on the amniotic sac during a full moon, but she knows and hopefully she'll comment. Seems like it probably has a lot to do with gravitational pull. Back at home, a good rainstorm would put a lot of women in labor due to the change in barometric pressure. Anyway, I'm trying to make a point: What I love about full-moons has nothing to do with the fact that I was crazy busy at all hours and holding my eyelids open with toothpicks by morning. What I love is that in this era of heavy reliance on activities that strongly oppose nature, our bodies are still so heavily and amazingly susceptible to natural forces, even the rather mystical lunar forces. One of those things that makes you go 'hmmmm'? My SIL is pregnant with her 3rd baby, not due for another month (a full moon, ironically) but had baby number two prematurely. I half-expected to hear from my husband the other night with news that their new little one had arrived. My own sister is due a bit after me, in late December, but she went rather early with her first two babies. I just looked, the December 12th is a full-moon. I'm not a betting woman, but it wouldn't surprise me . . .

Moments from the weekend.

Little Annabeaner came home from gymnastics on Friday, put on her footie jammies, got out a bowl and a spoon to have cereal and then fell asleep.
Soren, my little Brazilian played some soccer. He announced to everyone in a 50-yard radius that he was the best player on the team. I was a little embarrassed, but told him to put his money where his mouth is. He went on to score 2-goals. The girls had games, too.

Lars shaved off his facial hair, grilled in our back yard, and drank 17-beers.

Our friends came over for grilling. We put the kids in the basement with a movie and then pulled out Rock Band. Mike Fab is on vocals, Karah Magnificent is on drums.

Jeff Magnificent is on drums, now, and Greg Fab is on guitar. Kristen Fab and I were the doo-wop girls.

I turned 31-years old. There was an ice cream cake, but I didn't get any. Ultimette got a piece, though. On a side note, Kristen brought me a birthday donut that morning at our girls' soccer game. Annike and I shared it.

Annike and I compared girths. Not sure who won, you be the judge.

Other tidbits: Annike decided we should name Ultimette 'Peaches Pineapple'; Maggie was groomed on topped off with a pink bow; the lawyer from my lawsuit (that I'm not supposed to talk about) called to say that the plaintiff finally showed up for her deposition and that it is still is a bogus lawsuit but none-the-less there is much to do; Petra has another snaggle tooth; Lars has gone Facebook wild, checks it every 5-minutes and brags to me about all his 'friends'; we may have finally decided what to do with Soren and Ultimette's room but all bets are off as to when we'll do it.

Today: Soren has karate after-school, Petra has soccer after that, then I have to go to work. There's a full-moon tonight -- wish me luck!

Yes Michigan! The feeling forever! (A reflective long winded sob story, probably not interesting to anyone but meself, eh.)

Petra, January 2005, age 3-1/2 on a day we were snowed in.

Remember that Michigan board of tourism campaign? People of my generation from MI will remember it, it was a jingle sung on TV with footage of miles of pristine MI Great Lakes coastline. When that ad first aired, I had just moved back to Michigan (I was born in the big D) following my parents' divorce. I went on to stay in Michigan for the next 20-years, my previous 9-years I had moved nearly every year of my life.

I woke up in the dark and wee hours of this California morning, unable to fall back to sleep. Worrying some. Thinking mostly. Remembering stuff about MI winters, which are physical and back breaking. Out here, winter is a figure of speech. Down here, it's something people refer to but have no frame of reference. In reality, winter is a state of being, not just a way to mark the passing of time.

Having spent most my life in northern states, I can recall many incidences of being snowed in - which IS a relative term, because as a child there is much to do when one is snowed "in." Usually the first thing you did was throw on your snow suit and moon boots and head outside to make igloos that your father could stand up in.

The last winter I spent in Michigan was the winter of 2007. It was one of the most difficult periods of my life. For a decade, I had been longing for an adventure, cursing Michigan for years, begging Lars to let me follow in the footsteps of Madonna and "get the Hell out of Michigan". For years, Lars and I debated about what would be best, how to meet the needs of our kids, etc. In mid-2006 we decided to make Michigan our home indefinitely. We sold our cute little blue starter home, and bought a big house that needed a ton of work. We enrolled Petra in an awesome little private school. We paid our dues to WUOM, the Ann Arbor NPR affiliate. We joined the Children's Museum. I got a great new job that I could handle, that didn't suck the life out of me and had the promise of lots of growth. Then January 22nd (?) of '07 Lars went to work at his pfarmaceutical research job, upon arrival he and all his colleagues were shuffled into conference rooms where a casually dressed prick told Lars that he would be losing his job along with 9,999 of his global colleagues. Just like that, the pfarmaceutical research site that developed the largest money making drug the world has ever known was being axed by lowly college business majors because the stockholders in the company were growing restless. Needless to say, there was a lot of anger. Up until this point, Michigan had been steadily facing job losses largely in part to the Big Three. The loss of the pfarmaceutical site was the start of a trend in cutting white collar positions. Today Michigan has the highest unemployment rate of any state in this country. The pfarma company tried to leave out the back door, but got caught red handed. Some people tried to placate us, "that's just business." But, it's different than that and it was hard not to take it very personally. Most family members said dumb stuff to us and offered very little support to Lars, who was struggling. Most of Lars' colleagues were really struggling too, we were definitely not the only ones who took it hard. I'd meet other pfarma spouses in the halls of the JCC (where many of us sent our kids for child care and extracurriculars), our eyes would meet tearfully and we'd shake our heads at each other. We had been sold a bunch of BS over the years that we were a big pfarma family, that we were valued by the organization, there were frequent team building exercises and family picnics sponsored by the company -- you know the type. It was a big betrayal. At this point, we had been in our new house for just 7-months. We were remodeling the kitchen on our own, the day pfarma announced their plans for the stockholders to the employees we had no plumbing in the kitchen and were down to the studs, in places you could see clear through to the basement. The stockholders still got screwed.
There were some big players in our recovery, though. My mom and stepdad were very there for us. Lars' dad never said any of the cheap lines, he always had an ear for his son and supported us in our complex decisions. Lars' grandparents called weekly to check in with their grandson and listened intently as Lars updated them, crying sometimes. Friends came out of the wood work, too. Thorne and Erica, I don't know how we would have made it. To this day, I can't talk about everything they did for us because it was so much and we needed it so badly. They literally came to our house one day and picked us up, brushed us off, and said "let's start here." Thorne came down from Detroit at least 3-times a week, when he wasn't out of the country, to get us through the rough patches. There was Mira and Vikas, who provided me with a shoulder to cry on and tenderly encouraged me to reach for the sunny side. Bill and Gina, our next door neighbors who grew up in the Depression and always had meaningful things to say to us. And of course, Mommela and her husband went from being acquaintances since the time that the girls were 6-weeks old to being vastly imporant, soul affirming in our well-beings. Another mommy to love my kids, which she did for us. I think what set all those people apart from the less supportive ones was that they are all MI folks and really understood what this huge change meant for us. Sadly, today many of them may be facing such decisions shortly.
During that rough time, the kids were in our bed at nigh quite a bit. They needed us and we needed them. We all decided together to accept a transfer from the pfarma company. Despite all our anger and hurt, we stuck with that company. It still astounds me today.
Anyway, the kids stayed in our bed at night for quite a while. We moved out here, mommy got a new job, we're in our third address, the kids started new schools, and eventually they stopped needing to sleep next to us at night. Very uncharacteristically, last night Petra braved the vertical Alpine-descent of her loft and tip-toed into our room where she snuggled down between Lars and me. Seeing her there reminded me of Michigan and snow storms. It reminded me of all that pain of believing that we had lost everything, of thinking that without all those people in our everyday lives that we couldn't go on, of how I believed that there was no where on Earth to live that was worthy of our children's presence like Ann Arbor was, of how I believed that I wasn't capable of making friends anymore, and how the hurt of leaving all those places and people that I especially love would be something I could never get over.
Most of those things are false, I recognize that even now as tears are running down my face, snot pouring out my nose, Lars standing behind me doing his best "oh, Kelly" routine -- I really miss sending Soren over to Bill and Gina's, how much I long for hugs and kisses from Mira, sharing the joys of our daughters' darling friendship with Mommela, having Thorne and Erica nearby as the friends who are just a phone call away. Of course, I miss the ease of our MI parents' proximity, close enough that they weren't too far away but far enough away that they didn't step on our toes. I miss Michigan springs (a blog topic in and of itself), I miss the Ann Arbor farmers' markets, I miss easy Ann Arbor liberalism, I miss walking to the super green library with its living roof that was just around the corner from our house, the whimsy of living in a city with a large collection of fairy doors, I miss all the gay and lesbian families, I miss all the non-white people, I miss all the Jews, I miss all the untrendy super beat up cars driven by premier medical researchers, I miss the really good restaurants, I miss vegetarians being a dime a dozen. The list could go on and on, but I've stopped crying so maybe I should take that as a sign.
The truth is, I'm willing to allow my amazing children to be sacrificial lambs to Southern California. California was given a great opportunity when Lars and I brought our kids here and I believe that someday, this little beach community that we live in and the wider community will in time become worthy of all that is my children. I have learned that while we left a lot behind, none of it was really lost because the people who were important to us then are still in our lives. I now know that I can get over that fear of meeting new people and go out on a limb and make friends. And I also know that I will never 'get over' leaving Ann Arbor, after all one just never 'leaves' Ann Arbor -- people who have moved away can concur, people who still live there shudder to think. Ann Arbor is an experience, sort of like Jimmy Hendrix, and it's just part of ya. We were lucky to live there and maybe the Ann Arbor gods saw fit for us to leave the comfort of that place and spread its seeds in diverse places so that others may also have a bit of the A2 experience. And so now, I think of us as ambassadors with a mission (here I am feeling a bit goofy) and my children are the brigadiers. Ann Arbor has enough people within its city limits doin' the right thing, that's why were out here . . . you know, to spread the word in places where the density of doin'-the-right-thingedness is less than it is in A2. Yep, uh huh.
All my children (both the two- and four-legged, fetal and non) are awake. Time to make a hearty, fall-in-Michigan breakfast (buckwheat pancakes that taste like tree bark with fall berries, or something to that effect) as I stand in my Brady Bunch-esque home listening to the sounds of the ocean fewer than 3-miles away and the sounds of helicopters from the 3 nearby military bases circling overhead.

It's all settled.

Our mini-van vs. the transmission: apparently Honda extended the warranty on our model's transmission . . . that means we pay nothing! Yay! Wahoo! ETA is 3-days.
Our mini-van vs. driver's side passenger door: someone backed into us at the Y a couple of years ago, at first there was no damage but later we realized that the door go knocked off the roller. Our local Honda service center fixed it in a jiffy yesterday.
Our mini-van vs. us: we're getting all the work done (timing belt, 90K maintenance and 105K maintenance, spark plugs, and car wash)
Me on a bike vs. mountain: I have a tendency to exaggerate very occassionally, if anyone was riding the bike to work today it would have been Lars -- as this is a normal thing for him. The VW is my work vehicle, I drove it to work today like I always do. I didn't have to bike up no stinkin' mountain. But, Lars had to take the kids to school today so we rented a mid-size car for the next few days and all is well.
Me vs. cookies: I stopped at 4-cookies total yesterday, but just ate two about 10-minutes ago because they are "healthy."
Me vs. the gate: Clearly, I won that argument and spanked that gate. Lars thinks it's hysterical, which he voiced only after showing false-concern for my well-being. In the meantime, we have retrieved my keys from the Honda dealer.

I am at work right now, hence, should be doing worky things (one of my patients has failed to attend her appointment, thus, the free moment).

All my love to all y'all.
KJB (Kelly Jelly Belly)

Driving Me to Eat Cookies

I finally finished reading Skinny Bitch for book club. I generally liked the book and found that it really reaffirmed my lifestyle choices. I'm not saying I'm perfect, you know, cause this is one heifer that likes to eat but in comparison to the rest of America I know that I run a pretty tight ship in terms of diet, clean living, green-ness, etc. Beyond that, the book inspired me to change a few things that I wasn't doing before. Today I dropped the kids off and went off to the nearby whole food grocer (not Whole Foods, sadly we don't have one) to get my improved lifestyle supplies as recommended by SB. On the way, I noticed the mini-van was a bit jumpy, but was committed to getting my grocery shopping done. I called Lars in the parking lot (where there were 3(!!!) carts in the handicap parking spot) and he called the local Honda service center to get an appointment. After the store, I busted home and put away everything then drove out to the Honda dearler. The fix-it guy took my keys and said he'll have the courtesy shuttle drive me home. No worries, we'll be in touch (I gave them Lars' phone, I don't like all this car BS). The shuttle dude dropped me off in our driveway and sped off, at which point I realized that my entire set of keys (Honda keys, VW keys, house keys, etc) were at the Honda serice center. Don't panic, I thought, I may have left the back slider open and even if I didn't I could try to climb through the doggy door (nimrod is 28-weeks pregnant -- not sure about that plan). I waddled (yep, waddling is a full-time gait for me now) over to the side gate where there is supposed to be a thin green cord hanging down that I pull on to unlatch the lock and then breezily waddle through. Well, the green cord was not there today, as it occasionally gets stuck on the other side of the gate due mostly in part to my rug rats. The gate is very high, so I couldn't just reach over and pull the cord to my side of the fence. I looked all around for something to stand-on . . . nothing. I searched the front yard for a stinkin' stick but Felix had just come and cleared our yard of debris (remember?) so there was nothing. Genius that I am, I decided to use my purse to try and catch the cord, or the lock, but my purse got stuck on the handle on the other side of the gate and I couldn't get it back over. Now would be the time to call my dear friend Karah, who is good and kind and would use her brain to help me. Alas, my cell phone was in my purse, hanging on the handle on the other side of that POS gate. I started to hiccup with a few tears. What to do?!?! I was all alone (in my driveway situated across from the community park where dozens of parents with cell phones were playing with their little ones) with no one to help me (neighbors on both sides home) and not a friend in the world (3 very good friends within 5-minute walk of dumb ass situation). I weighed my options as I began to note a small amount of pressure and tingling in my bladder -- this was becoming a desperate situation. There is a cement retaining wall adjacent to the gate and it was my only option. I carefully and ungracefully scaled the retaining wall and walked along the top until I approached the gate. Once I got to the gate, I straddled it like I was riding a damn horse, and yanked my big droopy ass up over to the other side.
The back side of the gate, with retaining wall that was jumped off by moi.
I was now standing on a 50" retaining wall, still big-ass pregnant heifer thank you very much, with the option to jump down onto the cement paver below or walk along the top of the wall toward a grassy area which is well-known to be infested with a large rat family. I'm not one for rats, so I chose to jump. I landed on my feet, surprisingly, grabbed my purse off the stupid latch and walked around to the back of the house where I had to climb through the doggy door to get inside.

Doggy door, tight squeeze.

Just kidding, I had left the slider open and so walked through that mo-fo like I owned the joint (which I do, own it, I mean). I flew to the bathroom to piddle, but it was a farce because the urgency to pee was more due to Ultimette hiccuping on my bladder than anything. Then, I called Lars and blubbered into the phone while I hunted down the box of "healthy", whole grain, whole wheat, trail-mix cookies that I had bought earlier today. I scarfed down two cookies, then answered the ringing phone with a mouthful of oats and other health crap to have the guy at the Honda dealer tell me that the transmission needs to be replaced, it will take 3-days and we've got some other stuff to address as well. I start crying again, Mr. Honda says "oh, Ma'am, I'm sorry I remember now that I was supposed to call your husband." We hang up, I stuff two more cookies in my mouth, grab some ice (not ice water just the ice which is my second favorite food these days because my hemoglobin is probably so low it rivals the force of Earth's gravitational pull on my boobs) and sit down to tell y'all all bout my morning -- about the car, the wall-scaling, the locked gate, and the falling off the SB bandwagon before I really even got started.

The afternoon should be even better because I have to get Petra and Soren from their school, go get little Annabeaner from her school, take Petra and Soren up to soccer (out by the Honda dealer) and get them home -- I suppose we'll do this all by bicycle? Call the press folks, this old cow is gonna work it on a two-wheeler. Never mind the fact that I have to get to and from work tomorrow. Lord help me, cause there be a mountain between here and work folks and I don't care what you once knew about my cardiac health -- I ain't that girl anymore and I sure as Hell can't pedal up a friggin' mountain to work. Not going to happen.

The good news? Last night Lars and I finally talked about baby names. This way, if I go into preterm labor with all my cookie-eatin' and bike-riding, the baby will have a name (or 4-names, since we arrived at a standstill).

Series on Family: Petra Said

This is my little Petra. She is 7-years old. She does very well in school. She's a great gymnast. She loves the snow. She wants to be a cow girl when she grows up but first she wants to go to UC Berkley. Until she was 5-years old, her best friend was her little brother. She loves to eat salad with Balsamic vinaigrette. She'll tell you her favorite food is meat, even though she's spent her whole life in a vegetarian home. She's in the 12% for her height, Soren wears the same size shoe as her. When I look back, the day Petra was born was the day I became an adult but sometimes Lars and I still feel like she is raising us. She doesn't play with toys often, but likes to do art. She puts up with a lot from her younger siblings and rarely complains. She is a brave girl and will try anything once, no matter how terrifying. She has a cute little speech quirk and can't say her R's, she starts speech therapy next week. She likes math. Three nights ago, she tearfully came to us stating that she didn't have a beautiful enough smile to have her picture taken anymore. This comment stung at my eyes, with a lump in his throat Lars wrapped her up in his warm daddy arms and spent the next hour (on a school night) showing her pictures to prove to her that she is one of the singular most beautiful things on this earth. This made her smile.

See my beautiful girl?

It's Always More Fun to Share With Everyone

Sports Saturday!
I suppose you, my adoring public, would like an explanation for the above picture. Karah, with the blanket wrapped around herself, is 'hosting' Lars and Petra in her shelter. I realized that Petra had her soccer shorts on backwards (later realized the same about her undershirt) once we got to her game. Karah was simply providing her with a little modesty while Daddy wriggled her out of her shorts and flipped them around.

All straightened out, Petra joined her teammates on the field as left-defender. Half the team doesn't have their uniforms yet, hence, Petra's improvisation with the backwards shorts. Lars left Petra's game at 8:30 to take Soren to his 8:45 game. I left Petra's game at 8:45 to take Annike to her 9:00 game. Karah took Petra home for us.

Here's my little first base baby. Annike made my spirits soar this morning with her fervor for participation (stayed in the catching-a-ground-ball position for nearly the whole inning-- of which there are only two in the whole game). Her favorite part of the day was practice at running the bases. She's the only girl on her team, she hasn't seemed to notice yet. I served as 1st Base Coach.

Hitting the ball!!! She practiced last night in the basement, by the time she got to her game she was a super slugger.

As for my little Brazilian Futboler, I had the camera and didn't go to his game. Next week, Daddy will accompany little Annaslugger and I will accompany Soren the Brazilian. The camera will go with me to the games because Lars spends most of his time on the sidelines gossiping with the moms, getting jiggy in their "shelters", or pacing up and down as he watches his poor non-Brazilian try to get her head in the game. Anyway, by all accounts, Soren did very well. He played defender today, like his sister, but apparently he was, er, pretty good.

Well, I'm off to work for a night of perineum preserving baby catching.

Taking Advice from Ricky Martin and Shakin' My Bon Bon

I wish I could blame it all on this little heifer . . .
but I can't, because I ate the whole darn thing myself -- in one sitting.

Thusly, I've decided that I'm just going to go for it. I'm going to be fat. I'm going to be jolly. I'm going to shout "NO" to hunger and shout "YES" to cravings. I'm going to feed my inner beast as much as I darn well please. And now you're probably asking, "but Kelly Jelly Belly, what is your plan? How will you regain svelte? How will you achieve angular?" For the added pounds, I'm planning on Baby Ultimette being born very hungry. I plan on breastfeeding her every hour after her birth until she is 18-months old. I plan on laughing a lot after she's born in order to tone up my abs and back. And then, because I'm pretty much lactose intolerant in my non-pregnant state, I plan on going vegan again. And, if we win the lottery then I will work-out and get liposuction. This is, of course, my current plan but in my book club we are reading Skinny Bitch and by all accounts everyone who has read it has drastically changed some aspects of their dietary habits so I may start feeling guilty and panicky soon and reverse my eat-my-way-to-jovialness plan. Ah me.

Annike's First Day of Preschool

Isn't she adorable? I just want to eat her. Daddy took this picture, and took her to school this morning. I was able to meet them at the school after I left work.

Don't all Montessori classrooms look the same? I love it. I love the materials, the familiarity of the set-ups. The school isn't new to Annike, it's where she and Soren went last school year. The big news is that Annike is in the big girl classroom this year. Lars said she went right into the classroom and started working. Her teachers' names are Ms Chamali (pictured) and Ms Holly. It's just so darn precious.

Now for a work story . . .

I had a very busy night at work last night, one of those annoying nights where each and every one of the patients made me want to quit my job. A night that was so busy that I didn't get the chance to empty my bladder once during the 13+ midnight hours that I was there. A night so long and strenuous that I was on my feet the whole time waddling around on lower extremities that were swollen up to my knees by the end of the night. Okay, so here's the story: I get report from my colleague, as she's going out the door, about a patient (we'll call her Jenny) who needs special considerations in her care but to read the chart as it is all written down. I go to visit Jenny's chart, here's what you need to know: she's there to have her labor induced because of a complication with her placenta, during her 1st trimester and early 2nd trimester she was using crystal meth, this is her second baby, and oh -- she's a flippin' 15-year old! (sounds of screeching car breaks, head lights smashing, etc) Jolly, rotund midwife say what?! Yep, that little patient of mine is a LITTLE GIRL having her second baby, she had her 1st at 13. She lives in an in-patient drug rehab program. I nearly puked. I finally had the courage to walk into her room, convincing myself that sometimes it is not as bad as it looks on paper. WRONG!!! My little 15-year old girl, soon-to-be mother of two was reclining in her bed, eating Doritos, feet propped up on the bedside table, watching Hannah Montana! (sounds of screeching car breaks, head lights smashing, etc) Yep folks, she was watching the tweenie-bopper show on the Disney Channel, Hannah Montana. She was alone in the room, as soon as I walked in she brightened up and started talking incessantly about this-and-that, giggling throughout her conversation with me. She took a quick break in rattling on and on to me to tear the top off of a Pixie stick and dump the contents onto her tongue. Then she took a deep breath to talk again, but inhaled the Pixie dust so then coughed up a big cloud of blue sugar -- which caused her to bust-a-gut with laughter. Just her and me, no one else. I felt like I was at a frickin' sleep-over. No mother in the room, no Baby Daddy, just one lonely, Hannah Montana-watchin' little 15-year old meth dependent LITTLE girl with an STD rap-sheet more detailed than George Bush's federally mandated high school sex ed plan (not that abstinence only is long, or a plan for that matter or that my patient even knows what abstinence means or that it starts with the letter "a" or that she could even say it or that she was even in high school when she gave birth to her first baby). Later in the night Baby Daddy and the patient's mother came to the hospital, the mother is my age (30) and Jenny is her oldest of six children. I'm guessing Jenny has a very narrow frame of reference in which to operate in, either the fictionalized world of Hannah Montana or the pathetically morbid world of her 30-year old mother. The whole scenario is pitiful. Pitifully pitiful.

Small Boy in a Big Shorts World

Soren! Your fly is down. Can you zip it up yourself?
Guess they were falling down a bit, too.

There's a built in belt.

I'll do one side, you do the other.

Nice abs!