my absent kitten has healed my broken heart with his urine

When the foster lady notified me that ka-poof! my kitten was no longer mine, I cried. I won't lie to you people. I like to pretend I have a cold and hardened heart, to hide the fact that my heart is in fact cold and hard. I was more suprised than anyone when I gladly cleaned up an entire room covered in kitten shit (a post in itself) and then cuddled the little guy post-bath, still smelling faintly poopy.

He was so cute, and sweet, and fuzzy, and precious... and he apparently pissed all over my house when he broke out of his bathroom while we were at my parents' house.

Questions:

1. At what day post-piss does kitten piss reach the height of stank?
2. Where the hell did he piss?
3. Where else did he piss?
4. How does he find his tail to chase it with this kind of a sense of direction?

My heartbreak is fading quickly; exponentially even, with every additional item I wash only to discover it is not the source of the funk.

Oh kitten, why you gonna play me like that?

Part 2 of this problem is that, basically, this kitten pissed all over all the love I have in my heart for other felines. Do I ever want another kitten again? Ever? Right now I'm thinking no, but that might have something to do with my proximity to yet another makeshift litter box. 

Signing off to tear apart my couch.

Happy New Year!

a product review of the Snuggie, with advice for the loungewear industry

I'm now the proud owner of a Snuggie. Did I already tell you that? Miss A got me a pink Snuggie for Christmas. 

I'm ambivalent about the Snuggie. In my cynical moments I think things like, 

"This same effect could be achieved by putting on my bathrobe backward,"

and,

"The Snuggie would be much better if it stayed on while one was walking, since not all of my daily business is conducted while sitting on the sofa."

Basically the Snuggie needs a hood and/or velcro attachment for people whose daily business includes regular runs to the kitchen for snacks and drink refills. 

But in my happier, more joyful moments I think, "This fabric seems so synthetic, I'm worried my fever could cause it to burst into flames." Lest you assume that's a bad thing, allow me to correct you. The Snuggie's highly flammable construction is what makes it so very cozy. If one were trapped in the wilderness in January with a box of matches and a Snuggie, one would be hard pressed to decide whether to wear the Snuggie or use it as tinder.

The Snuggie has differentiated itself from the backward bathrobe in the marketplace with greater length (like a blanket) and a lack of pockets (mistake). The extended length makes walking dangerous when one wears the Snuggie as intended, with the opening in the back. When one attempts to wear the Snuggie as a robe, one's 3-year-old might be tempted to hang onto the long "train" and catch rides across the floor. While initially cute, over time this can become very irritating to the Snuggie wearer. It can also lead to spillage of drinks being poured and served by the Snuggie wearer.

Therefore, because the Snuggie isn't safe/appropriate attire once one moves beyond the sofa, the makers of the Snuggie might have been a bit more generous with the amount of fabric allowed in the "blanket" portion that falls around one's legs. I am a fairly small person yet a strip of leg is always left cold and exposed no matter which way I wear the Snuggie, unless I take great pains to position and stretch it correctly prior to sitting. 

At the same time, the upper half of the Snuggie is proportioned for a snuffleupagus. Fully extended, the "wingspan" of the Snuggie is 6 inches longer than my fingertips on each side. And the generous arm circumference allowance would lead me to believe the Snuggie was a "One Size Fits All" design, contradicting the leg allowance. Maybe I'm wearing it upside down. 

I realize the Snuggie was designed to maximize sales while minimizing design and production costs, and in that respect I believe the product has shown stellar success. But! I think there is room in the marketplace for a Luxe Snuggie -- one with a generous hood, a dramatic scarf with a small weight in one end to keep the Snuggie wrapped around a person who has to move, and a bell-shaped design to house the small children who want to cuddle parents wearing their Snuggies backward. 

Conversely, robe manufacturers could just add 12 inches to the bottom of a bathrobe, package it with a pair of slipper boots, and call it a day. 

let me briefly share my last 24-48 hours

1. Following my family's holiday gala, I felt vaguely crappy. I woke Monday with an awful headache that persisted all day/
   
2. The kitten's foster mom (representing the shelter) called Monday to say one of his litter mates had been diagnosed with feline leukemia. Since their mother had been tested during her pregnancy and was negative, and the litter mate had been exposed to another cat with feline leukemia after her adoption, I wasn't worried.
3. Monday night I couldn't sleep. Sometime I started vomiting. And having the skitters, both violently. 
4. Tuesday Jason took an unpaid day off from work because I was sick.
5. The kitten cuddled with me.
6. His foster mom came to get him for a vet appointment we'd already had scheduled, but I had canceled because of my illness. She wanted to take him anyway to get the feline leukemia test taken care of.
7. Haney tossed her baby blanket knitted by my grandma into the kitten's cat carrier, so he would be cozy.
8. At 7:45, the foster mom called and said he is positive for feline leukemia.
9. A nurse at the animal hospital takes in animals with feline leukemia and said she'd take him so they wouldn't have to euthanize him.
10. It will be 8 weeks until my 11-year-old cat Nick can be tested to see whether he's contracted it too.
11. I am so desperately sad and the girls keep crying for the "baby kitty."
12. After a shivering sweat-soaked night last night, I'm feeling betterish.
13. I'm experiencing withdrawal symptoms from my Effexor.
14. After seeing all our holiday photos, I've become convinced Helena and Griffin have retinoblastoma.
15. The shelter lady doesn't know if she can return Hanes's baby blanket to me since the kitten was laying on it.
16. The kitten was laying on everythign in my freaking house, so if it's that much of a liability Nick is sure to have contracted it.
17. I am way behind on work following a day of low productivity when I couldn't concentrate due to my fabulous headache, and a day of no productivity yesterday. Today doesn't look promising either.

updates

• Kitten now has a name: Theodore.
• We saw "Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakuel -- oh crap, how is that spelled? -- Squeakquel" today. My analysis: Alvin is an alcoholic. Theodore is a TOTAL enabler. Simon is trying to deal as best he can. It's tough to watch.
• Both the girls are sick. Bright pink cheeks, fevers, malaise.
• We are not among the group of neighbors who put out luminaria. I feel like a failure. Our neighborhood is like something from a movie, and we are the hillbillies who move in and wreck it. (Except our neighbors are all super nice, other than the mayor who lets his dog poop in our yard.)
• My Effexor is working well but I have had approx. 3 sips of Baileys and I feel like I had better stop. 
• Our kitten has an anal leakage problem... I am really hoping he outgrows that. It would be so great if he did. But due to his "special needs" he's incredibly cuddly so I guess a little anal leakage is worth it. Except for how every time you cuddle him you get a poop smear on your clothes. NOT REALLY! It's not actually every time.
• I got a vintage giant metal desk and a rockin' 1969 desk chair at the thrift store for $43 including tax. It is SO COOL. I can't wait to show you. I got it a week or so ago but I have been all busy and whatnot.
• The boys' babas are tied up with string and hanging with their stockings! They kissed them goodbye and seemed fine! We'll see how bedtime goes, but I'm SO proud of them.\
• Merry Christmas! I love Christmas Eve. Sigh.

sleep in heavenly peace, FOR THE LAST TIME EVER.

Tonight is the boys' last night with their beloved "babas," or pacifiers. P is ready; G is not. This morning when I reminded them that tomorrow they would box their babas up for Santa, they looked at each other and were silent a second, then P said,

"Don't worry Diffin! Wemembuh when we fuhdot dem and it was otay? It will be date!"

G smiled at him, then whispered something in his ear -- clearly a plan to hide some of their babas in case of emergency. He leaned back and took a bite of his Pop Tart. "Do you sink dat's a dood pan?" he asked, chocolate slobber flying everywhere. 

P shook his head. "No," he said, and went back to his own breakfast. 

For those of you who don't speak twin, what just happened is that G suggested they hide their pacifiers somewhere so I couldn't get rid of them, and P refused!!!!!!!

At bedtime tonight P expressed a little bit of trepidation, but with reassurance he was fine. He is ready. He just needs us to give him that last little push.

G, on the other hand...

At the boys' preschool holiday party, G received a temporary tattoo from one of his teachers. As she held the damp paper towel to his hand, she asked him questions about whether we've decorated, what he wants for Christmas, etc. He answered only with nods or shakes of his head. He ignored questions that required a verbal response. I stood behind him and watched his shoulders rise and fall with each breath, so quickly. I could tell he was fighting panic, brought on by conversation with this girl he has seen several times a week for a few months now.

Prior to our family Christmas celebrations, he's cried and expressed fear about all the people who will be there. He is okay with aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents, but beyond those certain people he's so anxious. He was afraid of seeing Jason's grandmother because she is not on his "safe" list. (She isn't elderly or unusual looking or frail or loud or grabby with the children... It isn't her appearance or personality that frightens him, it's only that she is a person who isn't his aunt, uncle, cousin, or grandparent. I don't understand why.)

G used to be my brave and outgoing one. He used to "make friends" with children at playgrounds. He tried swimming lessons when P was petrified. In fact, I considered splitting the boys up earlier in their school career because I worried G would spend too much time trying to make P comfortable and coaxing him to join the class, and I didn't want him to shoulder that burden. But somehow the two have reversed roles.

That's not to say G doesn't coach P still. We got a new kitten and P is afraid of how quickly the kitten moves, how he leaps and pounces. My boys and the kitten sat on the couch, and every time the kitten moved P tensed up in fear. G repeatedly reassured him: 

"See, Phoenix? He is a nice kitty!" 

Except he prounounces it "titty."

They also pronounce "alarm clock" as "long cock."

And "big stick" as, of course, "big dick."

Maybe ridding ourselves of the pacifiers will help their speech along a bit. 

more about last night

After the bedtime meltdown last night, I was shaken and exhausted. And crying. What I didn't post yesterday is that I was crying for most of the exchange with just the boys, after I'd put the girls to bed. The whole thing lasted about an hour.

I know the story sounds adorable. I know it does, because I love how attached my boys are to one another, and I think it's adorable when they display that attachment. But last night was different. It was godawful. 

Here's why:

As G sobbed in my arms and P sat, resolutely wiping tears from his eyes with a swipe of thumb and index finger -- such an adult-man way to deal with tears -- I witnessed a pantomime of the most painful moments in my life. In G's begging I heard echoes of myself, more than a decade ago, in shock and begging the then-love of my life not to leave. In P's quiet, determined sadness, I saw...

...I saw. We've all been there, and it's awful. Heartbreaking and horrible.

A friend is going through this right now, in her real adult life. And in my boys' 5-year-old unearthly twin connection freakout I felt my friend's pain in each sob that shook G's little body. I know it sounds like I'm being overly dramatic, but this is what I felt and saw last night. 

And as I soaked up their emotion like the reluctant sponge I am, I felt the fresh stinging hurt and rejection too. Why doesn't he love me? What did I do that was so bad? How can he love her more than me? How can he choose her over me, over all this? In this case the "her" P wanted to leave me for was his beloved Aunt Val, but it definitely brought me back to a time when she was one of my best friends, and he was him.

And I cried. For my boys, for the heartache of today, for the separation they will one day endure, for the heartbreaks that will come when they are too big for me to hold them. I cried for myself, for how it hurt to be rejected by my boy, for how he held my hand and pressed my thumb but still planned to be gone after the weekend. I cried out of fear of a real heartbreak -- fear I can escape only until another friend or family member is left adrift by a partner who has unexplainably "moved on." I cried for Jason, and for my first husband, for marriages made too young. I cried for my friend Casey, who is living this. 

It was awful. They are only five. They are cute. P holding G at the end of it was cute. But the desperation and pain was a gut-punch, and it caught me off guard. The meaning behind this conversation was different, but I bore witness to raw emotion I haven't otherwise seen unless I was leaving or being left, and it was godawful.

where my parental instinct goes horribly awry

It began as a simple request.

"Boys? Could you please clean up your fort in the basement like you promised Daddy you would?"

At first they obeyed. Well, P balked and cried but G told him they should hurry and do it so they could get back to playing. (!!) Such logic from my firstborn son! I was pleasantly surprised at the speed and cooperation they exhibited in getting the job done.

As they passed back through the kitchen on their way upstairs, I said, "Now, please pick up the rest of the legos and crayons on your floor, okay?" 

At first they seemed all right with that request, too.

After I finished in the kitchen, I went to stoke the fire. I noticed P had wandered back downstairs. "Are you done, buddy?" I asked. He shook his head, and zipped back upstairs.

The next thing I knew, G was calling to me. "Mom! Phe is yeavin'! He is wunnin' away!" Sure enough, there was P on the steps with a bag of play food -- two pretend pizzas and a foam orange. His feet were bare. He said he was leaving because I am always so mean.

I told him I hoped he wouldn't go, and asked that he at least wait until tomorrow, since it's cold out. I opened the front door for him, and he stuck out his chubby hand. He decided he'd wait until tomorrow morning. I congratulated myself on having handled the situation so splendidly.

Then, I broke the news that there would be no stories. It was already late, and even without stories they wouldn't be in bed until after 8. That was the last straw for P. He grabbed his bag of play food and announced he was leaving, and that from now on he could be reached at his friend Timmy's house, around the corner. The other children commenced yelling and wailing. The chaos got the better of me, and I called his bluff.

"Fine. If you're leaving tonight, it's time to go because I have other kids to put to bed," I said. "Otherwise, you need to get upstairs and put on your jammies."

"I'm yeavin' tonight," he said.

"All right. We'll miss you," I said, as I swung open the door.

As we stood on the threshhold, 30 degree air flooding into the house, I knew I'd pushed him too far. I knew he wouldn't leave, or if he did he wouldn't go any further in his bare feet than the frigid sandstone sidewalk. I knew that even if he bolted for it, I would catch him. I knew Timmy's parents would let him in and make him feel better. But I also knew I shouldn't have painted him into a corner.

"Won't you please wait until tomorrow, at least?" I asked.

Grateful for an out, he agreed he would, and we headed upstairs where I found G huddled against the wall, between the bed and the nightstand, sobbing. He was inconsolable. He truly believed P was going to leave. It sounds cute, I know, but his grief was so overwhelming. I started to feel like I might throw up.

While I held G and the girls and I tried to console him, P sat on his bed quietly wiping tears from his eyes. I whispered in G's ear, told him I'd never really let P leave, and even if he left I'd go get him, but G didn't respond except to continue howling. After a while he sobbed to his brother, "What will you eat? Where will you live?"

And P replied that he now planned to go live with his aunt, and she would take care of him. He wanted to live with her because she is never mean. He said he'd leave tomorrow morning and run to her house. (She lives about four hours away.)

Again seeing an opportunity to bring this to a close, I suggested that he wait until Saturday and catch a ride with us. He was agreeable. G sobbed harder. "And den we will YEAVE him dere?"

"No, no," I whispered in his ear. "No, I would never leave him."

I started to sense that the twin factor rendered useless all of the preschool runaway strategies employed by my parents. 

After a while P backed down, saying he wouldn't really stay at his aunt's. I showered him with kisses and love, borne of my relief that this ordeal was at an end. I told G the good news, and patted the bed for him to come over and be tucked in.

"No, I'm sleepin' on the floor because my heart is broken," he said.

What? But but but...

"Half of my heart is healed, but the other half is still broken so I don't want to sleep in bed with P," he explained.

P began to cry again, and once again threatened to leave. His exact words were, "If you do one more thing that is bad to me, I'm headin' out." I explained that he was certain to be angry at me again because we are family and that happens, but that families always love each other and he couldn't just leave...

My Todd Parr explanation only served to enrage him. G started crying again. "Will you at least stay until I can make us Best Buddies Forever goodie bags?" he begged. Oh, my heart, it is shattering into a thousand pieces.

I convinced G to come lay in bed with me and P. I held them both, their heads leaned against each other like when they used to doze off nursing. P put his arm around G, and G rested his head on P's chest and shoulder. "Are you still gonna yeave?" he asked.

"I don't know," P answered. 

where i practice passive aggression in preparation for the teenaged years

I have a thoughtful post going, but it requires more thought than my rickety brain can churn through this evening. Curses! I think I used to be a better writer. Or a better blog writer, at least. I read some of my posts from 2007 and I think, "Wow! Did I write that?" 

At the same time, I'm revising marketing materials I wrote in 2007 and I'm ashamed of myself, so maybe my talent for blogging was channelled into my work. Certainly my time has been. And I have a proposal and a press release to get out tonight, then I need to write my HDYDI post for tomorrow. Sigh. Blogging (my first love) will have to wait. Not that you people comment anymore, anyway, so what's the freaking point?

today's objective: to have the coziest day ever

Please pray for my poor husband today. He was called into work early, to attend a holiday luncheon with his coworkers. They will consume copius amounts of food and liquor paid for by their bosses. The poor dear. He was so sad to leave his beloved family when he dashed out the door wearing a jaunty vest, tie, and Santa hat. 

Originally the kids and I were scheduled to do some gift shopping today, but it's too freaking cold. It's something like 7 degrees with the windchill, and the boys remove their outerwear to get into their car seats, and I just can't take the amount of standing around in the wind while urging them back into their coats. It's so very frustrating. 

So instead, we'll muddle our way through first night of Hanukkah festivities (at Miss A's request!) and attempt to make this the coziest day ever, with

• scary movies
• holiday movies
• a fire in the fireplace
• cookies, depending on my mental health and whether I can withstand "help"
• a pizza party for dinner (because Jason was kind and bought us frozen pizzas)
• books
• board games
• Aquaphor liberally applied to all exposed skin

where i get all philosophical, and make clear that my anxiety is not completely mitigated by effexor

Yesterday I took Hanes to have her picture taken, because the older three all had really good school pictures and I wanted to complete the set. She was a bit nervous, and very shy once we got there, but the photographer was good and got her smiling and laughing and we got some good shots.

Of course, it took forever with the waiting beforehand and afterward. We passed some time walking around Babies R Us. Hanes led us to the baby doll aisle and blissed out for a bit, until I had to tear her away to see whether our pictures were [finally] ready. Poor Hanes, her sense of obligation to these pink plastic dolls has to be a heavy burden to bear. When I finally had to pick her up and carry her away she cried, "No! No! Those babies need me!"

Sweet girl, willing to tackle the immense need oozing from a wall of babies stacked one upon the other, higher than her head.

She is so special. I don't know if it's because she's my last -- probably, because I have a hard time believing she actually is more special than my others. Maybe it's simply because things are so much easier now and for the first time I can watch a 3 year old, without worrying about what the baby/babies are up to. I can finally see how very small and vulnerable 3 is, since I don't have an even smaller and more vulnerable child here to compare.

Haney is still so small. Her hands are tiny. She is light. Her eyes have turned a warm dark brown. She has a freckle on her cheek and above her eyebrow, and one on her hand. Her hair is light at the ends. She is perfect.

Tonight she fell asleep on the couch watching a Christmas special with her boys, as she refers to them. I left her there long after I ushered the older kids to bed, and I listened to her breathe in her sleep. I wonder what she'd be like as a big sister -- if she'd enjoy babies as much if she had to compete with one on a daily basis. I wonder what she'll be like as a mother -- if she'll be a natural at this, or struggle with it as I do. Funny, I don't wonder about Miss A. I assume she'll be exactly like me. 

I work hard not to see things as signs. I'm not superstitious, but it's easy for me to get caught up in imagined portents, and I have to shut down that sort of thinking as quickly as I can. It can't lead anywhere positive, except to serve as a reminder that we have nothing more than this moment, so we do well to savor what we can.

motherhood: a study in contrast

G puked all day yesterday and P did until lunchtime (fingers crossed that he's done), and H has been super-whiny and just passed out on the couch, and I haven't showered and I'm still not gonna get my $700 and it's cold.

But.

I got dressed. I put in earrings. I brushed my teeth. Jason bought me new batteries for my camera. I put on some Christmas music. The boys are playing in the basement. We're expecting a "wintery mix" this evening, which is in my top 5 favorite precipitations. It just sounds so delicious.

I have mixed results at fire building. My hands are cracked from the cold, and newsprint and soot stains the cracks in my skin and it looks gross and feels grosser. The boys are now fighting and came running up the stairs and I had to herd them away from where sweet Hane (now that she's asleep) is napping on the sofa, under her favorite quilt (because it is soft and flannel and has babies printed on some of the squares). P can't find his special kitty and somehow this is my problem because...?

But.

My Christmas tree lights are beautiful and I don't have to go anywhere tonight, and Jason brought in tons of firewood for me, and I already know what we're having for dinner (and it's easy) and we're almost caught up on the laundry.

Earlier today P tried to make it to the bathroom with limited success and yadda yadda yadda, there was liquid poop everywhere. Poop that's like pee. What, is that too gross for you? You love that level of detail. Anyway, there is also still dried vomit spatter on Jason's dresser and our laundry hamper upstairs, and our rug is still stained and will need to be trashed, and there is probably vomit spatter on the adjacent wood floor and walls and possibly our box springs, I don't know. I haven't had the courage or fortitude to get down on my hands and knees (atop the vomit stain) and investigate.

But.

I did find a package of off-brand bleach wipes, and like I said I don't have to go anywhere this evening, and the boys' illness gives me an excuse to make A stay home from Daisy scouts if the mom who drives her doesn't want to drop off her 4-year-old here, and I've got nothing to do until after bedtime but clean, craft, cook and cuddle. And I've been doing my ridiculous Advent activities every day with great success this year, and that makes me feel like a winner.

G is here brandishing a pretend play broom at me, pretending it is a sword he has thrust into my brain. And he just whispered, "You hate me, Mommy!" So sweet. So I'll close for now and go wipe down various surfaces and eat Oreos.

facebook friends, enemies, and clients

Remember my "friend" who made out with my boyfriend at a party at my house in 9th grade?

We'd been friends since kindergarten. She was always sort of a mean friend, but then I was sort of a mean friend to some other people too, so whatever.

Anyway. In 9th grade I had a Halloween party at my house. She was there, and so was my really lame and stupid 9th grade boyfriend, Darren. One friend got there late after work or a family event or something, and I went upstairs to my room with her while she changed into her costume.

When I came downstairs, things were weird. The party was in the "rec room" in our basement. Laura and Darren were coming out from an unfinished part of the basement, looking weird. I had not yet developed Cheat-dar (patent pending) so I didn't know what was up and put it out of my mind, until Monday when Laura confronted me and said it was my fault that she made out with my boyfriend. I was 1) shocked she had been sucking face with my boyfriend, 2) puzzled by why she was mad at me, 3) sort of pissed.

I broke up with Darren. What a loser! And I was still sort of pissed at Laura, and she got even more pissed at me! She talked to all our friends about how crappy it was that I was angry, and they all came to tell me how I shouldn't be mad at her, I should be mad at him. 

I was mad at him, but I was mad at her too. Sometimes 1989 me had a clearer head than 1999 me. But 2009 me has them both beat. Mostly. Except...

Despite the fact that my friends eventually sided with Laura and despite the fact that she remained hostile toward me throughout high school, I accepted her friend request on Facebook.

And despite the fact that I know she was sort of a sociopath from ages 5-18 (but who isn't?) I bit when she told me her husband was looking for a writer for a project at work. 

And despite the fact that he cancelled at the last minute for the meeting I attended at his request, for which I had to travel out of town and Jason had to take a day off work... and despite the fact that I worked an entire weekend on the rush project he hired me for to turn it around between Thursday (meeting) and Sunday evening (due date)... I'm now out $700. And the guy is acting like he has no idea why I expect him to pay me. And I feel like I'm going to puke.

after the years 2007-2009, we should have immune systems of steel

Just want to post about this day so far.

G woke us from a dead sleep saying something about being thirsty and needing medicine. Thinking it was 6ish (when the twins usually get up) we told them to go play, and we went back to sleep.

Sometime soon, G reentered our room, crying, and vomited all over the floor at the foot of our bed. Vomit spattered everywhere, I discovered this morning.

Jason ran for towels and I headed downstairs to get the medicine, assuming he must have a fever. My kids usually have a fever if they're puking. The clock said it was 1:41. No wonder Jason and I were too comatose to respond to G's first trip into our room -- we'd been in bed about an hour.

I got back upstairs. The bedroom smelled nightmarish. Seriously, I'm not a person who is bothered by vomit, but this got me and P dry-heaving while we waited in the hallway. Jason tracked down some carpet deodorizer powder and that helped quite a bit. 

Both boys wanted to sleep with us. P is afraid to sleep in their room alone, and G was still feeling ill. We finally agreed, and tried to settle in.

Minutes later, H came toddling in and squeezed into the bed, laying on top of people and wiggling until people moved out of the way. Grr.

So here we are. It's 2 a.m. and there are 5 people sleeping in our queen bed. It was probably a good thing, since G had managed to puke on the comforter and it would have been very chilly otherwise.

G has continued vomiting all day so far. Aside from puking every 30 minutes or so, he seems all right. No fever, but I'm a little worried because he can't keep anything down, even water.

H is whiny and manic and I'm guessing she doesn't feel well. She had a high fever all weekend. Now she's just annoying.

P is squeamish about G's vomit but also drawn to G, making for a difficult day for him. And us.

Jason just left for work. We got a new washer on Sunday, just in time for the puke onslaught. We had a week's worth of laundry to catch up on.

To get the washer into the house, Jason had to remove part of a wall to our basement. Yay for old houses with character! 

So, let's review:

• Our basement wall is partially dismantled.
• Our bedroom rug was ruined by last night's vomit. There is no saving it.
• H can't shut her whiny trap.
• G needs me to run him to the toilet every 20-30 minutes.

But, it's snowing and pretty out and I've showered and we have a new washer. Let the games begin!

where i politely suggest a place where the daisy scouts may stick it

Tonight the Daisy scouts were supposed to dress as presents and march in the Winter Lights Festival Parade Thingie.

1) The Daisy scouts can eff off.

2) It was 27 degrees in my car.

3) Hanes is sick and cuddly and toasty.

4) It felt like a Sunday all day. This is not a good thing.

5) How long has it been since we had a washer? I forget.

6) How many of my kids are potty trained? It's easy to lose track.

I tried to convince Miss A that the parade was a terrible idea, but she wanted to do it, so I dressed her as a present and we went. It was so cold (for 2 hours) that I thought I might die. Really. On the way home I was worried I might lose consciousness and wreck the car. I don't know why it felt so cold. But it was complete BS that we showed up in the freezing cold with our kids dressed as presents and no one even had a freaking Girl Scouts banner or anything, so we could have been any random group of people with little girls dressed as presents.

SUBJECT CHANGE! Miss A has a friend who is two or three grades ahead of her. The friend, Girl 1, has a sister (Girl 2) who is Miss A's same age, but a grade ahead because I kept her out of kindy until compulsory school age. Suck it. Anyway, the older sister is the one who always initiates contact with Miss A, and then if all three girls or a larger group play together, the sister (Girl 2) always ALWAYS leaves early, often looking upset.

In addition to my concern over this, the older girl is a bit sneaky and I caught her being extremely manipulative and deceptive in a situation with her mom and her sister. And then she told Miss A there is no Santa, and the kids' cousins also don't do Santa so whatever, but that was the last friggin' straw. Because I believe in Santa, dammit. And I'm serious. I think my extreme need to believe there is a Santa out there somewhere, despite all evidence to the contrary, is an allegory for something, but I can't put my finger on what. Hmm.

Anyway, I don't want Miss A spending time with this girl. I feel bad about this, but as Jason pointed out we sure as hell won't let her hang out with seniors when she is a freshman in high school, so...? Unfortunately, the girl shows up here every damn day before Miss A even gets off the bus, and waits in the back yard until Miss A comes out. How can I rid myself of this menace while still allowing Miss A to play with the neighbors who are her own age?

SUBJECT CHANGE! My beautiful cousin-in-law had a baby today!!!!! I am so emotional over people I care about having babies. It's such a journey, and defies words so I should just stop.

Okay. Give me advice on my child playmate problem.

future nudist

A young boy is in the bathtub playing with one of his sister's Barbies. 

BOY: I wish everyone in the world was naked and I met her. [holding up the Barbie] Is that a wish I have to help make come true?
MOM: Yes, probably.

BOY: But how will everyone in the world be naked?
MOM: Maybe when you grow up you'll meet a girl like her, and just the two of you will be naked.

BOY: We'll have our babies and then we'll go home from the hospital and say, "We have to throw away all our clothes. It's time to be naked."
MOM: Or maybe you can do that before you have your babies.

BOY: But won't the doctor kick us out of the hospital?
MOM: Maybe you'll put on clothes to go to the hospital, then you can take them off again once you're at home.

BOY: [Sings a happy song about being naked with Barbie.]

my washing machine drags my spirit with it into the abyss

There are so many things I should be writing about, but instead I'll bitch to you about our washing machine.

It is broken. And so is my spirit.

We've had the washer for a couple months past the two-year warranty. We paid $129 for some schmoe to look at it and take a wild guess as to what was wrong, and it will be $385 --estimated -- for him to come back out and replace what he thinks the problem might be. He doesn't even know! 

And we can't find our receipt for the stupid washer, due to our inability to organize paperwork. I think it's because we're both so brilliant and creative, therefore we can think of any number of ways to file a receipt for a household appliance. We can't be bound by mere alphabetical order. It's just too linear. We need a three dimensional system to accommodate our free range creative genius. A three dimensional system other than a filing cabinet, apparently.

At any rate, our laundry mountain is really piling up while we try to decide how best to blow $500. Do we buy another washer? Do we try to manipulate Fisher & Paykel into helping us deal with their washer, which we thought was great until the electronic control panel went out after just two years of buttom-pressing? And if we want to do that, where might we find proof of purchase? And is there a pay-per-pound laundry service in suburban Cleveland? And how much energy can I expend on a laundry-related crisis during a work week in December? If I open a capsule of Effexor and sprinkle it into the washing machine, will that help? How long can I avoid/ignore this situation? 

december 1

The children were very excited about our December activities beginning today. I made a bargain with them -- they must allow me to photograph them every night before the Advent house door can be opened. I ended up with a perfect photo. Miss A in an Iron Man mask striking a pose, G brandishing his Nerf sword, P fidgeting with the book he must carry everywhere, and H just looking cute.

Aside about P: The book thing is new, in the last month or so. He wants paperbacks, big ones. I think he must like the way he can flip the pages against his fingers. I am selective about the books I allow him to take for obvious reasons. He's already worked his magic on Grimm's Fairy Tales and Consumer-Driven Health Care. The one he's working on now is Lives of Girls and Women. Hee!

Here is tonight's craft: a baby Jesus made from a wooden Little People-style peg. This was a much bigger hit than I expected. I put it on the list only because Hanes wants to carry the nativity Jesuses around with her, and I thought she'd be happy with this... but the older kids loved it too, and got into making beds for baby Jesus out of muffin tin liners. I don't recommend that, but it was all we had on hand. The pipe cleaner belt is to keep his blanket in place while the glue dries. It's not meant to be a permanent accessory to his swaddling outfit.

Another aside: Hanes just fell asleep under my desk like a puppy. She was afraid of "ghostes," so she fled her bedroom (leaving baby Jesus behind) and had to get as close to me as possible, but I wouldn't allow her to touch me because I'm loving like that. And because I literally clock out at 8:01, and if I ain't gettin' overtime the ghostes ain't my problem. 

i'm not judging you, gymboranians.

I posted today at HDYDI about everyone's favorite topic: MONEY!!!!

Side note: After I published I realized I might have sounded like I was being a bitch about clothes from Gymboree. I am not. My sister is pretty much the Alan Greenspan of Gymboree shopping and it's like Gymboree pays her to dress her kids in their stuff. I don't understand it, despite several intensive tutoring sessions. Anyway, I know there are good deals to be found. But if you ever, ever see my kids in an outfit that a) is cute, and/or b) matches, you can bet your paycheck that it was purchased by my mother-in-law, handed down by one of our sisters or one of you, or was found at Goodwill.

In fact the only things I buy my kids are underwear and shoes (for the boys and A, not Hanes).

So! I'm not judging you, Gymbowhores. Just wishing I shared your talent for finding good deals.

i'm afraid i need you all to watch this.