James Franco is my new hero

I mean, come on! The guy drops out of school to pursue acting, then gets his degree while pursuing said acting (make that two degrees now), publishes a book of short stories, and survives an epic 127 days stranded in a canyon which he only escapes by chopping off his own arm.

I mean, really! How can you not love the guy?

Plus, he looks really good in a dress.

Okay, not really. He is, in truth, a really ugly looking lady, but, evidently secure enough in his manhood to don a fabulous red number for the sake of comedy.

Need I say more?

I think not. I'll move on.....

Ben and me have a new game going on. The speech therapist was modeling it for me. What it consists of is pretty much this:

-Ben, do you want the pig puzzle piece or the farmer puzzle piece?

-Gah!

-Which one Ben?

-Gah!

-Say please Ben.

-Gah!

-Say please, Ben. (insert me taking his hand and rubbing it on his chest in the sign for 'please')

-Gah! (insert Ben hitting his chest like a crazed gorilla)

-Please....Puh-leeze, Ben.

-Gah!

-Please, like puh-puh-puh.

-Gah! Puh-Puh-Puh! GAHHHHHHH!

-Good job Ben. Here's the puzzle piece.

And so on and so forth.

Eventually, he's supposed to fold and repeat actual words.

And Andrew has discovered the new game of "every time mom says 'not now' 'later' 'i'll think about it' or the actual dreaded 'NO', flop on the ground in knee-crushing sobs and ask one more time". Really? Although, I guess there are worse things. A kid in his preschool carries an artillery of golf balls with him everywhere.

Now that would be a pain to be tripping over all day.

I don't know if it's the antibiotics or just the fact that this strep is a wicked force of nature out to make me stop moving, but I have been feeling just a tad.... spacey lately. Like, dizzy in a brain sense. Not so much a 'I stood up too fast' sense as much as a 'that train of thought that just made its way through my head is making my thoughts dizzy and now my hands seem unusually big'. A clear day seems other worldly bright, and I can't get over the pestering suspicion that a little goblin is running around my house hiding my socks.

Seriously. I don't know where all my socks went. Which is probably my sign that I need to wash my sheets. Seems like as soon as I wash my sheets, all the socks come out of the woodwork.

Don't ask me. I don't know how these things work.

But, outside of the sock situation, today has gone very well. Us homebodies all got a nap, the two oldest went to school and stayed there. No phone calls at noon dutifully reporting the presence of febrile stomachaches or marked lethargic moodiness. Also, we actually made it to the library today! Dare I say it, but it almost felt like one of those... what do you call them? Normal days! Adam grabbed his dinosaur book, Cole grabbed two fat cookbooks, while Andrew and Ben grabbed random picture books so that they could go look at the movie selection. All in all, we got away with a pretty hefty haul.

So now, Adam can tell me even more I didn't know about dinosaurs while Cole tries to tell me exactly what I will be making him for breakfast (this morning, it was icecream smoothies) while Andrew begs for movie time and Ben tries to use his hardcover as a shield in his new found sport of offensive wrestling.

But, at least they're not sick.

alfalfa is deceiving

I don't know why, but today, I was thinking about a certain alfalfa field in Idaho that me and my cousin trampled all over while we were supposed to be manning the sign-in book at another cousin's wedding reception (or the gift table... or possibly nothing. It was a while ago... what's relevant is that when me and said cousin went off to 'explore' on our own at these inevitable family gatherings, it always felt like a 'great escape' kind of situation.). We thought it was weeds. Or at least, that's what I thought. Which I ended up sharing with irate Idaho farmer when he asked what the H-E-double hockey sticks we were doing.

Well, kind sir, we're running through your lovely field of weeds.

It's an easy mistake to make people. Of course, my first clue should have been that these particular weeds were strangely well organized. Decidedly untouched, if you will, when me and my cousin made up our minds to trample (the word bears repeating. Again. No other really will really justify) through this kind humble farmer's livelihood.

I felt terrible. Really. I did. I felt even more terrible when I discovered that said cousin, who had ducked her cute little grass stained red hair under the neck high alfalfa once said humble farmer started cursing us (wait... no, there was just me) was not about to offer any explanations of her own.

You see though... this has been my problem. When people ask me a question, I assume that I'm supposed to answer them. Like when Sister Hawkins asked the senior primary what their new year resolutions were a month into me being the new kid in said senior primary. I raised my hand and shared with the class that I was resolving to flush the toilet when I was done. Sister Hawkins turned red, everyone laughed, and guess what? I was actually confused. I thought it was a brilliant new years resolution. Mom was always bugging me to flush the darn toilet, which, honestly, I never thought was all that important, because, with three brothers in the house, the toilet would get flushed. Believe me. By the time I got a turn, I figured, what's the point? But, in the spirit of being a better daughter, I thought, hey, I can try that.

And I wondered why I was having trouble making friends that 6th grade year.

Just to be clear, I didn't resolve that year to wash my hands. I already had that one covered from the year before. So, check and check.

proceed with caution, ye who enter here...

Found out I've been giving 6yr old twice the dose of abx that he was supposed to be getting.

whoops.

Called the pharmacy and they told me that it shouldn't hurt him, but that now, he'll probably need more antibiotics because you're supposed to be on them for so long.

6yr old has been staging a coup in his pjs. Has yet to change out of said pjs for the last four days or so. I've informed him that he will be wearing clothes to school tomorrow. He informed me of "You wanna bet?"

Stay tuned. I'm fairly confident in my magic ways of persuasion. And honestly, if I could just get him to change into a different pair of pants (anything other than the flannel sweat pants---really. Even his off-colored green sweat pants with the odd off-white line up the side that makes it look like perpetual puking is taking place. Even that).

For the record, I can't remember how we acquired that certain piece of clothes. Of course, the fact that I could care less for it means that my son fell in mad fashion love with it the moment he saw it.

How come it always works that way? By the way, this is the same kid who won't wear anything with buttons. Like, not even fake buttons. Which means that I'm constantly finding mad awesome button clothes for him. Which now his younger brothers are sure there's something wrong with because if Cole says they're the evil inherent, then what are you gonna do?

You're not gonna wear the cute sharp looking shirts that mom just invested the full 2 for $5 at Walmart.

Which I'm no longer frequenting for personal reasons.

Although I must get my car's oil changed, and because of related health costs that have amassed over the last few months (epilepsy, bloody stool, allergic reactions, finger tumors, strep) will probably have to be done at Walmart because they are so bloody cheap.

The same car that does not stink at the present time, thank you very much.

At least, it shouldn't. I can't really smell anything since the strep....stuff. But, we're gonna assume that it no longer smells, since the boys helped me throw out the half eaten banana peels and wet diapers.

I know. Gross. It's probably grosser ('more gross?' I know not people.) that I don't particularly find it all that gross. Surprising sometimes. Smelly, sure... but, not really gross on a relative scale.

Gross is rotting flesh tunneling under rotten flesh. Gross is being farted at in the face when giving someone a suppository. Gross is normally healthy robust individuals not maintaining a minimum level of hygiene. Gross is when that same individual asks for extra mayo for his ham sandwich.

So... all relative.

And then there was one

Mike is the only one left standing, as of last night, around 7:30, I was officially brought down by the mighty strep.

Not that, functionally, this has made any difference in how today went, compared with the 20 or so days proceeding it. Or maybe it's only been 15 or so. At this point, it all just feels like one Loooooooong day anyway, so whatever.

The point is, I am now on medication and should start to feel more like my usual healthy strapping self any day now. The one catch was that, now that I'm officially on medication, neither my prescribing doctor, nor the nursing super would allow me anywhere near my job for the first 24 hours following my first dose. Which, okay. I get it. As an RN, I'm supposed to be helping others heal physically, not infecting them with some virulent strain of strep. I get it. But really, how long have I been contagious? I'll give you a clue. It didn't start last night, that much is true.

But, we'd be lost without some form of procedure wouldn't we? It's like in my patient notes: continuing to monitor.

And, really. Pat on the back to me for fessing up to having strep in the first place. I could've just gone to work anyway, and none would be the wiser. I could've washed my hands just as carefully as I do every time I lay hands on sick people. I probably couldn't have gotten any of them sicker if I was trying, heart crossed.

Then again, there has to be some things that are more important than filthy lucor (or however you spell that... seriously, someone get me the correct spelling for 'lucor')--- although there are few things more unforgiving than a cut in one's finances.

Such a balancing act we walk sometimes.

Sit down y'all....

But, it's true. I am being published.

By a local parenting magazine. That can't pay me and accepted my inquiries because they're new enough that they'll take any effort given them. Actually, I want to include in here that the editor did say that my article was 'well written and organized.' Plus, she thought the photo I sent for my contributor's bio was cute.

I will take it.

Meanwhile, I got rejected the other day in record time. Two days was all it took for a return email. Which I'm pretty sure was mass-produced.

But, back to my successful foray into the publishing world. My article is all about this free strings class offered by a local mom. She's been doing it for the last couple years and has built up a student base of approximately 80 students, divided up in six different skill levels. Suffice it to say that this woman, who is also pregnant and has three other children, possesses some mad skills.

Until this last week or so when she informed all of us (thru mass email.... isn't technology awesome?) of her husband's downsizing experience and their need for immediate relocation.

Which just goes to prove that life is cruel and unfair. Until you consider that, built purely from the goodwill this particular mad-skills mother has produced, both the school that has been housing her rehearsals and the volunteer teachers that have been assisting her have committed together to continuing the program regardless of what happens from here on out.

People know a good thing when they see it I guess. The whole thing is very encouraging to me.

Also, I spent most of the day yesterday sleeping off the kid's strep-induced madness and a couple hours today back in the company of actual adults, so, I'd say, overall, I'm feeling encouraged anyway.

Amazing how an actual full night of sleep can do that.

is this getting old?

two more down. This time, 6yr old and 2yr old. So, another day of pampering sick children with lemonade flavored gatorade, apple juice, and yogurt. Got them both on abx on the first day though, so my learning curve is definitely adjusting in a good way. 6yr old should get back to school by tomorrow. 2yr old should be on the mend soon after.

But, sickness aside, here's some gems from sick 6yr old today:

-'Mom! I know why I have a temperature!"

"Why Cole?"

"Because I haven't used the bathroom yet!"

-"Mom! I'm not sick! I'll just swallow my saliva and I won't have to cough!" (and yes, my 6yr old says 'saliva'. These are the advantages of growing up with a nurse as a mom).

-"I have to get my balance!" said right before sticking his arms out to the side of him like they taught him in gym class.

It's interesting to watch the different reactions to sickness depending on which personality is struck. Adam gets sullen. And really really cuddly. Cole goes into denial and can't stop talking. Andrew gets very very sad. Like, edge of desperation sad. And Ben just plants himself on my lap and yells whenever I try to move.

But, they all have to conk out sometime. (Note from Cole: "I was not sleeping! I feel better now!". Second note: when he starts saying things like this, it's time to get the puke bowel.)

And what does all this matter to you, reader of mine? I had a thought last night that will no doubt sound so much less amazing than it felt to me last night, and eventually, I'd like to polish out the idea of this to something a little more succinct, but basically, my thought went a little like this: We all crave a witness. As in, someone else to see what we see, to somehow have a inkling into what our experience is. To say, yeah, she's right, that's what I saw too.

That's all we all ever want right? To be right and have someone agree with us. Of course, I'm right anyway (lol... but really, I'm right), but having someone agree with that sentiment? Priceless baby.

I don't believe in much, but I believe in duct tape

In the interest of full disclosure, I got that beaut of a one-liner from the season finale of Lost. A truly miracle of modern TV writing.

Okay. Really. Lost gets 6 seasons, plus a two hour season finale, while Arrested Development gets a lousy 3, while slinking off into the shadows with its tail between its legs.

Just... really.

But, credit where credit's due. That was a good one-liner.

Those are the most difficult to come up with.

post day 1

Think we might be making a turn here in sick-land. In fact, all 4 were acting near... happy today, if I dare say it. Adam ended up nodding off every few minutes this afternoon, getting some good sleep in finally. Went to a playgroup this morning. At the church. Where I haven't been attending for a few months at least now.

It was okay. But definitely different, feeling like I'm on the outside looking in now. I have a feeling I'm supposed to be learning something here. I'm trying to listen so carefully to that voice inside me that tells me where to place myself, how I'm supposed to be living my life. And I've been happy with how I've been doing that. But, how are you supposed to follow against the grain of something that has been with you your whole life? The only morality you ever knew.... or thought you knew. Knew so well that you didn't even realize that it was never really your own to start with. It was just there for the having, and you thought that was the same thing.

I wonder if any of these other mothers, who seem so sure of what they're doing and why they're doing it, I wonder if they've ever wondered. Or if they'd tell me if I asked. It seems sometimes that even admitting to that kind of doubt is a sin.

But, I guess I've moved past that level.

four letter word for...

So Adam doesn't just have a cold, as it would turn out. He has strep. But, it makes sense. My boys seem to be incapable of doing anything halfway.

Which reminds me of a conversation I overheard between my husband and his sister. I was working through my spanish-learning website, not a lot of it making sense to me right now (I've moved past 'hola!' and 'como esta' to preterite vs imperfect vs regular vs irregular, and big surprise, I can't seem to keep them straight), and I mentioned that maybe said sister in law could take a moment out of her incredibly busy life to sponsor my learning with some penpal back and forth sort of thing. Said sister in law is fluent in Spanish. Mike is fluent in Russian. My brothers speak spanish, russian and creole between the three of them. It doesn't seem all that unreasonable for me to attempt to know spanish, especially since 50% of the patients at the hospital, and therefore, easily 50% of my community speaks spanish that I should try to be semi-literate, right?

Whatever.... this is where Mike says something to the effect of "Arianne is kinda... uh, incapable of doing anything halfway." Made me feel a little defensive for a little bit until it dawned on me a second later that he meant it as a compliment. As in, good for you Arianne.... not, 'oh my good lord, stop being so obsessive!' Which I'm not.

Some of the time.

Anyway, my oldest has strep. For which he has now taken his first dose of mega-drugs for. He kept waking up with no fever, looking worlds better than he had the night before when he had been spiking a pushing-104 fever. I couldn't figure out how he could go hours looking, well, definitely wiped, but not glowing red shivering writhing in pain like he would look later on. And I was a little freaked about giving him tylenol when he's now taking depakote, because it's gonna be the aceteminophen that does his liver in, I just have a feeling. Anyway, I finally take him in this morning, and we can now look forward to him being able to be back out in public in another 24 hours.

So, house is a wreck, although the dishes and laundry, while slightly behind, have been getting done slowly. Nothing too devastating. That I've noticed anyway.

Which is not always the same thing

Goonies never say die!

Well, Ben has decided this toilet thing is really beyond cool. Unfortunately, he can't seem to get it to come out in more than a drop/trickle at a time. So, guess who was in the bathroom most of the morning helping (which I mean in the loosest term possible since my child is convinced that on his second day on the job, he is more than capable of doing it ALONE, thank you very much)? THIS gal!

Previously this morning, we got to go take Adam for a blood draw to make sure the seizure medication isn't slowly killing the flesh of my flesh. Between the one phelbotomist on at 7:20 am and myself, we still weren't quite enough to sedate a 7year old convinced that he was going to be numbed just like the first time they had to take blood at the fancy big city ER few months back. Alas, no numbing cream to be had, and there isn't enough sugar in the world to convince this kid that it won't hurt....much. Let me hit the highlights: At one point, 'Debbie' about gets her stomach kicked in, Adam tries to get out of this terrible situation by bribing me with how much he loves me, til finally, after nailing his legs to the table with my upper body and holding both arms down with my own arms, Adam valiantly distracted himself by throwing his head from side to side while yelling 'I can do this! I can do this!'

And did it he did. While Cole hid in the bathroom under the pretense of having to pee. In his own words: 'I didn't want to see Adam hurt.' I mean, man! What kids I got, eh? Upon hearing this piece of information, Adam gets concerned about Cole being scared, so Adam starts taking off his coat to show Cole that he is really okay, see the bandage? That was all, not too bad.

Not too bad, except that the poor kid gets really verbal when he's scared. Like 'Don't let me die mommy! I don't like this!' No wonder my usually unflappable 6yr old was cowering in the bathroom.

But, alas, nothing that a breakfast sandwich at McDonald's couldn't soothe if not solve. I tried offering Subway, but there's nothing like comfort food for a post crisis near death experience.

It is official....

So, for the last little while, I've been trying to be really conscious about what things I'm consuming, what I'm supporting with my dollars, my carbon shoe marking, whatever... all of that. I was at Fred Meyer, trying to figure out the best way to get snack foods with the least amount of packaging when I remembered I was also really low on diapers. Which are like the most wasteful thing ever. Which I have constantly been offering an incessant supply to the landfills of our world over the past...oh, 7 years or so. Yeah. Fun, right? Anyway, I'm in the 'natural foods' section, which is just fancy lingo for 'twice as expensive' when I decide that I'm gonna solve this un-ecofriendly diaper problem today.

I end up spending 15 dollars for a pack of 40 decomposible diapers, along with a 20 dollar pack of plastic G-pants. As in, very easily twice as expensive as normal phosphate packed bleached disposible diapers. And, really, before all you coupon mothers get on (because I know you're out there!) and tell me all the ways to save on this? Just remember who you're talking to. Or not talking to, as the case may be.

Anyway, it has actually worked out okay. And I figure, yeah, a little less conveinent, but not bad. Not near as gross as I thought it could be. Or at least, not any grosser than normal diaper changing has been. There is the little trick of remembering to wash them, but a person can get used to anything (new motto right there, btw, which I take full copyright credit for), and even washing them isn't that difficult to do because, hello! I'm already doing my ten billion loads a week anyway. It's not that difficult to find room.

After all this effort, of course, my baby-boy decides he wants to use the toilet. Which is actually really cool, because, remember these 'refills' come in packs of 30-40 a piece. Which is enough for 3-5 days tops (unless you're awesome like me and stretch it to the full 7). This sudden interest in the toilet may have more to do with the fact that it took me the first three days and a touch of pressure sore on my baby's bilateral hip bones to realize that I was velcro-ing the darn things on backwards.

But, back to Ben, my boy-man! Who has successfully landed one in the toilet, a harder skill to master than one might think. I think he might have left some pee there too, but that's not easy to decipher. The only problem with this new development is that Ben is also right at the stage of running off and 'hiding' when he plays. He's moving ever closer in the elusive direction of independent toddler.

Which pretty much means that he will dismantle one part of the house at a time, only leaving when I come in to check on him. Which means that I'm the one cleaning up one mess while he's making another. Not really a great combination when toilet training, but we'll take what we can get.

Started speech with this same boy-man last week as his vocabulary hasn't expanded past his favorite 8-10 words over the past few months. He seems to really thrive with the one on one which is perhaps the point.

And Adam was our first child to sucuumb to illness in this the new year. Fever, headache, laying motionless on the couch all day--- the full nine yards, minus the puking fest, thank good-ness. He goes in for his first lab draw since he's started his epilepsy medication early tomorrow morning. Yeah! Anyway, his mom and all three brothers will be tailing along, so we'll all share his suffering together, because isn't that what families are all about? If one is hurting, you all are. You just can't get away from it.

I've received two more rejections and turned in my article for the parenting magazine which at least won't be rejected because I got my foot in as an unpaid contributor. But, this may be for the best. I took a chance and randomly picked out four juvenile fiction books to skim through (aka: read), as Steven King himself recommends that every serious writer should read at least as much as they attempt to write. It seemed like good advice at the time, but now, everything I read has me comparing my own stuff to it, and that's just depressing. Plus, every story I've started in the last few months has dead ended with some major plot carrier dying.

I wonder what that says about me. Hm.

!

In regards to well known literature of my anglo-heritage, I've always had a soft spot for the 'monster' stories. You know: dracula, frankenstein, the hunchbacks, the homicidal dwarf men. There's something really intriguing about them. A realization occurred to me a few years back: I didn't really know any of those stories from their origins. Now, I love Twilight as much as the next person, but how much appreciation can a person have for poor Edward's plight if said person has never read Bram Stoker? Am I right? Of course I'm right.

Okay, but here's the thing. I am, as I have for the last little while, approaching the end of said author's 'Dracula'. Very fun read. If not a bit on the over-romantic/flowery/totally-goth novel. But, I can appreciate that. The thing that is kinda getting on my nerves at page 338 of 364 pages? Is that Van Helsing has not, in all those pages, yet learned how to speak English without sounding like a case study. I just can't reconcile the way he words things like a semi-literate completely superstitious old man and Hugh Jackman's face.

Now, someone explain that brilliant piece of casting for me.

But, I'll move on from fictional discrepancies to tell you the all-important news of Ben's newest discoveries.

Number 1) heights. As in, climbing to the tops of them. Almost entirely restricted to Cole's top bunk. I started noticing a day or two ago that Ben was disappearing for whole minutes at a time. Let me bring you up to speed on Ben and disappearing: not like him. He's more of a cling to your leg sort of kid. Which, as my #4, I don't mind as much. Especially when my 6 year old won't let me give him kisses (although we've worked out a compromise which will allow for the nightly 'sleep well' hug). But, back to Ben sitting on the top bunk. By himself. Over five feet in the air, sitting entirely too close to edge of said top bunk. I know it's over five feet because I have to actually climb up at least one step to even get my arms over the railing to try and lift him down. Once I got him down, he promptly ran away laughing, only to close himself into his own room, nestled close to his brother's CD player where he very happily played Bare Naked Ladies rendition of 'Jingle Bells' for the next 45 minutes. At a blasting volume. Has anyone else tried to make a bill payment on the phone with this in the background? The dang voice kept telling me it couldn't understand my answer before I had even answered.

Customer service my butt. When an actual person starts talking to me, that's when they can start calling it 'service' again. I'm old school that way.