Magic Vomit-Away Cleaners!

I am quite aware that the next thing I was supposed to post was the Guinness crock pot brisket. I'm totally gonna get to that. But we've been sick.

This family doesn't get colds. Oh no! Not a simple little case of the sniffles. When we get sick, we do it in an epic way. We get the plague. Bear, for instance, rarely gets a head cold. But she HAS had an intestinal parasite, mono (which caused hepatitis and jaundice), and has a tendency toward recurrent staph and MRSA. TMI? Sorry.

We have, as a family of five, had a horrendous vomiting virus. This comes immediately after both the older kids had a recent bout with strep. Roo came through that unscathed (and, honestly hasn't had more than a runny nose in her almost-eight months) but she caught this one in a big way.

I thought it was her new food of beans, which Wes totally thanked me for when he changed her diaper, but, no. Wes and I, as a couple, spent quality time together hanging out with the porcelain god, being truly sexy to one another. As a side note, it will be a LONG TIME before we eat Swiss steak again. The next morning, true to fashion, I spent no time alone in the bathroom, with my personal cheerleader, Monkey, right along side me as I was on all fours in the bathroom floor.

"Mommy? You doing?"
"I'm sick."
"You throw up?"
"Yes."
HEAVE
"Good JOB, Mommy!!"
HEAVE
"Good JOB!"
HEAVE
"Good JOB, Mommy!"
...continue in similar vein...

So, I was the idiot who got better when everyone else got sick. Wes has managed to conjure up an infected toe and knee, so he was useless. Therefore, I was one to be vomited upon, spit upon, peed upon... I truly believe that the difference between moms and other humans is the natural reaction to cup your hands and hold them in front of a child vomiting...or not. I do. FML.

Regardless, my carpet has absorbed a ridiculous amount of vomit in the past few days. Add that to the fact that our neurotic cat, Adso, has decided that the kids' bathroom is her own carpeted litter box, and it became necessary to CLEAN OUR CARPETS.

That was today's task. So my carpet cleaner came with a detergent, but I've found that most carpet detergents leave behind a film which actually ATTRACTS dirt. I guess, if you're a Dirt Devil CEO, that's a good thing. I'm not. I'm a mom. A rather lazy mom who despises the smell of cat piss, vomit, and the act of carpet cleaning. So I began my Pinterest search for a magic carpet cleaner machine solution that would solve all my problems. I got nada.

Bitches, I came up with my own.

The solution reservoir on my Dirt Devil holds *about* a gallon (??). So I used 2 cups of vinegar, 3/4 cup of peroxide, and a few drops of lavender essential oil (in a grapeseed carrier). I filled up the rest with hot (reeeeally hot) water. Before I began, I sprinkled the carpet with baking soda. I know baking soda is the miracle cure, but I didn't really want to make a science experiment volcano in the machine's reservoir.

That shit is awesome. I shall now commence to slap myself a high five. It's like liking your own Facebook status....

So after two hours of meticulous carpet cleaning, I could still, with my bloodhound nose (my kids will NEVER be able to smoke pot and get away with it) smell cat pee. I hate that damn hairless cat. I rue the day I rescued her.

So I had to make a carpet freshener. And, of course, I had to wait til the carpet was dry to apply it. That gave me time to play, AHEM, search diligently for a carpet freshener recipe on Pinterest. Good deal.

I mixed a cup of baking soda with the recommended 20 drops .... I lie. I overdo everything. I used more like thirty drops of lavender essential oil, which I happen to have on hand from News-Muz, and spent the next thirty minutes whisking the shit out of it. Poured that mess in a Parmesan cheese container and sprinkled it generously about the kids' bathroom.

Vacuum. Amen.

Omg.

Magic. Lavender. Awesomeness.

Again....

You're welcome.

Here and Now

Does anyone else find it wrong that stores start pushing Christmas the day after Halloween? I mean, I'm all for getting in the spirit, but there IS a holiday between the two. I think it's important for folks to stop and really assess what there is to be thankful for on Thanksgiving. Or every day. In a country that is constantly demanding more, more, MORE, how many of us really look at what we have and how, by the grace of God, we are blessed to have it.

I know there are those in really tough situations. Really BAD circumstances. But I also believe that they tend to be the ones most thankful for what they do have. And until one appreciates their blessings, they can't give with the spirit that I believe is intended for Christmas giving. Sure, anyone can buy presents, wrap them up, and dole them out, expecting to be the coolest friend/parent/whatever, or receive gifts with cordiality. But, a thankful heart is imperative for all of the above.



What put me in this reflective mood on a windy Sunday morning, with a fussy baby, a toddler bouncing off the walls, and a sick seven-year-old? It was something very small. As I was nursing Roo, I looked down at her tiny body, a simple miracle, not born of evolution, but a creation of my own body in harmony with Wes', a gift from God. I glanced over to Monkey, diligently constructing (and deconstructing) his toy airplane, and to Wes, who was tickling Bear, both of them giggling uncontrollably. Those are blessings, folks. And, though nearly every day I am overwhelmed at some point, they are presents that I ought to thank God for, especially when that I-can't-take-this feeling sets in.

Simple thoughts for the day. I'll get back to the tales from my life soon. And later, I think I'll throw out some tips for decorating for Christmas on a dime (or a few bucks, at the most). Until then, I felt obligated to simply mention how blessed we all really are.

Just in case it slips our minds.

The Story of Roo

Ugh, I'm such a slacker. I've been browsing the internet for the most random things, when I could have been writing a blog post. For the record, though, I have discovered that Sasquatch lives in Texas (or Snuffelupagus), shit has hit the fan for midwives in Australia, and, thanks to Newz Muz, I now know where the term chock-full came from.

And I've spent quite a bit of time contributing my fathomless knowledge (wink) to The Leaky B@@b's facebook page. For any readers who don't know, I'm quite the lactivist. I've successfully breastfed three children and Mom and I run the La Leche League of Paducah's facebook page. Much love to all our mamas. Mwah.

I've also spent a fair amount of time on the Birth Without Fear and Mama Birth pages. Which is what prompted me to write this post. I've never written a birth story...

So, next month, Newz Muz and I will be starting our fall/harvest blogging and cross-blogging, so I figured in the meantime, I would share the birth story of my Roo. It was the hardest and the most fulfilling so far. Why do I say "so far" like there's gonna be another....? Pfft.

Roo was "due" June 29. Obviously a due date is complete conjecture, but so many people base their opinions on when a baby should be born on that date... Wait. I don't want to get started on that today. Suffice it to say that I think "due dates" should be done away with and OBs and midwives should simply say, expect your baby sometime around the end of June. Ish. Because babies neeeever come on their due dates... Right? Anyway.

 

Since Bear and Monkey both came a week early, I was mentally prepared to follow suit. Ha. I have no doubt in my mind that Roo heard me say that she would be a week early and was like, "Pfft, I'll show her...." I was in the "ok, I'm seriously over being pregnant now, let's get the show on the road" stage of pregnancy. Which is weird, because every time I have a baby, I miss being pregnant afterward. So, I had been walking, doing acupressure (hey, it worked with Monkey's birth), and indulging in seriously spicy food (love it). Then I got the bright idea to make salsa.

My cilantro plant had gotten waaaay out of control and I knew I had to do something with it. My niece, who was thinking about going into midwifery, was just waiting for me to go into labor and spent the day with me on Tuesday the 28. We went to the farmer's market with Bear and gathered all our salsa ingredients. We went back to the house and made a double batch (I always overdo it), ended up with seven jars of fresh salsa (ha!) and decided that the jars now needed to be sealed and given away to each person that came by in order to get rid of at least 5.

Then I was all, "Let's make a pie!"

So we did.

Halfway through the pie making, I went to the bathroom. As I was headed through the bedroom on my way back to the kitchen, I felt a little trickle. Hm. Nothing to worry about. Obviously I was going to be pregnant forever.

The night went quickly by and Wes and I headed to bed early. Soooo tired. During the night, I was up several times to potty and I noticed a....er..... difference. I realize now that I was leaking amniotic fluid, but it didn't occur to me at the time...I had never leaked before.

(Male readers, either hang with me or get out while you can...)

In the morning, I experienced another first-- bloody show. Why I've never seen it before, I have no idea. It's was like a ghost with the first two pregnancies...

Roo was on her way. Yay! But no twinge of labor pains. So, I decided to go ahead and go for my morning walk with Mom, who had already predicted Roo would come on her due date. I'd been walking daily throughout the whole pregnancy in hopes of making my labor faster and easier. Hey, anything to help...

As we walked, I had some twinges, and Mom informed me that I would go into labor before 11 am. I called Wes and told him not to go to work. Back to the house.

Mom went home to get her affairs in order. I mean, she was obviously going with me to the birthing center. Are you crazy? Go through labor without my mommy? Perish the thought!

A little after 9, I needed to pee (AGAIN). When I was done, I started to stand up and... -whoosh- ...water breaks! On the toilet! Gee whiz, I'm lucky... No mess!

Mom and my niece walked in the door as I was sitting there.
"Helloooo!"
"I'm in here. Water just broke."

That was all I needed to say to send Wes into panic mode. Personally, I thought it was hilarious. He began bustling about, loading bags and feeding the cat...We sent the kids to mom's and agreed to meet them at the birthing center, 20 minutes away. Bear was concerned.

"Why are we going to Mom's?"
"In case Roo decides to come out today..."
"But I want to be with you!"
"Noooooo, you go have fun with Miss Susan."

So I began to walk about the house. I wandered from the bedroom, to the bathroom (grabbed a towel), back through the bedroom, to the living room, into the kitch--...um... Wes was standing by the back door with his sunglasses, keys, wallet, bags... Heeheehee.

"Honey, we're not leaving right now."

He flopped down on the arm of the couch and waited while I walked and worked through several contractions. They sped up very quickly (does that even make sense? Sped up quickly?). Finally, I looked at him and said, "We can go."  I called ahead to the birthing center to let them know we were en route. It was 11.

So I facebooked and texted all the way to the birthing center. I know, I know....

I had been constantly leaking water during the car ride. Especially when I laughed or coughed. It was ridiculous. We arrived and I stood up... -gush- ...puddles. As I waddled toward the building, a family with small children was exiting. I heard the father say, "Kids! Watch out for that big puddle!" Whaaa? I looked back and there was an actual rain puddle in the parking lot! Still, I thought it was hilarious. So I laughed and leaked some more.

The lady at the front desk looked up at us and said, "Who are you visiting...?"
 "Um, she's in labor."
"OH! Go right in!! She's so calm, I didn't know.."
HaHA!

When we walked in, wonder of all wonders, the nurse was looking at my *gasp* birth plan. Like, she was familiarizing herself with it. Shocker. And my midwife was waiting there, too. At that point, I was confident all was going to go as planned. Silly me. This baby obviously was messing with my head.

We were shown to a room -coincidentally, the same room in which I had given birth to Monkey- and I put on one of my own gowns. After a quick check (2cm??), I decided to take off walking, as that was how I had progressed so quickly the last time I'd been down this road. Wes and I wandered through the halls, pausing for some intense contractions. After about half an hour, we headed back to the room.

I labored on the birthing ball, walked in the room some more, and Wes and my mother took turns rubbing my back with a heated massager, and he held me as I rag-dolled (that's a technical term, you know) standing/falling into his arms for several contractions. Mom told him that I would have this baby before 5. So far, she was two for two...

Eventually I was exhausted. And it felt good to sit down. The nurse asked if it was okay to hook me up to the monitors while I was in the bed. Sure. Up until then, they had been performing intermittent auscultation of her heart tones, as per my birth plan. But sitting there, completely relaxed felt - strangely - so good. While I was there, they performed the second of three (total) pelvic checks.

After awhile, the nurse returned and checked the printout. She left and returned some time later.

"Your contractions are coupled up, and you're not dilating. Candy [midwife] thinks baby is sunnyside up. You need to swing her around. You can either get in the Jacuzzi or get on all fours to swing her down."

I wanted to get in the tub. But they needed to fill it up. So while they went to do that, I got on hands and knees to start the process.


Oh. My. GOD.

I've never felt pain like that. Swaying my hips back and forth in between contractions... Trying to vomit over the side of the bed during. It was bad. Poor Wes. He kept trying to help, but seriously, there wasn't much he could've done. It seemed to last forever. It was probably like five minutes.

When the nurses returned to tell me the tub was full, I was sweating and seriously ready for a nap. Can we say "transition"...?

"Shall we check you again before we head to the tub?"
"YES."

I was at 9 centimeters. Screw the tub.

They began preparing for the appearance of a Roo. I was mentally trying to gather my strength. When Candy advised me to give a push to get Roo past my cervix, I had barely anything to muster. She helped by gently easing the cervix down. Then it was time to push for real. And I simply couldn't. I was so worn out.

In my mind I was thinking, "Can't I take a nap and do this later..?" But I knew that no one else could push my baby out for me. This was something I had to do alone and, yes, I could do it.

And I did.

In less than 10 minutes and in less than 10 pushes (probably like 4? 5?), Candy said, "Reach down and take your baby."

Roo was birthed into my hands at 4:22. I brought her to my chest and kissed her over and over. She nursed immediately and took both sides. She stayed on my chest for so long. Eventually, they did weigh her. 7 pounds, 14 ounces, 19 inches long. She never cried.

Candy said she spun in the birth canal.


While it wasn't the rainbow-farting unicorns flying through the birthing center that I had dreamed of, I worked hard for my angel. With almost exclusively family support. And I was proud of myself for what I did for my baby on her due date. June 29, 2011.

That wasn't so bad, I could do it again... easy.

We Wouldn't be Alive

So. The Roo has been having a nurseathon. This kid ate for - I shit you not - EIGHTEEN hours yesterday. Needless to say, I spent a lot of time on the couch playing human pacifier. And I ended up watching "I Shouldn't be Alive" on Animal Planet. Have y'all seen this show? I ought to be banned from watching those kinds of shows...

Anyway! In this particular episode, a family of four - a mother, her two girls (9 & 5), and the mother's boyfriend went for a picnic in the Arizona desert. On their way home, they get turned around and end up at a dry river bed. The mom is all, "We're turning around." And her boyfriend is all, "Hell no! I can get us through this!"

Insert eye roll here

Needless to say, the dude gets the truck stuck in the river bed and the family is stranded in the desert with two Gatorade bottles of water. They do escape (if they didn't, they'd have to change the name of the show.), but only after three days of severe dehydration, a major ass-chewing and several harrowing experiences, including the near-death of the five-year-old. Yeah, I cried like a sap.

But it got me to thinking - what would it be like to be stranded in the desert with my family???

First of all, I have no idea why my family would ever be in the Arizona desert alone. Just not gonna happen. Only time I've ever been really bumfuzzled lost was in a corn maze. I escaped. But in the interest of fantasy and entertainment, we'll pretend that it could happen.

So my family of five is lost in the desert, near the Mexican border, fearing drug smugglers and human traffickers, with no food and only two bottles of water, and all three kids would have to listen to me threaten to hang Wes' man-parts from my wrist for getting us into the mess. Well, there are no rooms to send 'em to...

Looks hot.

If y'all had ever met my family, the mental picture alone is enough to be humorous, but for those of you who are unfamiliar, I'll paint it for you.

My second-grader talks non-stop. I asked her to not speak for five minutes one time. I thought her head was going to explode. I imagine a trek down a dusty dirt road in arid 118 degree temperatures would go something like this:


"I'm thirsty.
Can I have more water?
Why not?
But I'm thirsty.
And I'm hot.
Really hot.
I'm getting tan.
I'm tired.
My feet hurt.
My legs hurt.
Will you carry me?
Can Daddy carry me?
Make Daddy carry me.
NO ONE EVER CARRIES ME.
I'm sweaty.
Monkey got more water than me.
Can I ride on your back?
Can I ride on Daddy's shoulders?
I'm thirsty.
HE THREW SAND AT MY HEAD!
Are you mad at Daddy....?"

At this point I would probably flip out and threaten to eat her for sustenance. My kids are chubby. I now understand why people eat suckling pig....

And of course, while Bear gets brown as a biscuit in the sun, Wes and Monkey burst into flames. Both have bright orange hair and skin the color of chalk. It would take approximately five minutes for them to both be so burnt that they couldn't move. I would have to construct a sleigh of some sort with my MacGyver skills and then pull them along. Of course, Bear would be jealous and have to ride, too. That means I would have to have Roo in the baby wrap. No, not a flour tortilla. Wearing a baby in Kentucky temps is bad enough; I can only imagine Arizona...

The only thing I have over the other poor bastards is that we would NOT run out of liquid hydration. The mother and two girls on the show drank their own pee. It was that bad. However, making milk is my superpower. And as long as I got some to drink, as well, I wouldn't get so dehydrated and we'd be sitting pretty. Well, not so pretty. I'd turn into one giant freckle. That's not an appealing thought. My entire family nursing from a walking talking freckle. Okay, now that's funny.

I don't think we'd make it out of that desert, though. I'd like to point out that I am a raging bitch when I'm hot. Okay. In fact, I just might welcome the smugglers and traffickers by day 3... Wow, that's horrible.

Seriously, though, folks, I love my family.... and that is exactly why we will NEVER picnic in the desert.

Aaaaaand there you have it.

I know hell is hot, but how's the humidity?

So. I remembered that I have a blog. Last time I used it was '09 and it wasn't even something I wrote. But I know a lot of shtuff about a lot of crap, so, now I guess I will use it...

But then came the issue of what to write about. And then I was all, "Hey me, it's your blog. Write about whatever the hell you want..." So I said ok. So my first real post shall be about my day from hell: last Thursday.

The whole day was rather shitty. I was supposed to buy a minivan, and writing checks for $10,000 puts me in a generally bad mood... But the hubby came home on his lunch break and so we watched some tv til it was time for me to go pick up my oldest kid from school.

I have the three young'uns. Bear is the oldest at 7. Monkey is gonna be three in October, and I just had the Roo in June. We haven't figured out what's causing them yet... So both the babies are napping when it comes time for me to get Bear. So we decided to just pick them up and toss 'em in their car seats and take off. When I say we, I mean Wes put Roo in her seat and I put Monkey in the car, and I left and he went back to work.

Now, Roo being the incredibly gassy baby that she is, soaked her onesie with spit-up, so I had taken if off of her. It was close to 600 degrees outside anyway, I figured she'd survive. And Monkey takes all his clothes off before he naps (yes, that's my child) so he was diaper-clad, as well. And of course, being the classy chic I am, I had on Daisy Dukes, a nursing top with a flimsy shelf bra (NOT adequate for the load they were bearing) and flip-flops, no makeup. Awww yeeeeah. But, hey, we weren't getting out of the car or anything, right?

Bear at the tv station.

We get to the school and I'm one of the last mothers in line. I pull up. No Bear. The teacher directing this clusterf**k checks the name, goes in, looks for Bear, comes back. Asks me to pull up and park.

"Is she in an afterschool program?"
"No."
"Does she go to daycare?"
Woman, I'm here to get her, why would she need to be in daycare?? "No."
"Well, she's not in the gym, and we can't find her..."
What. The. Hell.

So I start having a mini-panic attack, but what I actually said was, "I have an infant and a toddler in the car, I can't really get out and search for her."
"Could she be in Girl Scouts?"
"She asked to be in Girl Scouts, but I told her no, that she already has plenty to do with gymnastics and acting classes."
She told me to park back by the door and they would look again. As I shift out of park, I hear, "Here she is!!"

Yes, that is my child, being led by a hand held by another random teacher, wearing a size 4 winter hoodie in the dog days of August in western Kentucky. Score.

"She was in Girl Scouts..."
And Bear is in tears because "I just want to be a Girl Scout, blah, blah, blah..."

FINE. "You reeeally want to be in Girl Scouts?"
"Yeeeeeeeesssss."
FINE.

I pull up to the door, and get her BACK out of the car, figuring I just need to pop my sexy butt into a classroom real quick and sign a permission slip. Oh look. There's the principal in the lobby of the school.

"My kids are in the car, I will be right back, ok?" I say to the principal.
"Do you want me to keep an eye on them?"
"Well, they aren't going anywhere, just make sure no one hops in and steals 'em, ok?" I give my best I'm-not-a-horrible-mother-I-really-care-if-my-kids-are-okay smile.

As we pass the group of teachers involved in locating my 7-year-old Houdini, I hear them saying, "And she just wanted to be in Girl Scouts, and you could tell she was really upset, but her mother told her she couldn't, and..."

Nice.

Bear leads me, not to a nearby classroom, but aaaaaall the way to the back of the school, out the back door, to a trailer that apparently houses the music room. And we enter, me in my oh-so-motherly outfit, say the Pledge of Allegiance, repeat the Girl Scouts pledge, begin the rules of Girl Scouts... Seriously?

"I'm sorry, but I have to get back to my other kids in the car. Do I need to sign a permission slip...?"

Nope.
They didn't need a damn thing from me.
Awesome.

So I kiss her, leave, walk out to the door into the school, aaaaaand it's locked.
Shoot. Me. Now.
Let me tell you, those teachers haul ass outta that school when it is over. There was no one to be found. So I suck it up and take off to walk around the entire school at top speed. I'm so glad everyone had gone home.

Ninety-nine percent humidity does a lot of things. One thing it does is make a pair of short-shorts ride straight up the ass of whomever has the luxury of wearing them as they trek across blacktop in August. But that was nothing compared to what was happening in my chest region. That shelf bra is no substitute for a good sports bra, or, you know what? Any bra would have been better.

As I finally round the front corner of the building, I realize that NOT everyone had gone home. The teachers who were standing in the lobby (the front of which is all glass) all slowly turn and look right at me.
Hello.
I should have waved.
Now, remember, my last name is spelled M-A-N-T-E-R-F.......

I make it to the car. As I suspected, Roo is screaming her little head off. So I go to comfort her so I can get the hell out of there as quickly as possible, aaaaaand--- Wes didn't put the binky in the car seat.

F**ck my life.

The rest of the day was insane. I'm talking straight jackets and padded cells insane. But it wasn't nearly as funny. So I'll leave you with this mental picture of hilarity at my expense for now, and try to think of something entertaining to bring you next time.

*UPDATE*
Yesterday, Thursday,  I get a phone call from the school.

"Hi, this is Nancy. Who is picking up Bear today?"
"Um. She has Girl Scouts."
Talking to Bear "Did you forget you had Girl Scouts?"
Mumbling in the background
"Ok, we'll send her to Girl Scouts."

A little while later....

"Hi, this Nancy again. You can pick Bear up around back of the school when it is time."
"You mean the same place I picked her up last week?"
"Yes."
"Ooookay."
"The troop leader said she wasn't on the roster."
"Well she wasn't on the roster last week and no one could find her."

I go to pick her up.
No kids around back.
I see my friend in her van.
"Where are the girls?"
"Mine are in the back of my car"
"Where's mine?"
"I don't have yours."
What the crap????

I'm like clueless mother of the year. Apparently Girl Scouts only meets every other week. How the hell would I know that? Bear attended Brownies and got a double dose of scouts. Go team.