Monday, November 30, 2009

The end of something, but not the end of everything

NaBloPoMo is coming to a close. I can't say I am entirely sorry. I don't need one more self imposed "must do" to feel crappy about, so I won't be restarting NaBloPoMo for December, but I have liked some of the things I've written this month. I meant to post a special dedication to a sweater I have been knitting for a long time, but I haven't finished the sweater because I've been blogging every evening. There was something I wanted to say about my gratitude for the village that's raisin' up my with me, but apparently you guys forgot to come over and babysit so I could write children more. You are bastard people and you know how I feel about your ass-faces. And did you all notice that I never once posted about poop? I meant to. I may still.

Reflecting on the internet addiction, though, has been fun. I am still thunderstruck at how enchanting online interaction with perfect strangers can be. You are all very good for my mental health. Thanks!

Sunday, November 29, 2009

The pie ate my blog post

I ate the Turkey Ala King.

I ate the pie.

I sat down to blog.

I fell asleep in front of the computer.

The pie made me do it.

Saturday, November 28, 2009

A girl and her boy

She says they're getting married.

I hope he gets a better car soon.

Friday, November 27, 2009

Black Friday Haiku

Lo, I am afraid
of sales with lines out the door
and the shopping hell.

We stayed home, and worked
the girls and I, and darkened
no box store's wide doors,

But I will go out
on the day after Christmas.
Sock stuffers half off!

Thursday, November 26, 2009

When the turkey has a bun in the oven

Don't tell the guests until the bird is showing. There will be a pregnant pause. Someone will want a cigar and naming rights. Tu-corn-hen, anyone?

The guests will keep a watchful eye for any other surprises.

And then they will eat stuffing.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Thanks to you, life

Thanks to you life, I now have two daughters, and two stepsons. And a husband, just like another big child, but who is nonetheless wonderful with all his Lord Honey ways. Nothing is much the way it was five years ago. This year has been my hardest ever in oh so many ways, and yet, it is my favorite year so far.

This year I am very thankful. My daughter's metabolic disorder now seems like something we can live with. The cerebral palsy kicks my bootie, but still, Hannah is such a delightful person that I can handle what comes our way. I think. Claire is a joy to behold and converse with. My job is not the worst, and I have a job to complain about, which is nice.
So I'll leave you with the lyrics to one of my theme songs, which you might know from Shrek, by the Proclaimers:

I'm on my way, from misery to happiness today.
Uh-huh, Uh-huh, Uh-huh, UH-huh.

Google you wack job, you - I love you

Google, you wack job

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Do tell, Google. What about my email from a blog comment says I might buy a Glow Stick? Exactly what? I am flattered that my references to stupidly written poetry might bring up links to Pablo Neruda, but Glow Sticks and Walking Sticks? My friend Mwa commented on the post referring to a child's view of the penis, and reading the post in gmail turned up these potential ads. Lord Honey will be so pleased about the comparison to a Walking Stick.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Of sticks and tails and compasses

Claire to me: Mama, I see your bum.

Me: Yes.

Claire: Daddy goes pee-pee standing up.

Me: Yes.

Claire: Why?

Me: Because he can.

Claire: My friends have a stick there, but you and I don't, huh, Mama?

Me: That's right.

Claire: It's like a tail.


Claire: It's sunny, Mama. But it is dark on the other side of the earth.

Me: Yes, honey.

Claire: We are sharing the sun with the other peoples, huh Mama?

Me: Yes.

Claire: I don't want to share.

Me: Well, we don't have a choice, honey, we have to share, every day.

Claire: We have a beautiful sun, Mama.

Me: Yes.


(in the car, coming home from day care, talking to her coat that bears, inexplicably, an attached compass, which I find odd on a 24 month sized article of clothing that is prone to be washed with some frequency)

Claire: My name is Claire Elizabeth, what's your name?

(slightly different voice) I'm a compass. Compasses don't talk!!

Monday, November 23, 2009

Dream Weaver, I believe you can kick me in the can

So a week or so ago, I had an Obama sex dream. It was quite involved in terms of location and guilt over my marriage vows, and Obama was even sexier than non dreamy Obama, but I woke up feeling so, so guilty about Lord Honey. It took a few minutes for me to realize I hadn't done anything wrong at all, and I was in the clear, thus able to be absolutely normally bitchy in getting Lord Honey up and at his day. It was hours before I remembered I should have felt guilty about Michelle Obama, too! Last night, I dreamed I found a red headed brown skinned baby at a grocery store, and the people in the know determined that the baby could be mine. I kept trying to hang on to the red headed non-gendered baby, but as the baby was in a car seat in a grocery cart, the baby kept disappearing with faceless Hispanic women who also wanted a baby in a blue car seat. Over and over I got that baby back, even in a longish line for 'flu shots which caused no small amount of confusion for all the parents. Eventually I got the baby back and did my Thanksgiving shopping, but I still had to fight for ownership in the pie department. Neither of these dreams would have stayed with me had I not been woken mid dream, last night by Lord Honey doing the angry naked man foot stamp dance when he found Hannah had a surprise nighttime poo blowout, and, well, you know, finders keepers and all that. After he demanded I tell him where the extra jammies were (third drawer, like always) I was sort of enjoying the angry naked man foot stamping too much to get out of the bed and help. I did relent, and get clean bedding for Hannah, after the angry, naked man said not to leave toys on the stairs, and to remember he sometimes used the stairs in the dark. And if none of this had gone on, I would not have remembered this very odd dream baby. Odd because it doesn't seem likely I'd ever make a baby of that size, with that skin color, since I only make miniature translucent babies. Odd indeed, and I don't feel guilty.

Sunday, November 22, 2009

The eatin' of the beast commences soon

Let's talk about food. Roast beast! Fit for a Grinch himself to carve. Yorkshire pudding! Mashed potatoes! Gravy! Steamed vegetables with butter. Creamed spinach. Dinner at Chez Ginger. I am going to admit this right now: I will eat a bit of the crispy fat from the skin of my roast beast. Yes, I will. I am in training for trepidation day later this week. Use it or lose it, they say.

Saturday, November 21, 2009

More magic

I got thinking about magical thinking yesterday when I was reading comments on a blog I like to read about a boy with cerebral palsy. The blogger asked her readers to comment about who was the more emotional parent especially in regards to their special needs kids. One commenter said she does all the specific worrying so bad things won't happen, and I was reminded that my mother does more magical thinking than any other sane person I know. When she was a child she believed if she felt confident about a test she would only get a B but if she worried about failure she would more probably earn the A. She seriously thinks about driving under freeway overpasses and worries about the outcome if an earthquake should occur as she is under all that concrete. If she expects the worst she can be pleasantly surprised when something else happens. When my Dad was diagnosed with colon cancer three years ago, she had dead and buried in her mind immediately, because that was the only way to keep him alive, in her eyes.

Sometimes my own catastrophic magical thinking holds me back, too. I was feeling particularly grateful a few years ago, when I had managed to buy my first house, was single but not unhappily so, and felt like I was really, really blessed. Because of our collective good fortune, my friends and I had a plan to do a sub for Santa that we have done every year since, ultimately raising $1000 - $2000 each year for severely mentally ill adults who live in a county funded group facility. I paid off my car because part of the plan to get into a house involved me having no car payment. I picked up the title at my credit union at 4:00 p.m., and the next morning on my way to Jazzercise a young woman blew through a red light and creamed me, totalling my wee truck and wrecking my neck. The accident happened about three months after I had an allergic reaction to Ibuprofen, so I couldn't take any thing for pain except narcotics and steroids for inflammation. I had to wonder if I set myself up by feeling fortunate. And as it was, since my neck was trashed, I didn't feel quite so fortunate for the next year or so as I had surgery and recuperated.

My mom is suffering while they again wait to see what my Dad's insides are up to. I am eternally grateful that I didn't adopt her way of thinking. I try to see my glass as half full and not half empty, or with a lipstick print or crack in the glass. I often tell my sister "don't borrow trouble" when we talk about our aging parents and their stubborn refusal to pare down their belongings and move to a place more suited to their health concerns. But maybe I am the magical thinker now, assuming that all will work out in the end.

Friday, November 20, 2009

Haiku Friday: Magical Thinking

It's not like Disney
a bit more like Tim Burton
It's kinda crazy

You think influence
reaches from your mind outward
and can change the world

We all do it some
some people more than others
full of the crazy

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Highbrow and low brow, no wonder my sunglasses are always crooked

Tonight I enjoyed my children quite a lot, because it is so fun to see Hannah dance when she cannot yet walk, and to see Claire observe her sister and react to her is delightful. Hannah seemed to learn to say "Hi" quite distinctly but we'll wait for tomorrow for a verdict. I read to Claire and cuddled her in her bed and then cuddled Hannah after reading her a book and pointing out pictures and naming the objects for her review (moon, book, sky, mama and baby, bed). After a good long Hannah snuzzle I went to sit by the TV with Lord Honey, while I would knit Hannah's sweater with high-end Baby Cashmerino yarn purchased at the locally owned classy knittin' store, then I created an improved baby binky leash for Hannah out of whole cloth so it can bear her name for the day care regs without making her suck Sharpie ink into her nearly organic mouth all day. Then. Oh friends, then, we watched one of the few shows we can enjoy together, Bones, because it has a honey for each of us and is clever enough, and then, before I came upstairs to pump nearly organic breast milk for my nearly organic baby, then we watched It Only Hurts When I Laugh on truTV and I did laugh until I snorted at every pratfally, ball-crunching, bike flying, wedding cake dashing, roller blade rocket launching, animal attacking escapade they could show. I laughed especially at each segment where folks landed on their faces with a resounding smack. It is a sickness, I know, to be so entertained at others' misfortunes. And now you know this about me too. I won't buy my yarn at WalMart but I am happy to watch their parking lot for entertainment value. Wanna come over?

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Shiny, shiny gold bling

Lord Honey has a new utility knife, the gold model. Note the gold trim, and gold tipped blade. Don't you just want him to be your . . . handyman? And yes TeacherMommy, he does carry it in his Carhartts. I have seen this man cut wood, metal, sheet rock, hose, tile, wires, plastic bits without regular names, and painlessly remove a splinter from my child's hand with such a knife. The last three or four were yellow and rather ordinary as such tools go. But this one? This one speaks to me. Now I go off to bed singing "the handyman can 'cause he mixes it with love and makes the world work good."

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Blog for a preemie, my preemie

No one has a good explanation for why premature births happen so frequently, or with such horrible consequences.

Claire came early. Only five weeks early, but early enough to buy a four week stay at the "hostable" as she still calls it. My pregnancy was complicated by low fluid once, which had bounced back, and some general ongoing extreme nausea, but no other signs of trouble. At a regular checkup I was pronounced good to go, but I asked for a non stress test (my first) because I thought I should be feeling more movement despite the anterior placenta which I had been told could be blocking some sensation. We did the non stress test, a quick ultrasound to check the amniotic fluid (really they were looking at size but didn't mention that) and I was asked to go in the other room to talk to the doctor who had reviewed the results, and diagnosed placental poop-out. He said he wanted to admit me immediately and take the baby and that the baby would be small. Basically I was floored, I had not seen this coming at all, and neither had they. I couldn't find Lord Honey initially since we had not yet started having him carry my cell phone in case of emergencies. Due to my control freak issues, I did insist on being allowed to leave and pack my own stuff and come back in an hour. When it was obvious the next day that my body did not feel ready to have a baby, and induction was not working out, we agreed to a c-section, and got our three pound two ounce girl, red hair already apparent.

My sister says she was worried about Claire until she saw her and looked her in the eyes, and she knew she'd be OK. I didn't know that yet myself.

I was terrified, I was exhausted, and I felt guilty for every unhealthy choice I'd ever made. I never expected a premature baby. I wondered if I might be unlucky enough to be on bed rest, because that was my idea of hell, and I worried about Downs because I was thirty eight but it never occurred to me my placenta would poop out and I would have a low birth weight baby. No one can say why this happened. Some placentas just don't work for the long haul. I had health care before and after the pregnancy. I took pre-natal vitamins. I don't work at heavy labor, on my feet, and didn't then. I wasn't exposed to toxic stuff. I wasn't the victim of violence. We just drew the short gestation straw and got intra uterine growth restriction for no known reason.

Everyday she got just a little bigger, and then came home, and she hit five pounds. Then six and seven and at some point we stopped counting obsessively, when it was clear we wouldn't move into the big girl car seat in her first year, or second, in fact we moved her at nearly age two, when she might have been nearly twenty pounds.

I don't have any new ideas about what you can do to fight prematurity. I do give money to the March of Dimes, who funds research in this area, and in others that affect my family, such as metabolic disorders and cerebral palsy. Be aware and be active about health care issues you think need support, and love those babies. Claire was about the same weight as the famous Maddie at birth, although she was weeks older. Even after a year Maddie was still at risk for complications that ultimately cost her her precious life. Many other stories abound on the internet, and you probably know some affected families yourselves. I have a colleague who right now is chasing back and forth between two hospitals for her twins who were born at twenty nine weeks. We appear to be one of the lucky families, who went through hell and maybe still have PTSD reactions but who brought home a baby who became a strong and healthy child. I wish Claire were the size of her peers, instead of just barely bigger than her baby sister, and just going into 2T clothes now at age three and a half. I wish she were not a head shorter than her classmates or that I felt confident she would never again battle reactive airway disease of any kind, but again, we are lucky, because when you meet her, you kind of get the impression she is capable of just about anything.

Monday, November 16, 2009

The butt scootin' boogie

This is the way we cross the floor, cross the floor, cross the floor
This is the way we cross the floor, early in the morning.

And evening.

And bedtime.

And how she gets rug burns on the leg that slides. Maybe I should get her some baby Carhartts?

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Girls who love books too much

Another NaBloPoMo copout brought to you by OMG I am so tired. Don't you like to see my daughters, books in hand? Good, me too. Gotta go nap on the sofa until bedtime.

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Grace in Small Things: Number Forty

1. Cheese! In the name of all that is holy, how can I love any food this much? But I do. I just ate sharp Cheddar on my evening sandwich, after graced my broccoli in my Lean Cuisine lunch. In my fridge as I write, I having both provolone and Muenster for my pre-dinner dinner, and an unidentified cheese sauce also have shredded Parmesan, cottage cheese, string cheese, Muenster, Havarti, marble jack, shredded Mexican mix for the taco salad I will make tomorrow, and for the children, Babybel mini wheels, which my daughter calls cheese eggs. I love them all. I am grateful for them all. Thank you cheeses.
2. The warmth of my home as the weather gets nasty.
3. Hannah eats. And butt scoots. And nods her head yes if I ask her if she'd like to read a book with me.
4. Claire's red hair.
5. I have eleven gift card tins so far for Christmas presents for the office staff and day care providers, plus twenty treat bags for Claire's class, and four Christmas candy boxes for the neighbors. Nothing yet to go inside, but my packaging needs are covered from last year's post Christmas sales. I enjoyed taking stock today as I searched out the twinkle lights and hid some stocking stuffers (shhh, don't tell Lord Honey he is getting a Death Star ornament). Ho! Yay, verily I say, HO HO HO!

Friday, November 13, 2009

Haiku Friday- the spoken word

The tiny redhead
repeats everything she hears
to my great shame.

"I have stinky pits."
For example, when driving,
"watch out you asshat!"

"Daddy is sneaky."
"Hannah, don't poop until we
get to Florida.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

We all find our support

One of the physical therapists we work with to address Hannah's cerebral palsy issues likes to say "we all find our support." He explains if he is near a wall you'll find him leaning on it. What he wants to tell me is not to be so close behind Hannah that it is easier to fall back against me than do her own work. Yes, he tells this to a woman with short arms, large breasts, and a small, tippy, wannabe toddler. We do all find our support. Mine starts with Z and ends in T and rhymes with Olof.

I spent some months trying not to go on an anti-depressant. Six months, actually, after Hannah's second set of issues became apparant. I was feeling like I didn't have PPD, but an acceptable level of stress and aggravation as would any forty something year old mother of two, one of whom came home from the hospital with a three hour expiration date. Who wouldn't cry? I didn't see the tears as depression, I saw them as a fairly normal reaction to an abnormal situation. I thought I was OK but sleep deprived. Then I watched as Hannah's little fist never unclenched and I knew something was lurking about. My husband and pediatrician did not want to jump to conclusions but I wanted answers and googled my way into a state of panic, then got my fears confirmed by professionals in the know and got started on supportive services to help Hannnah get her motor skills going.

After a few evals and visits I found I started each new discussion with "look, I am a crier so just know that now, make a note or whatever, and try not to notice or I cry some more. Let's talk about Hannah. Gulp." I couldn't get it under control to save myself. Every time I thought about right now I'd cry, thinking of where she wasn't on standard bell curves, and when I'd think of the future I'd cry to picture how Hannah's walk might look and whether she'll drag her foot, and how other kids will treat her, and the enormity of it all just kicks me in the gut.

I didn't want to use a powerful medication while I was still making milk, and my husband is distrustful of drug companies and would not be excited to see me reliant on medication. But, it seemed to me that my family needed me not to be so weepy. Hannah needed me not to cry at every damn therapy session, Claire needed me to not be so tense that every moment at home needed to be a therapy moment for Hannah. It wouldn't hurt Lord Honey to have me not be so unhappy, so I went with what seems to be the most favored option for breastfeeding mothers and took the plunge. And now, a month or so in, the reason to do this seems much clearer now, it was for me.

The world looks brighter. I still cry in therapy sessions sometimes, but not every time. I cried when the PT wanted to see her try a walker and nearly hit him when he asked me why I found it upsetting. Therapists often seem to forget that patients/parents might not have come to the fork in the road marked "acceptance." I still have something to wrestle with: I didn't want to be the brave little toaster who could. I didn't want to be the mother of a child with a disability. I'll be wrestling this demon for a while, I think, because I don't want Hannah to be disabled, and I don't want to define her that way. Using my super strong spidey sense powers of prediction, I think she'll end up being the child everyone is impressed by because she is smart and beautiful and happy, and she will be strong and probably even a brave little toaster. And it feels a little weird to say this out loud in writing, but she won't be the person with a disability who makes other people uncomfortable with icky evidence of ill health and need, so we'll coast on that, while other mothers of children with more severe needs are pitied or avoided. That is also strange. And someday, I will want to smack a stranger who makes a comment I won't like, and I will struggle with teaching my daughter to accept herself and also try to make herself stronger. The road ahead looks long and rocky, but better lit now with Zo' on board.

I am lucky to have this child, this sister, this family to care for even if I needed a little blue pill. When those eyes search mine I know it all over, I am lucky and fortune smiles on me. Wish he'd do the laundry, though. Let me cheer this blog up by showing you Hannah eating asparagus. Tomorrow we'll get back to less weighty topics, like asparagus pee.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Wave the flag and pass the khaki yarn

Today is Veteran's Day. Yesterday, when I was at a a craft store laying in supplies for making yet another binky leash for Hannah, one which will now involve embroidery of her name so she will stop eating Sharpie ink, I saw a display for a knitting project where a person could knit a helmet liner and ship it to an organization that will send it to our armed forces in action. I don't really know when I will get this done, hopefully before winter ends, but I will. I just attended a wedding of a young couple who will be separated for a year while he is deployed in Afghanistan, and a lawyer I know is expecting another deployment next year, and will leave our work group. At dinner last night, I visited with my friend who is the widow of a helicopter pilot. While he wasn't killed in action, his service did likely cause his early death from leukemia after exposure to toxins while living in a bombed out hangar in Afghanistan. He wasn't always a great man, but I wish he could have stayed alive for his son's sake. I am saddened that anyone has to serve, but awfully glad it isn't me or mine, because I am selfish that way. I hate that our people are dying and maimed and I hate that anyone needs them to put themselves in harm's way in the first place. So today I give thanks for our service men and women who are less selfish than I. One of you is getting a helmet liner pretty soon. And, thanks.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Heard at the house of Ginger

Mama, are you old?
Not yet.

Mama, are you going to die?
I hope not to die for quite a long time.
I don't think it will as much fun as I'm having now, with you.
I don't want to die either.

Mama, I am going to have a baby.
When will the baby come?
In a couple weeks. No, maybe in five years when I am big like you, and I have big nursies like you have.
Will it be a boy or a girl?
A girl named Hannah, and she has a big sister in my belly too.
Will the sister be born at the same time as the baby?
Probably the next day.
Will the big sister be older than baby Hannah?
Silly Mama, big sisters are always older than little sisters!

Mama, here, wear my Minnie Mouse ears.
I can't, sugar, they don't fit me.
Mama, you have a big, fat head.

Monday, November 9, 2009

Eggnog season again!

That good for nothin' Lord Honey drank all the spiced rum, because he got home ahead of me. Single ladies, this is a good reason to stay single. Now although I have expressed my glee at breaking out the eggnog, let's temper this thought with the next most logical one to follow - it is Christmas shopping season as well. Wasn't that sobering??

Sunday, November 8, 2009

Motherhood, please be nice to my friend

I read some lovely posts today, such as this one, about mothering and so on, and then I also spent some time with a friend who is at the beginning of an unplanned pregnancy. Wowie Zowie! Depths of despair, for my friend who had hoped she was learning not to make so many unwise choices, and yet she also is full of all the feelings we mothers have that are purely and utterly joyful. Katyboo called it an amazingly awful, heartbreakingly fabulous roller coaster, and she is so right. I am saddened that my friend will have to be mother and father to this child, and that it will be the second child for her who doesn't get to live with his father and mother together, because my friend and her then fiance could not make their relationship work for the long haul. Yet, she is a wonderful mother, and her son is one of my favorites in my daughter's school. Everything about this friend is geared towards loving being a mom. In fact, if I had to tell you what this person wants most in life, it isn't anything super exciting, she just wants a husband who comes home to her and more kids. I know this friend will face some extra trials for being single, and will have to work so very hard to teach her children that unplanned doesn't mean unwanted. I do hope she succeeds.

Saturday, November 7, 2009

Pleased as punch, or possibly punchy

Dang it all, I am happy. Inexplicably pleased. People, I am full of the joy. I took the girls grocery shopping this morning and pretty much sang and danced my way through the aisles. Partly the dancing and singing was to please Hannah, who has shown great enjoyment of music, and partly because I couldn't help myself. We sang along to bad hits of the 70s and Claire singing the months of the year song she learned at preschool, and any other old thing that popped into my head. The cow bell for service worked in the meat department, just the way we like it to, and the milk was good for a week, which always pleases me. I planned a meatloaf I think might be outstanding, and saved a few pennies with coupons, then fed the girls lunch, and found that Hannah ate like an actual baby instead of a bird. I bought stickers for Claire despite her having got in trouble for sticking them all over the house last time, and she pinky swore they would not get stuck anywhere Daddy wouldn't approve. Hannah keeps getting wee recurrent fevers this week but doesn't seem very sick, in fact she seems vibrant, and no one has hamthrax at all. Hannah's molars are coming through but we are not sleeping any less than the regular six or so hours, so no harm no foul there. And hello, mobility, soon we will have to keep the baby gate closed just as if we had a regular baby because Hannah is butt scootin' across open space. The sun is shining and the leaves are twinkling through the air in that goldeny October way without remembering it is really November. My life today feels like that commercial (possibly for a breakfast cereal) that winds up with a song "and it's gonna be a great day!" Please excuse me, I might even be annoying myself. And how are you, my bloggy friends? Where are you and what are you doing? Do tell.

Friday, November 6, 2009

Haiku Friday: time, the dirty rotten scoundrel

Fricken' hell, Friday
it's already here, again
time moves so damn fast

I could do without
each year's Daylight Savings Time.
Changes steal my sleep.

And how do the days
ever since I turned adult
march by so quickly

Haiku Friday, brought to you by the number I don't think so and the letter L for late. Read this one while you think of "They Might Be Giants" singing their song Older . . . and join in.

Thursday, November 5, 2009

More than I can chew

Daily posting? Daily posting? What the hell? This was my idea of a good time? Mine? So many questions, so few answers.

So I'll update you on Halloween. The boys came at 7:00 without any costumes but professed an interest in trick or treating. Not being one to let major rules violations like lack of costumes interfere with Claire and Hannah learning how to Trick or Treat, I dressed the boys in two of my old costumes. Devon was a convict, and I made Gerek go as Moroni. (Moroni is the iconic golden statue of an angel that sits atop the Mormon temple, and yes, this costume is quite possibly offensive to some, but that gold toilet plunger? Is dang funny)

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Humidity will surely kill me but so will the high desert

I didn't mean to start my travelogue all complainy but I did some laundry yesterday that reminded my of my profoundly shocking amount of sweat in Florida last week. I always meant to be a "lady" who didn't perspire but who would glow, and instead I just am the soggy person. My husband at one point said I looked as though I had just poured a bottle of water over my head, and I told him I had but in fact my shirt was that wet first with actual perspiration.

What I really liked about Disneyworld:

I don't think I really could have guessed just how excellent all the details could be. Who knew standing in lines could be that entertaining? Who knew the dog in Pirates of the Caribbean would sing A Pirate's Life For Me along with the humans? And the pig would tap his hoof in time with the music? And they would sell Yeti balls in the gift shop attached to the Everest roller coaster. And the lions never cross the road to the prey on the other side.

I love singing and dancing almost as much as little Hannah, and she loves it alot.

"Be Our Guest" is an awesome song.

When I lost cash, out of my pocket, because I am full of the awesome that way, it was turned in to Lost & Found and I got it back! Imagine! Only $12 but I enquired just to see and sure enough, it was turned in and returned to me.

I like roller coasters, I really, really do.

What I really didn't like about my trip:

Heat combined with humidity make for a very damp Ginger. Very damp, sodden, even.

Babies are not supposed to be sick on vacation, but at least I have a supremely good natured baby.

Programming without Disneyworld as a central theme will return soon. I'll be going back to how my nose and skin hate this climate as much as my psyche hates the South. And the like.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Disney-wo-woold by Claire, age three and a half

Whose house is this? It is a place we are staying this week. Why? We need a place to stay while we go to Disneyworld. Why, Mama? This house is yellow. Where is our other house? Whose car is this? We rented this car to use in Florida. Where is our car, Mama? In Utah. Why?

Whoa. Whoa. This place is too big. I want to go home. I love this place. Why? Mama, why? Look it's Minnie Mouse. I love Minnie! I want to meet Minnie. I'm getting out of the stroller. NO, I don't want to meet Minnie. NO! Aarrgghhh! Let's go away. What is that, Mama? I don't like funnel cake. I want some funnel cake. I need apple juice. That roller coaster is too big. It's scary.

Mouse ears! I want mouse ears, Mama. Pink ones! Let's get some for Hannah too!

I don't like Peter Pan! I want to go ride Dumbo the flying elephant again!

I love the Magic Carpet ride!

I don't want to go on Pirates of the Caribbean. Wah, I'm scared. Mama, will you sing "Yo Ho a Pirate's Life for Me"?

I love Nemo. I want to ride Nemo's ride again. I don't want to go to Turtle Talk with Crush. (Crush says to Claire) Whoa, Dude, let's hear from the girl in the flowered shell. What's your name? I am Claire Elizabeth. What's your question about turtles, Claire? I speak Spanish, but my Mama doesn't. Whoa, Dude. How's that work? Uno, dos, cuatro, cinco, seis, siete, ocho, nueve.

I want some monies, Mama. Look Claire, I got you this Princess coin purse for your monies, to keep them safe. Why, Mama? To keep them all together so you don't lose the coins. I want paper money, Mama.

My underwear are boring today. My underwear bore me.

I love my Ariel pillow. Can we stay in the yellow house today and not go to Disney-wo-woold?

Can I have some plastic money?

Monday, November 2, 2009

Hannah's view of Disneyworld

This is how Hannah looked for much of her trip. Since she is such a good baby in all things, we had her nap in her stroller twice a day. The rosy cheeks are courtesy of both the heat and her internal fever setting, and since we weren't about to spend all that effort and money to get the girls across the country to have fun, as soon as her little cold became apparent on our first night in Orlando, we just dosed her with baby ibuprofen and dragged her out to the parks. My secret tip for any moms planning to take an infant on such an adventure is to bring your own stroller that has a full recline position, and nap the babies in an air conditioned restaurant. This method even worked for three year old Claire, when I threatened her with having to go back to the condo if she didn't lie down in the stroller and hold still while I made laps through an air conditioned eatery. For either girl it worked quite quickly, and then the child minder could relax for an hour with a cold Coca-cola. Hannah particularly enjoyed the live shows such as the Lion King, Finding Nemo, and Beauty and the Beast, and would stand in my lap and dance, watching everything with wide eyes.I had never been to Disney anything so I didn't realize the enormity of the parks, and of the individual attractions that would appeal to babies of all ages. I didn't get great pictures of Hannah in the It's A Small World ride, but I think she enjoyed seeing such a big place full of beings roughly her size. I think I have mentioned here that my goal when we learned about the MCADD was to teach her to see this illness as just a part of who she was but not by any means the most important part. I got smacked with the cerebral palsy and knew we couldn't really go through her life pretending she didn't have illness and injury to contend with, but right now, she doesn't actually appear to others to have any issues, and I want her to grow up not feeling burdened by what is on her plate. I'm still struggling with balancing the daily therapy as the most important thing I do with her with the reading and interacting and mental stimulation so she doesn't get delayed by not having age appropriate activities and just figuring out when to be overprotective and when to be cavalier about the ups and downs of life. If she were more sick I would have kept her home but she rallied so well each day and showed such delight that I am glad I took her out and filled her mind with magic.

Sunday, November 1, 2009

NaBloPoMo here I come

For this month, I will attempt to post every day for thirty days, as part of NaBloPoMo. It may be that I will end up serializing my trip to Disneyworld for you, but I will come up with something. Why am I doing this? Probably because I so enjoyed it when the first bloggers I found and read did it, and I looked forward every day to having more to read. Probably, also, to follow the example of Aunt Becky at Mommy Wants Vodka, who posts and entertains every day. I will not be writing a novel this month, so this is a much more manageable goal.

Tomorrow I am certain I can begin with Disneyworld but for today I have to finish the end of the trip, which means putting away all the laundry and the small shampoo bottles, finding the mail clippers, matching up infant socks in two very close sizes and the like, as well as pretend to be part of family movie time with the whole pack of kids, while I actually only stay long enough to get my share of buttered popcorn.

Not really in character for me, I am wearing a Mickey Mouse t-shirt.