I have blog posts - I promise

I have been jotting things down to put in the blog. Here's the thing, I don't get to use MY computer like I want to because someone had to be homeschooled and hogs the machine all day acting like he owns it or something. I can not wait till August 24th, because the kids return to school. I'd do cartwheels that morning, except I have a speedbump and I'd bust my chops. RW WILL return to a brick and mortar building charged with imparting knowledge. I can't handle him being home all the time and it's been old since February.
I will however, finish compiling these blog posts of kid funnies and household "oh-gawd-what-now" moments and get them to you. I'm just busy trying to avoid going over the edge, and probably failing miserably with that task. My sleep pattern is absolutely screwed up too...and the growing a human part of things is not helping me sleep. Having to get up in the middle of the night to waddle to the bathroom, developing a nifty unofficially diagnosed thing with a medical abbreviation of SPD (some sort of pelvic displasia that makes it excruciatingly painful to walk, stand or even move), having to sleep in some strange way propped up by all the bed pillows to alleviate the heartburn while not causing more circulation or hip problems...ugh, I'll just spare you the rest. I'm just very grateful Moose told me about this pressure point for sciatic pain. I've used it extensively since the advice was dispensed.

the lesson? A person just does not realize how important hips are till they go awry and pregnant over 30 is absolutely FOR.THE.BIRDS.

Parental torture

We're different parents from most people. We derive mirth from torturing our teenagers. I knew someone was using my razor because I was getting razor burn more frequently and having to change the blades sooner. I just couldn't PROVE it, nor could I prove who was doing it, without expensive DNA testing. Last week I bought Devildog a new razor, because it was cheaper to get the "gift" kit on the clearance endcap at Target than refill razors. A $4 coupon helped convince me. Prior to my shopping endeavor I asked the boys about their razor preferences, throwing in a comment that I was tired of someone using my razor. RW slung back that he had been using Dad's razor, not mine. I advised Devildog of this, and he said he'd suspected as much, but chuckled, adding "I bet he doesn't realize what else I shave with my razor." Regardless of WHAT parts are shaved, it's just a total biohazard to use someone else's blade. I swear, I thought I covered that detail with them, but apparently it didn't register or they just don't care.

Devildog later told the boys about this aspect of using Dad's razor. Beast laughed and said to RW "Maybe that's why your face has been breaking out so much."

Happy Birthing Day to me

Nope, the Stowaway/Thumper hasn't escaped the oven yet. However the oldest brother has survived to mark 16 years of adventure. He was born at a ridiculously early hour, weighing 7 pounds, 6.4 ounces. The nurse weighed him and turned to ask me where I was hiding him.
I can't wait till he's an adult. I am going to set my alarm for that time in the morning and call him and yell into the phone "it's a boy!" and hang up cackling. Bwahahahaha!!! I'm such an evol mother!

Happy Birthday RW.

Something or someone is on strike

It's been a week since my last post and it was intentional. I have been fighting back a "preggo-meltdown" as I call it. No sense in boring my readers with the details and the one woman pity party I was making of it. Short story, my sciatic nerve is compressed and pinched even more and it has limited my movement even further than the whole "baby #4, mom over 30" issue was already. There are things going on with the physical house that are frustrating me. The other members of my household are prompting further frustration. The frustration is prompting me to be rather angry and cranky and really not pleasant or funny. It's hard for me to blog cranky. It's akin to grocery shopping before you eat breakfast. You come here to get a slight chuckle at the very least, not this whining BS that has been wanting to escape my brain via keyboard.
If you see me on the news, just know it was not unprovoked.

How's the weather for Dad?

I gave Devildog his Father's Day gift - a certificate for a 30 minute massage. If I could have gotten him an hour massage I would have, but it wasn't available. He looked at me and said "you need this more than I do". No, I need an hour and a half or two hour massage, mostly because my sciatic nerve is in varying states of compression.
I was in the room when Devildog was flipping channels between the NASCAR race out in the California desert and the Atlanta/Boston game in Boston. I almost envy Bostonians and other New Englanders with temperatures below 80 degrees. Here in Florida, it's been around 100 degrees. At 2:30 PM when I was eating my post-church lunch, Devildog flipped over to the Weather Channel to get the current conditions. It said real temperature was 97, but the heat index (you know what your physical person says the weather feels like?) was...are you sitting down in a safe chair? I'll wait, I really don't want to knock you over because the heat here does enough of that without my helping. Ok, as I was saying, the heat index - yea, 109 degrees. As in- Hell came out of its depths and decided to play in my neighborhood. It can return to rightful place anytime now, like yesterday would be nice. I am fine with 92 degrees, because that is a cakewalk by comparison.

This heat is enough to make any crazy person reconsider leaving the house. I know plenty of SANE ones that are hiding indoors too. And there's no leaving the house after dark either. At midnight it was still 91 degrees even. Hell hath no fury like its own presence outside your door.

Bravo Bug

I took Persnickety to the Pulmonologist yesterday, because she is on this narcotic cough syrup that causes things much like the effects of tripping on some acid or other illicit substance. I was allowed to sleep too late so my work plans got all mangled anyway. Why not just totally throw them out the window right? I finished working at one store and volunteered to schlep her to the shiny new doctor's office. Apparently in the 5 years since I moved from the large moldy apartment into this cinderblock crackerbox the powers that be made a certain roadway longer, and it now meets with another road that has been extended to meet the other one. Whodathunk it?
So I get in my mom-bus and there's a mosquito. I can't accurately take aim, so of course I keep missing the bug. I gave up for the sake of getting to Persnickety's house on time. In that 20 minute drive, my ankles became a smorgasbord of sorts. I carted Snick to the doc, and then since I was in the neighborhood of one of my service calls for the week, I dragged her with me for the sake of fuel efficiency. On the way, the pesky mosquito reappeared, after having its fill of my ankles. I tried smacking at it several times, and of course, with no success. Persnickety took one whack and caught the bugger.
She then turned to me and said "you can't kill it if you're giving it a round of applause"
Thanks Persnickety, for pointing out yet another inadequacy in my life: my ability to miss the target. Bravo.

Considerate Beast

I asked Beast to pass me my prenatal vitamins this morning since he was between me and the vitamins. He grabbed them from off the fridge, and as he opened the bottle for me he said "Here, let me open it for you. It's childproof and I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."

I'm still kind of smirking about it 10 minutes later. My luck, he's going to be the one taking care of me when I'm old, volunteering to do so solely for the sake of making me need the Depends that much more from his entertainment. He'd be just weird enough to do that.

How to use an alarm clock

Clone was up early Wednesday, even after going to bed late on Tuesday evening. Later in the evening, we were driving to the yarn shop and she said getting up early was nice. I asked if Beast woke her and she said no, nor did his bumbling around the house wake her either.
"Well how did you get up so early?"
"um, well, I went to itch my head and I ended up pulling the lamp and that made my Dora alarm clock come crashing down on my head"

I laughed at this, immediately apologizing because she hates when someone laughs at her. At least she didn't shriek at me this time.

And here I've been all along, spending extra time setting my alarm clock so that it makes this obnoxious noise at me.

Babies, Turkey Timers, and Beverages

It's a fairly random post today. There were several chuckle worthy things that came across my path the past couple days. I apologize if I bore you with this but sometimes things in my head simply must escape.
In the cute category we have a friend's Baby R, who is about 6 months old. Sunday was a lovely brunch after church in the hall, and Beast nabbed Baby R. From Mama D., much to the relief of Mama D's arms. Baby R is a peanut but when it's your own peanut, your peanut weighs a lot. Beast had Baby R pretty much the entire hour or so we were there, playing with her, holding her, entertaining her. He's had previous experience with his own baby sister, who has become this 7 year old Clone of mine and isn't so easily entertained anymore. Mama D took the baby away from Beast, so she could make her goodbye rounds. I got a brief visit, and snagged Baby R from mom for a minute while mom said bye to someone else at the table. Beast walked up behind me and Baby R crawled up my shoulder to get to him. Mom nabbed R back and got stopped by someone else, and once again Baby R was reaching for Beast instead. Mama D wanted to kidnap Beast and take him home with her so he could help. I offered RW in his place because RW won't give her the same attitude he gives me. She declined the offer. I was so hoping...

In the not all that entertaining, but noteworthy category, we have the turkey timer:
It's starting to pop out, while I am losing sight of my feet. I'm small by comparison to lots of other people carting another human within. I now weigh the same as I did when I birthed the Beast almost 15 years ago. I'm not yet the same size and weight that I was with Clone. There's still hope for me to not get any bigger than that.
I do feel really badly for one of the teachers at Clone's school. She's due in a couple weeks and the poor woman is just huge. She needs to hire someone to walk around in front of her to hold up her belly. This is also her 4th baby, and 3rd girl. I'm telling you, pregnant over 30 is for the birds, girls are notoriously UNKIND to their mother's body, and the more babies that are baked the earlier things pop and become a pesky challenge.

In the Beverages category - a couple things. First of all, I had the WEIRDEST dream the other day. I only remember that I was sitting in a bar or some sort of gathering, holding a pint-glass full of lager (probably Yuengling) and enjoying the consumption of said beverage. However, I was house-sized pregnant in this dream. I have no clue why this baby has me actually wanting beer on a regular enough basis to call it frequent.
Also RW has been taking weekly (or as close to weekly) profile pictures of me, to chronicle the expansion of my girth. After dinner I asked him to do the belly shot, as we've come to call it. RW said we should just take the picture with me sitting in the chair because "You can't even stand up today." Devildog piped up from the other room to say "You're pregnant, you really shouldn't be drinking."
Has he been in my head while I'm dreaming or something?

Overacheiving child

My blog is suffering for lack of humor or exciting news in my own life. I blog about what I know. Somehow you find that entertaining enough to read my drivel. Thank you much for keeping me employed here.
The excitement of my weekend is that it's my birthing day. Go back and read that before you post comments or I'll publicly lambaste you for not paying attention. Yes, I said "birthING", as in - one of my spawn was born a certain number of years ago. This occasion celebrates the Clone exiting the womb, and fairly effeciently I will add. Persnickety calls me a machine. 'Snick, Thanks for jinxing me. I feel loved. Really.
The timing of these things also coincides with the annual school district's "Reading Celebration" event. A previous superintendent implemented a standard that students should read 25 age appropriate (or tougher) books per year. Adjustments and allowances were made for novels that had so many pages, it would kill a cat if dropped on the unsuspecting feline. The subsequent Sups never changed that standard, and I actually don't disagree with it. So the kids that read at least 25 books got invited to this big vendor-fest downtown. My Clone qualified, something like 5 times over.
She is one of those girls I disliked in school. SHE went on record as having read 147 books. Yes, that was correct: one hundred forty seven. I had to staple an extra sheet of paper in her agenda book to extend her reading log. She likes to read, and I'm not going to prevent that. So I took her to the event, she earned it. Free lunch was involved for the kids, and who am I to argue that? I kidnapped the landlord's spawn since he took Beast for servitude elsewhere.
The girls and I suffered the beating sun and 90 plus degrees (no arguing the temps either, preggo thermometer rules are in place here). Clone loved that when she was asked how many books she read, her answer was met with astonishment and excitement.
Did I mention that when I was in school, I didn't like those over-achieving girls who read more books in a school year than I had interest in reading in my entire life?
I'm too much a slacker-mom to be one of those over-achieving people. I'll just have to live vicariously through my over-achieving clone.
Happy Birthday Clone.