vroom vroom, glug, glug

Of all the issues that come up on a daily basis, plumbing issues have to be the most fun. And thankfully, the six kids in my house every day insure that I will have plumbing issues from time to time. Like last week.

We had been having a hard time with the kids’ bathroom toilet not flushing. It would flush most of the time, but only parts of whatever was being flushed would go down. I’m gonna give you a minute to think about that….This particular toilet has been full of surprises since we bough the house. In fact, Bryan and I spent our third anniversary bailing water out of that bathroom after a little flood.

So last week it actually stopped flushing. When someone pushed the flusher thing (that’s a technical term) the water would try to go down and then overflow onto the floor, the rugs, your feet, anything. I was finally forced to call for help.

Bryan’s dad has some friends who have some plumbing experience. They were kind enough to come to our house and work on our toilet for an hour before deciding that this required professional help. Which made me want to throw up in my mouth because professional help means big money. Thinking about it, I realized that being a plumber would be great, even in a poor economy – because when your toilet is backing up and overflowing onto the floor, you are going to call a plumber no matter how little money is in the bank account.

The plumbers came and worked in the bathroom for about an hour. I was getting breakfast for the kids and couldn’t be too attentive to the men who were tracking muddy water (at least I hope that was mud…) through my house. They did catch my attention, however, when they carried the toilet past the living room and out onto the front lawn. That was when I started to sweat a little.

The kids and I all gathered at the front window and watched, open mouthed, as the two men played a sort of wrestling game with our toilet. One had his legs wrapped around the toilet and the other was using some auger thing to jam into the toilet and yank it back out. It was frightening. I began to wonder if it wouldn’t have been cheaper to just buy a new toilet.

About thirty minutes later, out of the toilet appeared a toy motorcycle. I was shocked. I mean, how would a toy motorcycle have gotten into the toilet? No, I wasn’t shocked. I find toys in the toilet all the time. I usually just grab them out when I see them (and wash them in bleach and quarantine my hand for awhile) but I will admit that any toy that goes past where I can see into the toilet might get away. I am not sticking my hand into the caverns of the toilet. Even I have my limits.

I know who put the motorcycle there – Wyatt. He is obsessed with all things toilet-related and I have to pull him out of the bathroom several times a day. I thought about keeping the little motorcycle and saving it until Wyatt is all grown up and buys his first home – and then putting it in his toilet just for fun. But in the end, I let the plumbers take the motorcycle.
But Wyatt better be careful. Because next time, I just might let them take the offender, too.

for sale: one half of king sized bed - barely used

I have a mom-related complaint that I would like to file with anyone who will listen. Are you ready? (collective nod, please.)

I am tired of not getting sleep. After three years of someone waking me up almost every single night (there were possibly a dozen nights in the last three years where I was in such a heavy coma that the house could have collapsed and it wouldn’t have disturbed my slumber) I am tired. Tired. Tired. My boys are three and one and this business of needing something in the middle of the night is getting old.

Wyatt is still up at least once a night. I’ve tried to just let him cry it out but it’s hard to ignore his cry. He only has one cry – it’s the same whether he means “I am one half a degree too warm” or “A bear is mauling me and just ripped my arm off.” Same exact cry. Plus, we put him in the same room as Wesley so now when he cries he is waking up Wesley, too. And he seems to like this new leverage.

Wesley, on the other hand, wakes up in the middle of the night needing something probably every other night. Sometimes I am sleeping and I awaken to feel someone breathing on my arm. And when I peel my eyes open, he tells me, “My leg hurts. Can I have some Zyrtec?” which means he most likely doesn’t have a future in pharmacology. But sometimes he doesn’t come into my room, he lays in his bed and screams, “Mom-may!!!” until I wake up and stumble into his room. Then after I get in there and break my baby toe or my kneecap on the train table next to his bed, I see what the problem is – that he has fallen out of bed. And I use the word “fallen” loosely. Because his bed is a toddler bed which is very low to the ground. So he has basically rolled out of bed and descended a maximum of six inches in elevation. And instead of just getting himself back into bed he feels the need to make me come in and roll him back over. Never yells for Dad-day, always Mom-may. It’s a popularity contest I would like to lose every once in a while.

I’ve read that being a mom is a pursuit which requires selflessness and patience but I’m running all out of those two things. I’m thinking of going on strike. Anyone have any witty ideas for my picket signs?

a happy first birthday list

Wyatt’s first birthday was this weekend. Has it really been a year since I last went into labor? It’s so fresh in my mind; the moment I realized I was in labor, arriving at the hospital that seemed deserted, laying there waiting to be prepped for surgery, the epidural (will I EVER forget that? Probably not), the words, “You might feel a little pressure,” right before it felt like my intestines were being ripped from my abdomen, and of course, seeing Wyatt for the first time.
I’m not pregnant this summer (dare I type those words?!?) but I was last summer and two summers before that. And I enjoy summer a whole lot more when I am not pregnant. In honor of Wyatt’s birthday, I thought of a list of reasons why I’m glad that I am NOT pregnant right now. Here it is. One reason for every month I was pregnant.

1. No one is using my bladder as a soccer ball.
2. I can walk to the mailbox without getting winded.
3. I can paint my own toenails and shave my legs.
4. I like walking by Motherhood Maternity and not needing anything. Like the ever popular maternity thong. I had to go in there with a pregnant pal the other day and I came across the maternity thong. Seriously?
5. Acid reflux for nine months is no fun.
6. Old ladies don’t look at my belly and give me that knowing smile that says, “I know what you’ve been doing, Dearie.”
7. I can bend at the waist. It comes in handy when trying to work in the garden or helping a two-year-old put on his Elmo underpants, among other things.
8. As sexy as the “nursing bra/nursing nightgown/orthodontic retainer combo” is, I think Bryan was ready for me to ditch the pregnancy and nursing stuff and don my much sexier “old t-shirt and shorts with orthodontic retainer combo”.
9. I like being able to eat popcorn and diet coke for breakfast and not feeling guilty that someone might have been counting on today’s nutrients to develop a spine.

And there you have it. I love you, Wyatt!

scientists say the cutest things

Yesterday Bryan took Wyatt to the doctor for his second of three shots this week – shots for a recurring ear infection. The doctor says Wyatt has a double ear infection which is really a nice way of saying “your baby has been crying for two weeks” and for some reason antibiotics aren’t touching it.

I was holding Wyatt, trying to comfort him, having no luck. Bryan commented, “Didn’t we just go through this same stuff with Wesley? I thought we were done with this stuff.”

And I said, “Bryan, this is just part of having kids. If we have another one, it will probably happen again. That’s life.”

Bryan, ever the scientist, said completely seriously, “Laura, having another kid is like taking organic chemistry again for fun. We could do it, but WHY would we?”

I think it’s time to take away his Einstein and Friends action figures for a few days.

mom, you might not want to read this one

Internet friend, I have got to share something with you. It’s not the kind of story I would share with, say, a stranger on an elevator or at the dinner table (well maybe Bryan’s family would but mine sure wouldn’t…). I’ve tried to keep it to myself for so long but I just can’t anymore. So I’m glad you and I know one another well enough for me to share this with you.

When I first started doing home daycare, there was one little guy who always had a runny nose. You know how parts of this world have frozen soil that never thaws called permafrost? Well this little guy has a condition on his upper lip that I call Permasnot. He seems to always be sick. He doesn’t just seem to always be sick – he IS always sick. But he isn’t one of those selfish kids who won’t share – he shares his illnesses with others very nicely.

During one of the first weeks he came his mom nonchalantly mentioned as she dropped him off that he had Thrush. She didn’t make it sound like a big deal at all. She said he just had white stuff inside his mouth and it gave him a little blister on his lip. I didn’t think much about it. Even when I found Wyatt’s pacifier in his mouth.

So fast forward about a week to me getting dressed on a Saturday. As my shirt lightly brushed my chest, I felt some severe pain. It went on all day and I also realized Wyatt had been fussy and that my pain got worse when I fed him (breastfed him.) Being a mystery solver by nature, I pried open his little mouth. It looked like someone had painted his cheeks with White Out. Suddenly, the word Thrush popped into my mind.

After a little internet research, I learned that Thrush is basically a yeast infection. IN YOUR MOUTH. And that my sweet baby had passed me that yeast infection. But it wasn’t in my mouth – it was ON MY NIPPLE! I immediately called his doctor who told me how to treat both of us.

But instead of getting better, it got worse. The next day I had a crack the size of the Grand Canyon that looked like it was going to bleed. And let me explain to you how it felt. If you’d like, I’ll give you a scenario that is comparable and you can act it out at home, too. First, take out your nipple. (If you are male, a small piece of skin from you genitalia will work.) Next, find a cheese grater. Firmly hold the cheese grater in one hand and the nipple in the other. Then, rub the grater over the nipple constantly for ten minutes or so (to simulate nursing a baby.) Repeat every three hours.

I shouldn’t have to explain why it would be hard for a wound to heal under these conditions. But within two weeks, it had pretty much healed. I was glad. Until this week when the same affliction has occurred on the other side. Only it’s worse this time.

Do you think this is what the phrase “occupational hazard” means?

Just think of all the money we'll save on shampoo!

This evening, I was multi-tasking: making dinner and searching for my lost pedometer. As I headed down the hallway to check the computer desk drawers for about the twentieth time, I got the shock of my life - Bryan was sitting on the bathroom floor holding Wyatt and SHAVING HIS HEAD! I could not believe what I was seeing was really happening. First I screamed and then I had to lay down.

It's true - Wyatt has been developing a bit of a mullet (business in the front, party in the back) as babies sometimes do. And, I had mentioned possibly cutting the back a little. But I couldn't believe Bryan had taken him into the bathroom and shaved it! Bryan said, "I was going to surprise you." Oh, I was surprised all right.

I know it should not have been such a big deal to me. It is just hair. But I am a sentimental person and I would have taken pictures of the process. And I would have CUT it, not shaved it.
People, I love my husband dearly and I like surprises but there are good surprises and bad surprises. Good ones are ,"I gave the dog a bath so you wouldn't have to," or ,"I ordered pizza so you don't have to cook tonight." Bad surprises are, "I invited my mom to come and live with us!" or ," I shaved our baby's head for the first time without telling you."

Thankfully, he only shaved the long bottom part, not the whole head. And, he did pick up some of the hair so I can put it in Wyatt's scrapbook. Also, I just took pictures of Wyatt's little mullet yesterday so at least I have that.

I guess Bryan must like surprises. And being a good wife, I have to think of a surprise for him - a really, really good one. I'm thinking something involving laxatives. LOTS AND LOTS of laxatives.

bringing home baby

I know that I promised my next post would be telling all the details of my horrid hospital stay. And I really tried to think of how I could recount the tale and make it funny or even just amusing. But the problem is that writing about it is almost as bad as re-living the whole traumatic event. So I am going to have to sit on this one a while and try to come back to it later, perhaps after all my flesh wounds have healed. I hope you understand.

Instead, I will bring you a little up to date on our new life as a family of four. Plus one dog that eats her own poo. Bringing a baby home from the hospital is sort of like bringing a goldfish home from the pet store: you get really excited about bringing this little thing home only to realize that in all honesty it doesn't really DO very much. Like, you never hear someone say, "The other day I was at the park with my goldfish and this really cool thing happened..." You also never hear anyone say, "Yesterday, I was playing my Wii with my newborn baby and he did the neatest thing..." Or at least you rarely hear that.

But there are some real differences, too. For instance, a goldfish never shoots projectile diarrhea at you when you change its diaper. And if you go out shopping and leave your goldfish at home, no one calls DHS. And, a goldfish doesn't wake you up in the middle of the night twenty-seven million times with a Scream So Shrill That You Want To Cut Off Your Own Ears just to let you know that he is hungry. Again.

Other than that, though, it's pretty much the same thing. And things are going well.

the longer version

As most of you probably know, last Saturday I gave birth. Again. And trust me - the whole experience gave me lots of possible material to write about. But if I thought it was hard to find time to sit at the computer with Wesley demanding my attention, I had no idea how hard it would be to sit and type with a small human attached to my nipple (sorry, Mom.)

Anyway, last Friday was a tough evening. I went with Bryan's family to a fish fry and I was self-admittedly a huge crank-monster. I really just wanted to be alone and lay down on the couch but I did my best to be polite-ish. Then, Friday night when everyone else in my house was resting peacefully in their cozy beds, my stomach started to feel like my uterus was about to rip open (which is a remote possibility since Wesley was born via c-section.) So I went out to the couch to watch some info-mercials. All I can say is, "Sham-Wow!" But my stomach was still hurting. Thinking I might be hungry, I decided to enjoy a big bowl of the always delicious and nutritious Cookie Crisp. When even that didn't help, I just went back to bed, knowing that Wesley would be awake in just a few hours. And no matter how hard I try to convince him to sleep in for Mommy's sake, he just doesn't have empathy down yet.

Sometime after 7:00 a.m. Wesley was awake so I got up to use the restroom and get ready for the day. But as soon as I was walking to the bathroom, it became clear that something was going on.

"My water just broke," I told Bryan.

His reply from bed was a sleepy, "Yeah, right."

You see, I MIGHT have been making the joke that my water just broke for about three weeks now. Sort of like the little boy who cried "wolf" only more like the girl who cried "my water just broke." Except, get the mop, I wasn't kidding this time.

We called Bryan's parents to come get Wes, Bryan started making calls to his boss (because he is supposed to work every day and luckily was able to find someone to cover for him for the day), and I began packing. Yes, you read that right, I Began Packing. Because I had thought that I still had two weeks before the blessed event was to occur. Silly me.

Within an hour, we were at the hospital. I was slightly less than panicked. Now the first time I had a baby, I was scared because I didn't know what to expect. This time, I was scared because I Knew Exactly What To Expect.

But to keep this from becoming the blog that never ends, I will give you more details in my next post. I only hope the anticipation doesn't keep you awake until then...