Heavyweight Juvenile Wrestler Caught Doping

This week has been brought to you by Jane's incessant need to put random objects in her mouth. I'm not sure when it happened exactly, but sometime last week, Jane's mouth made contact with a surface with which a sick child had also recently made contact. A small thing, really. Nonetheless, it led to a wasted week and a lot of misery for everyone involved, most of all Jane.

When Jane got sick last week, I was irritated and tired. Mainly because I had to go in to her in the middle of the night and hold her while she screamed and coughed. I am not a good night nurse. Both my kids slept through the night before they were three months old and I can't help but think it had something to do with my less-than-cheery disposition in the wee hours.

Monday it finally became clear that the cold, which should have passed long ago, was getting worse. Three hours of Healthreach fun later, Jane was diagnosed with "the beginnings of" pneumonia (which I believe was gentler way of saying that she has pneumonia but it isn't to the point where she's coughing up blood on her white lace handkerchief like they do in all the Jane Austen novels). I was given the choice of taking her home or checking her into the hospital. Of course, I chose to take her home. Chris canceled his work trip (thank goodness) and went to pick up the giant mystery bag o'meds from the pharmacy.

Jane is finally starting to improve, thanks to the miracle of modern antibiotics and a healthy dose of steroids. Just in case you're wondering, yes, babies do get roid rage and, no, it isn't fun. Another perk is that she will have a lingering cough for two or three weeks. That means I'm going to get paid back for all the skunk eyes I have given parents for bringing coughing kids out in public.

Now that Jane is over the worst of things, I can start being annoyed at the fact that I am sick for the fourth time in six weeks. Before I had kids, I hardly ever got a cold. I thought I had a super immune system. Turns out I just had a hand washing compulsion. Those sorts of things don't keep you well when you are hauling around a 24 pound sack of germs for several hours a day.

I am adding "not being sick all the time" to the list of things I'm looking forward to when my kids get older. Right behind "not having to wipe poopie bums" and right in front of  "being able to have a meal out with the family without wanting to kill myself". This list will come in handy when my kids are cranky teenagers and they hate my guts. And in the meantime, it will give me hope that this too will pass.

R.I.P. Or Not - I Don't Care

It wasn't that long ago I said goodbye to my first beloved treadmill. It lasted six years and many thousand miles. Was I dumb to expect the same from my new Horizon treadmill? I guess so. 21 months (which actually includes a pregnancy where I was only able to run a couple miles at a time) and barely a thousand miles later, the "new" treadmill is effectively dead. I say effectively because it works fabulously until it suddenly dies in the middle of a run.

After realizing we would have to replace $700 worth of parts to appease the beast, we purchased a new treadmill, which will be here in 4 weeks. A long 4 weeks. Yes, I know it's spring and the weather's beautiful, but DFS comes down pretty hard on moms who leave the house to go running while their kids are asleep. Crazy overprotective government anyway.

I am very excited about the new treadmill, though. It's not club quality, but it's a lot closer to it than the ghosts of treadmill past. The motor has 50% more horsepower and better cooling capabilities. And... (drumroll please)... wireless chest strap heart rate monitor compatibility (the preceding should be read in a high-pitched borderline little girl scream while jumping up and down). In just four short weeks, I'll let you know how I like it. And hopefully, treadmills aren't like dogs - none of them ever live up to the memory of your first. (This does not, by the way, apply to me. Did any of you ever met Mike? Worst dog ever. No wonder I'm thrilled about Emily's dog allergy.)

Conclusion:

1) I should have bought another cheap Proform instead of this piece of junk.
2) Our car savings account will never, ever grow again and I will never, ever get a new car.

A Heap of a Helping

I'll be the first to admit that I'm no Julia Child. Or Alton Brown. Or Nigella Lawson (although my husband wishes I was). I am, however, not a total loss in the kitchen and I must say I turn out a decent meal every now and again.

So of course I volunteered to help cook for the Young Men/Young Women fundraiser. I enjoy cooking and I think that camp is an excellent opportunity for the young people of our ward to escape the ills of society and associate with good friends for a short time. If they needed to raise money so they could go, I was more than happy to lend any help I possibly could. That is, until I got the recipe.

Taco Joes

Ingredients:
1lb hamburger
1/2 small onion
1/2 cup salsa
1 can condensed tomato soup

Directions: Dice onion. Brown hamburger in medium pan. Add onion. Saute until for one minute. Add salsa and tomato soup. Simmer for 3 minutes. Serve on a bun and top with sour cream.

If you would like, I invite you to try this for tomorrow night's dinner. My husband, who even loved Washakie Cafeteria food (he worked there a semester in college) didn't even like it. I considered altering the recipe to just include tomato sauce and taco seasoning. That was a great idea until I realized that all three women cooking had received the same recipe and the same box with family size cans of condensed tomato soup. Someone would be sure to notice that I refused to go down with the ship. I resigned myself to cooking the Taco Joes in all their original glory.


So here I was, showing up with a 16-quart bright red stockpot of the stuff to the fundraiser dinner, ready for a gym-full of my friends to partake. I tried to deny my hand in it. I didn't want anybody to know I had cooked this. It was in vain. The giant stockpot didn't lie. Neither did the untouched dinners that graced so many of the plates. The results were unanimous, "Um... it was uh...fine, but probably not something I would make for my family". Next time someone needs help, I'm signing up for cleanup committee.

Totally Floored

Kids are loud. They demand every minute of your time. They seem to get delight out of getting every variety of bodily fluid on you. They throw tantrums when you suggest they have something other than chicken nuggets for lunch. Pound for pound, they are the most expensive substance known to man. But kids aren't all bad. Every spring they give back in a beautiful way: a nice fat check from the IRS. Before we had kids, our tax refund was hardly enough for lunch at McDonalds. But this year, it bought us freedom from gross, pilling, stained carpet.


Kids and all, our tax refund wouldn't be enough to have the floors installed, so in order to get rid of the carpet, Chris had to get in tune with his superhero identity. By day, he sits in a cubicle and hides from daylight. If Klingons invaded our planet, he would be able to strike up a crude conversation and perhaps hammer out a peace agreement. He is more interested in what application Google will come out with next than who wins the superbowl. He owns a t-shirt that says "I'm fluent in the language of love: C++". Perhaps I exaggerate. But here's where I don't exaggerate: If Chris puts his mind to a home improvement project, he turns into this guy:



Er... no. Not that guy, this guy:Sorry about that.

So without further delay, here is the before:



And after:


More before:


And more after: Yes, I still have a gross blue couch, but I think even it looks better with bamboo flooring.


Did I help? No, of course not. We weren't even there. We were here:
I hauled the kids to their grandparents' house for three days while Chris worked like a slave to fulfill my wishes. Isn't that the way marriage is supposed to work? If not, please don't anyone tell Chris otherwise because I got a good thing going.

Thanks, Chris for all your hard work. It looks great.

An Ode to the Little Arm

When Jane was born, everyone told us she would figure out her own way to do things. That's something that it kind of hard to really believe when you've never seen it for yourself. I spent the weeks after Jane's birth trying to do tasks one handed - everything from driving a stick shift to getting dressed. I wanted to prove to myself that she could do it. But in doing so, I didn't take two things into account. 1) Jane really will figure out her own way. And chances are that the ways she figures out to do things won't look anything like what I would figure out for her. And, 2) Jane doesn't just have one hand. She has one hand and one little arm. Since Jane's birth, she has figured out how to use the little arm in ways I would have never imagined she would (or would want to) use it. Here are some of her favorite uses for her "residual appendage" as the doctors call it, or her "little arm", as Emily dubbed it in the delivery room and as we have called it ever since.


I was dumb to ever worry Jane wouldn't hold a sippy. She has no problem whatsoever.

Things must feel differently to the little arm than they do to Jane's hand. As a result, she rubs everything, really EVERYTHING on it to see how it feels.

The little arm is great to use for stability while the right hand gets into anything and everything.

This is what it looks like when Jane holds something with her left arm. It makes her shirts so gross that many of her clothes have passed the point of no return, but I don't mind. It is great for her to be able to hold onto something (in this case a bit of quesidilla) while she turns her attention to something else for a moment.

A bit of formal wear for the little arm.

I don't have a picture of this yet, but Jane uses her little arm to turn the pages of board books.

Jane's favorite use for her little arm: holding a blanket against her face while she sucks her thumb. This is her default position.

And last, but not least, Jane does crawl with her tummy off the floor.

I'm sure Jane will keep surprising me with new ways to use her little arm. I'm sure each new use will be even more creative than the last.

All You Need is Love

This year, we decided to do something crazy for Valentine's day and actually celebrate. I know it was made up by greeting card and chocolate companies, but sometimes it's fun to just have something to celebrate in the middle of the long, dark, cold winter.

We kicked things off with a party for our playgroup the Friday before V-day. It ended up being a great time for the 13 - 4 and under (yes, I'm pretty sure I am sane) that came. We decorated sugar cookies and then the kids played, pointedly ignoring my "toss the hearts in the mailbox" game.

Here's what Emily's finished product looked like. I had to cut her off from the pink sprinkles or she would have used the whole bottle:

Why would I invite small children over to decorate cookies? Well, here's why: We're planning on getting bamboo floors for the family/dining rooms and I wanted to seal the deal, put the final nail in the carpeted coffin and leave us with no choice but to go forward. The kids didn't destroy the carpet as thoroughly as I had hoped, but we still have plans to drive down to D-town on Monday to pick up our lovely bamboo floor. I'm totally excited. Betcha can't guess what I'll be blogging about in the near future...

So then, on Saturday, Chris gave me chocolates and roses and I made a super romantic, gourmet, after-kids'-bedtime meal for Chris and me: Crab Alfredo for dinner and Chocolate Cakes with Liquid Centers for dessert. I have linked the recipes because the egomaniac in me says that some of you may want to recreate my dinner (and dress up like me while you cook) but I won't post any pictures of the meal itself because 1)I didn't take any pictures and 2) Is it just me or is my blog becoming too obsessed with food? Instead, here's a cute picture of Emily dancing with Jane:

The List

We left the allergist's office yesterday feeling downcast. Emily was carrying a back full of hives and I was carrying a list. That infernal list.

Here's what the list says:

Egg
Peanut
Wheat
Tomato
NO TREE NUTS

(he wrote the last item in capital letters to emphasize the fact that tree nuts would be life threatening)

I knew about the egg, was well aware of the peanut and would risk death to protect Emily from tree nuts. I had no clue - none whatsoever about the wheat or the tomato.

Six weeks. That's how long the doctor told us to take Emily off of those two ubiquitous items. She's not severely allergic, but he said it may help her skin. MAY help? I'm starting to wonder if it's worth it. Emily has always been a picky eater and most of her diet consists of items containing wheat dipped in ketchup or sauced with tomatoes. She refuses to eat any variety of meat and 90% of vegetables. The only two vegetables she will eat are corn or tomatoes.

After she rejected the wheat-free mac and cheese I made her for lunch, she ate a bowl of Rice Krispies. I don't blame her. It's terrible (even though it was about a thousand times more involved to make than the stuff in the box). So was the sandwich on brown rice bread that made up last night's dinner. She couldn't even bite through the bread. How long can a human being survive on Rice Krispies?

So now two choices lay before Emily - eczema or malnourishment. Yesterday, the allergist was acting like eczema was worse. I'm beginning to disagree. I've had eczema for thirty years and would never, never, never give up wheat to be cured.

So now I get the choice of being a bad mom for starving my daughter or a being a bad mom for aggravating my daughter's eczema. It seems like that's how most choices are when it comes to motherhood.