Four A.M.

At four a.m. I can convince myself that there are figures moving in the strip of woods behind my house. Or that a porch light on the other side of the woods is a moving flashlight. Or that I'll sleep better on the couch.

I hate four a.m.

Rather, I hate being up at four a.m.

I've never even lived in a city where the bars are open past 3 a.m., so I don't even have fond memories of dancing on a table at 4 a.m.

I'm sure the kids used to wake me up at 4 a.m., but all I remember about those new baby days is dozing while the kid nursed. As soon as the boys got on their schedules (Ironflower angelically started sleeping through the night at 3 months, which I totally thought was due to our parenting skills, until I had the boys and realized it was the luck of the draw), I never had to be up at four a.m.

Not that I HAVE to be up at four a.m. now, of course. It's when my cough medicine wears off, no matter when I take it. Sitting up pretty much eradicates the cough, so guess what I've been doing at four a.m.? Sitting up and waiting for the second round to kick in, approximately 45 minutes later.

Absolutely nothing happens in my neighborhood at four a.m. Which is why I've started to imagine things, obviously. Or possibly I'm hallucinating from lack of sleep.

The 'hood. Not at four a.m. 

I should probably just give up on sleep and get on the computer, though I'm a little nervous about the kind of trouble I could get into on Twitter at four a.m.

I wish I could get work done, but if this post tells you anything, it's that my brain doesn't work very well without sleep.

Like Gravity on Jupiter

I got nothing.

Obviously, with my lack of posting and all. How are you?

There's a lot of stuff that I don't want to think about right now, to be honest. And I find it really hard to type with my head buried in the proverbial sand. Or up my ass. Proverbially. Whatever.

I miss blogging when I don't write. I miss my blogging community. I miss all four of my wonderful readers. So. Look, here's a list of stuff I haven't wanted to tell you about:

1. A wonderful band member died. I will be honoring her memory in a later post.

2. Some dear friends are very worried about the health of family members. There's absolutely nothing I can do or say because it's probably not going to be okay. And that makes my heart hurt for them.

3. We've had some major financial setbacks. Again. Things could turn out for the better, or we could be living in a trailer on my in-laws' rural Kansas property before you know it.

4. Newtown, in addition to heart break and tears, has given me reminders of things I'd rather forget. When I was teaching, I had this crazed parent. Who made threats. Against me. While I was 8 months pregnant with Lovebug. I had plan about hiding my students in the closet, blankets and a hammer stashed near the window in case I had time to get them out. I pretended to be just fine about everything, because that's what I do. And things did turn out fine. Except for the sads I seem to be having.

But!

I know that I am so very, very blessed. Part of my avoidance has also been in pursuit of a wonderful Christmas, which we had. Another part of the avoidance has been this family history project I'm doing, which has been terribly interesting. So the sads aren't winning, they're just dragging me down.

It's like trying to dance on Jupiter. You can still do it, but the gravitational pull makes it a hell of a lot harder.

I Am So Qualified To Give Medical Advice

So it's been 16 days since my tonsillectomy and I'm almost a normal person again. Yay! What this means for you, dear readers, is that it's time for. . .my last post about my freaking throat, I swear to God.

Adult Tonsillectomy Advice. . . From A Patient


1. Get your tonsils out as a child. Seriously. If your pediatrician suggests that your kid might need her tonsils out, DO IT. Don't wait. It's much easier on children.

2. Don't read the health message boards related to adult tonsillectomy. You will have nightmares.

3. Clear your schedule for 2 weeks. You'll probably start to feel better after a week or 10 days, but unless your job is being a Real Housewife, you're not going to be ready to go back to it. And if you stay home with your kids? Pray that you have fabulous relatives. Or hire a nanny.

4. Don't plan on talking much for 10 days. If you've been considering joining Twitter, Facebook and/or Pinterest, THIS IS THE TIME. Social media will let you feel connected to others the way conversations used to. Also, people on Facebook may be more sympathetic to your whines than your spouse is after the first week or so.

5. Drink water. It's gonna hurt, but not as much as not drinking water does. Besides, getting up to pee 10 times a day is going to be your only form of exercise.

6. Take your pain medication like a drug addict. You don't wanna find out what it's like when it wears off. Ask your doctor if you can supplement with ibuprofen, too.

7. Put on your big girl panties and eat some food. Again, it's gonna hurt, but it's better than being nauseous and in pain, which you will be if you don't eat. Think bland, think soft, think dairy only after the first 24 hours. *

8. Get some really mindless, trashy stuff to watch. This is not the time to start watching Mad Men or Game of Thrones. If you've ever been stoned, assume your post-tonsillectomy intellect will be at the same level. Plan accordingly. **

9. Ice  your neck. They'll give you some after the surgery, but plan on wrapping ice packs in a scarf for the next week.

10. Nobody warned me about the fatigue. But I have had much fatigue. Honestly, it's kinda been like having mono again.

11. Keep a pillow nearby so that you can squeeze it whenever you sneeze, cough or yawn. Make sure it's a pillow that you don't like very much, because it will probably be useless when you're well again.


*Bread. American cheese. Yogurt. Creamy soups. Ice cream. Basically, if it's bad for you, eat it. 


**I watched Sex and the City 2 and many episodes of Law and Order. And, of course, The Real Housewives. 

In Which I Whine

Hi, to the few of you who are still reading. I've missed you.

I'm sorry I haven't been blogging lately. I've basically had strep throat since April, with various lulls brought on by antibiotics (yay antibiotics!). Even when my throat doesn't hurt, I'm exhausted. Like, I need nine hours of sleep to function properly and even then I'm not functioning like my normal self.

I haven't worked out in ages. I miss that too.

I'm supposed to get my tonsils out on the 26th. I will feel lousy for another week (or two, my doctor said helpfully) and then I should, you know, not have strep any more. My insurance is covering only a small percentage of it, so that's a major problem.

I can't think anymore. All my emails have typos, or I send them to the wrong person. I have a hard time focusing on conversations and cannot solve even simple problems. I certainly can't make this post have a theme or make any sense at all.

I have been spending a lot of time on Pinterest.

I'm not sure if that's related to my self-esteem being in the toilet, or whether it's  just because I haven't exactly been parent, wife, friend, housekeeper or blogger of the year lately. Not to mention completely falling down on the job for Band Back Together.

At least school and activities are over for the year. Maybe if I'm not running around all the time I will finally get to write something I don't hate.

Thirty-F**King Nine

Er, I kind of missed True Confession Tuesday this week. And then I forgot to blog yesterday. Do you think I can blame old age? I'll be 39 tomorrow.

Thirty-fucking-nine. I would much rather be forty. Forty is the start of something. Who knows what will happen in my forties? Look at most of the Desperate Housewives stars. But thirty-fucking-nine, that's an ending. Not only of my thirties,  but of my entire youth.

I read InStyle (yeah, I still read it even though my current version of style is to wear a shirt that doesn't have a stain) last week and there was not 1 trend that I hadn't already worn before.

I'm overly excited to go to Ikea today.

Instead of just keeping in touch with a few select people from high school, I am now friends with a ton of them on Facebook. And I enjoy hearing about their lives. Because I have forgotten how much they may have annoyed me 21 years ago.

When I stay up really late, it's because I'm reading.

People born when I graduated from high school can now drink legally. So, if I had gone in a different direction in high school, I could go out drinking with my kid.

When I diet for a week, I do not lose 5 pounds.

After 20+ years of dyeing my hair for fun, now I actually have to dye it. Because I'm too young to go gray, right?

The only thing I'm too young to do is join AARP.

My first class of first graders has graduated from high school. Actually, so has my second class. Crap.

The President is 10 years older than I am. Ten years! That's appropriate dating age. Unless you're 16.

I am now more comfortable wearing a bra than not wearing one.

I remember what life was like before the internet. Hell, I remember life what life was like before cordless phones.

I can't remember how to use all the features on my cell phone.

I can remember when Charlie Sheen and Tom Cruise were hot, though.

In short, I would prefer it if you didn't mention to anyone that I'm 39. I would like to be described as "40-1".

Thanks.

Also, if you would like me to have a happy birthday, you could sign up for my rss feed over there on the right hand side (uh, it's still there, right?). Or link to me. Or both. :) Hey, if you can't shamelessly ask for attention on your birthday, when can you ask?

Click Whore

Many moons ago, I used to post on a site called "Blogit". It was under a different name, so don't bother looking for me there. . . . there are just some things that should remain anonymous. Anyway, Blogit was a blogging community where you got pennies for page views, but the real thrill was to make the top ten in the various categories.

Well, I say it was the real thrill because A., I'm competitive and B., I made about 80 bucks after practically living on that site for 6 months. I quickly learned that the best way to get page views - and my name on the top tens - was to name check other bloggers in my posts. Eventually it got to the point where I just started a blog called "Click Whore" to separate my power-grabbing, name-dropping writing from the real stuff.

When I ventured out into the real blogging world, I did my best to avoid click whoredom. Any mentions of other bloggers were heartfelt and any comments I made on other people's blogs were genuine. I slowly built up my readers to a certain point. Then I got distracted by other (paid) writing work and three kids and the blog sort of stagnated.

Which was truly okay with me. I didn't need hundreds of subscribers or thousands of page views! I wasn't going to spend all of my family time blogging! As long as a few people were reading, I was FINE.

Then, one day last week, my traffic spiked. Tripled, to be exact. Just for one day. I searched to see if someone supercool (wait, everyone who links to me is supercool) famous had linked to me or dugg me or whatever, but I couldn't find anything. I couldn't find a trackback, either.

The only thing I knew was that the spike had happened when I posted about The Fresh Beat Band.

And now I've become a click whore. I mean, I don't even know if it was The Fresh Beat Band that got me the readers, but I'm stooping to mentioning them. Which may not even work. Like whoring myself out to a guy who'll pay me with his gambling money. . .if he wins.

Suddenly I can see it all so clearly. . .

She stumbles out of the seedy hotel, leopard print mini-skirt flipping, long red wig slightly askew. "Damn it, that poor bastard didn't have enough. . .Why didn't he win? I need more, more. . .just one more day with all that traffic and then I'll be done, I swear.. . . . HEY YOU!" She takes off quickly but slows down when the the transparent heel of her stiletto breaks off. A man in a trenchcoat runs in the opposite direction. "Wait! Foot fetish pictures! Angelina Jolie naked! With Levi Johnston!" She starts to cry as the man disappears. Just as she finishes wiping her nose on the sleeve of her pink faux angora (fauxgora?) sweater, a young woman approaches her.

"It doesn't work that way anymore, ma'am. But if you just come over here the Wal-Mart, we can take your picture and you can have internet fame of a different sort. . . "

No, I AM Grateful, Dammit

Today my daughter told me that she doesn't want to have kids because she doesn't want to work that hard. In case you didn't know, my daughter is four.

I feel like such an asshole.

I mean, she's not supposed to know how much work kids are yet, right?

And though I hope she remembers this fact when she starts having sex in fifteen years, I somehow doubt it. Clearly the bigger problem is that my four year old thinks knows she and her brothers are a lot of work.

I feel like I should fix it, but I don't know how.

I do feel overworked right now. We're broke, so I'm constantly trying to write articles from home while managing three kids under five, the youngest of whom screams whenever I'm not next to him and the two oldest of whom are extremely hyper. My dishwasher is dead, my toaster oven is dead and my fridge has stopped making ice. I can't find a place to put everything so the house never looks clean, even when it is. Which it usually isn't, but that's beside the point.

Right here is where I usually check myself, remind myself that I'm blessed to have three beautiful children, a husband who puts up with me, my home, running water, a fridge that keeps food cold, enough stuff to be overwhelmed by it, civil rights, access to healthcare, a president I actually like . . .

But clearly this grateful attitude is not being conveyed to my children.

Also, I am little concerned that my four year old already has an aversion to working hard.

Any suggestions?

It's Been Such A Long Time Since I Whined

There's just not enough chocolate in the world for this shit. I think I need some Percocet or something.

I'm sick. The big kids are sick. Aunt Flo has dropped in and she seems to have brought extra luggage. Hot Guy and my parents, aka the only other people who watch my children, are out of town. I'm so behind in writing assignments that I don't think I'll ever catch up. I'm getting three hours of sleep a night. I've developed a Lexulous addiction (that's Facebook Scrabble for those of you smart people who avoid Facebook). I have six loads of laundry to fold. The baby is teething. All of which I might be able to handle if....

Lovebug has lost his mind. He's keeping himself awake at night (after a week where all my other schedule and sleep tweaks had him sleeping well) and demanding that I come in to his room during the night - ignoring him results in tantrums, which wake the baby and result in me going in there anyway. He's crying and screaming every time he doesn't get his way or is told how to behave. Consequences make him even more crazy, but half the time he calms down immediately when I tell him the tantrum will get him in even more trouble. And no matter how immediately the consequences happen or how many times I explain WHY he got in trouble, he seems to make no link between his behavior and consequences. I know he's only three, but he understands other kinds of cause and effect and quite well. I just don't know what to do with him. He has so many moments of sweetness and kindness that I'm reasonably sure he isn't a lost cause, though he may well be if I keep yelling at him.

Any ideas? Or good drugs?

The Weaning Stops The Whining From Waning

Lovebug never took a pacifier. I can count on one hand the times he put up with a bottle. And after a few exploratory bites on his fingers, he decided that thumb sucking was awful too. To be honest, I was disappointed that he didn't want to suck his thumb - I was convinced that Ironflower's thumb sucking had made her an easy baby (And in the subsequent years, I can tell you that as she's sucked her thumb less and less, she's also become more and more challenging. Coincidence? I think not.). Lovebug was not an easy baby.

But life did get better when he embraced the sippy cup. I had assumed he would hate that too. The only thing he liked to drink from (besides my boobs) was a straw, but only if the straw was in my can of Diet Pepsi. I envisioned a life of pouring out Diet Pepsi can contents, replacing them with apple juice and pretending they were mine. But for whatever reason Lovebug embraced the sippy cup.

We moved to the "sports cup" style with the straw last spring, after the speech therapist told me how much regular sippy cups had ruined his tongue placement (though, oddly, they never affected Ironflower's at all), but otherwise things remain the same: Lovebug loves him some sippy cup.

With juice.

In our defense I must say that the juice is always cut with water and it's always a healthy juice and he never has it at nap time or bed time and he needs the calcium because he won't drink milk. But still, the child drinks more than the recommended amount.

And I've kind of ignored it, because he does eat.

And because Lovebug is very, very, passionate. His motto is: "Why talk when a scream would do? Why cry when a full blown temper tantrum can get my point across? Why ask when I could whine repetitively?" So I didn't want another battle, back when they were two and one and we were moving and I was just overwhelmed all the time. So Lovebug turned into a juicehead because we were more concerned about other issues.

Sometimes I feel like one of those parents who spends years bugging her kid about his grades only to find out that he's a meth addict.

Anyway, Lovebug's solution to the once cup of juice per meal - and only water in between - was to scream every time I offered the water bottle. He started asking whining for lunch at 10:30 am, mentioning the juice first. Then he tried drinking his sister's juice, but since she uses a regular cup that didn't work (he refuses to learn how to drink from a regular cup. I haven't started that battle yet either). Then he just refused to drink all morning.

I swear to God I'm never even going to give Chunkymonkey juice.

But since it's too late for that option with Lovebug, I guess I'll just have to deal with the extra tantrums.

Oh well, at least they usually mean extra hugs, too.

More Flaws In My Character

See the little Facebook thingy on my sidebar? If you're a Facebook member, would you please join my network on there? I only need one more member before they actually start keeping stats for me! You don't have to do anything besides join the Network. I promise.

So things are slowly improving here at the Casa De Sick People. Ironflower and Lovebug are now completely over their pneumonia/ear infection combos. ChunkyMonkey is still fighting the good fight against sinus yuckiness, but he is improving daily. I think if the poor little guy could blow his nose, or spit things out, he would be well by now. Hot Guy's stomach virus seems to be fading. And I have become an expert wound cleaner.

Yes, folks, I still have an open wound. Apparently these things take a long time to heal from the inside out. And last week I got the okay from the doctor to NOT have the home care nurse come every day to take care of it for me. It's not that the nurses weren't super sweet, but scheduling a time EVERY day that they could come while the kids could be otherwise occupied - what a pain. Plus I realized that it was time for me to face the grossness myself, so that it could be cleaned more often.

Yesterday when I went to the doctor I was even praised for how clean my wound was. And how it's healing so well. In fact, it's SO clean now that next week when I go to have it checked? She's going to STITCH IT CLOSED.

I almost hugged her when she told me. Because while I face the grossness twice a day, every day, I am now sure that I would never, ever make it as a nurse. Or a doctor. Or a medical assistant. Or a medical transcriptionist. Anyway, I have nightmares about how it feels (I have decided to spare you all any more details than that. Thank me.). Also, now that it's healing it's starting to hurt. In short, THIS SUCKS.

I just long to be normal again. I want to exercise, not just walk. I would like not to ooze. I would like to stop telling my children to not touch my stomach. And I do realize that there are people going through so much worse than I am. In fact, I feel guilty for being so whiny about this when so many have it so much worse. But then I have to go change my gauze and suddenly I don't care.

I Am All Kinds Of Wrong

It's wrong to laugh when the women on Real Housewives of Orange County cry, isn't it? I mean, they're people too. Sort of. They have feelings. But whenever one of them cries, I giggle.

And isn't it wrong to believe that I've never, ever started a fight with Hot Guy? I mean, wouldn't that be statistically impossible?

It's quite possibly wrong that I feel joy knowing that all three of my children are sleeping at this minute. The joy is not from the fact that are getting recuperative sleep to help them get better, either.

And it's definitely wrong that this whole c-section infection/gaping wound thing now ITCHES. I mean, it's much better than horrible pain but for the love of God, can't I just feel normal? And if I can't, couldn't they at least have done a tummy tuck while they were in there?

What's wrong with you?

All I Want For Christmas Is No Drama

You thought it was all over, didn't you? Now that my pregnancy is over and my newborn is a whole month old, you thought I'd quit whining. But you'd be wrong.

He's a pretty good baby, you know. It's just that he had the misfortune to get a virus soon after getting home from the hospital, which led to a trip to the ER (to find out that he does NOT have RSV or the flu and that his oxygen levels are great) and quality time with a nebulizer. The real problem was that instead of sleeping when he slept (at night, even) I sat up and listened to him breathe and cough. And wheeze. And cough some more. I guess I was convinced that if I was vigilant everything would be fine. And everything is fine, so maybe being superstitious works. So that was the first three weeks of his life.

But I was FINE. Seriously. All the pain was gone by two and a half weeks. I could carry the laundry and pull Lovebug onto my lap. ChunkyMonkey nursed SO MUCH that I lost ALL my pregnancy weight (too bad he hasn't made a lot of progress erasing all the extra pre-pregnancy weight, but here's hoping). I went back to driving and life. My scar was checked and deemed to be just fine.

But I noticed this hard lump under my belly button. I figured it was scar tissue and didn't worry about it. Except then it started to hurt. And it got bigger. And it started to hurt more. Now it hurts all the time and it's pretty big. I went to my doctor on Tuesday, but unfortunately the only doctor available was the one I like to call "Bitch". And I don't mean that in a Hillary Clinton/strong woman kind of way. I mean that in a could-care-less kind of way. And since I did not have a fever and it had been a whole month since the c-section, Doctor Bitch said it was scar tissue and it hurt because I'd overdone it by lifting my children (nevermind that I never lifted anything until I felt healed and that I did the same thing after the last c-section). She did agree to send me to get an ultrasound just in case. But of course I can't have that until next week.

Naturally I've gone online about this. And all I find are forums filled with c-section/tubal ligation patients complaining about pain that their doctors don't take seriously.

So now I'm in pain and pissed, because I have no reliable info and the pain is getting worse. And I've had two low grade fevers that went away on their own. And the lump is bigger. And the forum women are talking about their years of pain. Call me a wimp, but I don't think this is something I want to just suck up.

I did read about a few women who had hernias after the c-sections and did feel better after subsequent operations.

That doesn't reassure me either.

The pain is not so bad that I can't function. In fact, it's usually the worst when I'm going to sleep or just driving the car - when I can't also read and watch TV and check my e-mail and play with the kids at the same time.

I will be seeing a good doctor in two weeks. I will get an ultrasound on Tuesday. I can survive until then. Right?

Though if you all could write lots and lots of posts until then (and not mind that I don't comment much for fear of whining and/or because the baby seems to resent typing) I would appreciate it.

Adventures in Extreme Pregnancy

You know you're really freaking pregnant when:

1. You finally get a good freaking parking space at the speech therapist's, but you can't open your car door wide enough to get out.

2. The only pair of shoes that you can jam on your feet is a wretched, stinky pair of slip on sneakers. And you can't even wear them with socks.

3. Every woman you run into looks at you with pity.

4. Your cankles are wider than your calves.

5. Just being in the sun - even though this sun is shining on New Jersey in October - makes you sweat profusely.

6. Your fingers resemble sausages.

7. You develop a cold, simply because you're not suffering enough.

8. You have one pair of pants that stays up high enough and two shirts that come down low enough to cover your belly.

9. You have developed new damn stretch marks.

10. Suddenly you have an inkling of what it would be like to "go postal".

11. Standing up means having to pee.

12. Standing up also means having to waddle.

13. Standing up means odd pelvic pains too.

14. In fact, standing up is something to be avoided at all costs.

15. You are jealous of an old classmate because - even though you were at the same level of pregnancy - she has given birth already. And you forget the fact that she has given birth to triplets, which you could never handle in million years.

16. You cannot shut up about the fact that you are NINE MONTHS PREGNANT, DAMMIT.

Seriously?

So yesterday my insurance company sent an adjuster to look at our car. Many weeks ago, I bumped into a tree (long story - the parking lot looked empty, okay?). The front bumper was dented. No biggie, right? But realizing that we're going to need to trade my beloved Subaru in to buy the minivan we need, we decided to get the Subaru fixed. Hence, insurance guy.

Insurance guy was pretty rude and unfriendly. Which I could have gotten over, had he not declared the car undrive-able (something about the condenser being pushed too close to the radiator) but NOT totaled. Did I mention that this is our only car? And if we have to buy a new one, we really don't want to waste money on a rental (because my rental coverage is laughable)?

But wait, it gets better. Today I got an email from my boss on the prefab site saying that he was not renewing my contract. I'd be relieved, actually, because the rules for writing on the site are devised to make it as boring and lame as possible and THIS site has a higher rank, except for the fact that I was planning on using that income to pay for the damn minivan.

To sum up, I lost my car and my job within a 24 hour period.

If anyone knows of any legit work at home jobs, needs any writing, editing or tutoring done online, please let me know. Oh, and if you wouldn't mind heading over to the my money making site, or even linking to it so I could improve my page rank and make more money on it, that would be awesome. I've deleted and re-typed that line about four times. I'm sorry to ask you to go look at something not because it's a cool site but because it would help me, but, um, we need a new car.

Rain, Rain Go Away

I swear to God if it rains one more day in a row, I'm going to have to beat someone up. Quite possibly the mom at Ironflower's preschool who wore LEOPARD PRINT HIGH HEELS (plus jeans and a pink fleece vest) to drop off her child this morning. Anyway, I really need some sun. It's practically Memorial Day weekend - and I know I was tan - from the New Jersey sun - this same weekend nineteen years ago for my senior prom. I have pictures to prove it (but none scanned into the computer, sorry - picture a TAN, a Laura Ashley strapless floral print dress and big blond hair and that sums it up).

I didn't realize how attached I was to the sun until I moved to Kansas City. After four years of bordering on clinical depression in the Pacific Northwest, I was suddenly a happy person upon moving to sunny KC (okay, some of that might have been getting rid of my asshole ex-husband, but not all of it). And now back in Jersey - rainier Jersey - I find myself growing grumpier. I find myself hostile toward the weather. I find myself fantasizing about moving to Florida or Arizona- before I'm 70.

Supposedly the weekend is going to be sunny. But at this point I'm afraid to hope. Yesterday I got some pictures from my cousins in Anchorage. It was 60 degrees and sunny there, so the kids - in bathing suits - were in the wading pool (my cousin believes in toughening them up to prep them for growing up in Alaska). It was 58 degrees and RAINING here. The weather was WORSE here than in freaking Alaska.

BAM!

I swear to God this blog is going to get more cheerful soon.

But probably not today.

Yesterday, I was driving Ironflower and Lovebug to my parents' house to spend the night so that I could go see Hot Guy in a play reading. I was all set to drop them off and then drive to the train station so I could go into the city - where I haven't been for ages - when BAM.

And then there was another BAM.

I was rear-ended. It felt like she had her foot on the gas pedal, she hit us so hard. Twice. (though she claims her brakes went out).

Anyway, the kids began crying. I began hyperventilating while telling them that everything was okay. My head hurt. The kids said their heads hurt. I called my mom to meet us while the other driver called the police (at my insistence).

The cop called the ambulance.

By the time the EMTs were checking the kids out, they were fine. Enjoying the attention, even. I was a wreck.

My mom took the kids with her and I went to the ER to have the baby checked out. I called Hubby from the ambulance and convinced him that he couldn't leave the play (which has no understudies) when everything was probably fine.

I was in the hallway of the ER for three and a half hours. Meanwhile my neck began to hurt. A lot. I was also shaking. A nice woman - wife and of the guy parked behind me in the hallway - got me a blanket and talked me through my first crying spell. Her name was Sylvia. i wish I could send her flowers.

Finally they put me in a "minor treatment" room. They sent me to the ultrasound suite eventually. The tech - who had been called in - was SO nice. Baby was fine. But she seemed worried about me and got me some juice and warm blankets. I guess not eating or drinking for ten hours had gotten to me.

Hubby came soon after I got back to "my" room. That's when I really cried.

My neck was x-rayed, but apparently it's just a strain. Which hurts. We left the hospital around 11:30pm, with instructions that I am on bedrest until I see my OB.

See you all in a few days.

Top Ten Things I Hate Today

There's really no reason for me to be so crabby today. No one in the family was admitted to the hospital, I didn't have a failed Doppler experience and my children actually did a good job at library story hour (in fact, compared to most of the other children, they were AWESOME). Hell, I even walked them to the library!

Usually, exercise makes me a happier - and therefore kinder - person. But not today.

Today, I would like to share a few things I hate. I invite you to share your hates in the comments. Think of it as my small way of saying thanks for all the kindness you guys have heaped upon me lately.

1. I hate the fact that I have to sign a WAIVER if I allow Ironflower to go to one of her classmates' birthday parties. It's a gymnastics party, so I suppose I get it. But a waiver? Seriously? Are they going to have her doing flips on the balance beam?

2. I hate my pants. They are all too big or too small and I do not have one single pair that makes me feel good or look even slightly better. Not one.

3. I hate the weather. It was warm and springlike for one day, but by Sunday they high will be forty-five degrees. The high!

4. I hate people who tailgate me when I'm driving 35 mph in a 35mph zone. I hope they all get tickets.

5. I hate Fox News. The only time they are "fair and balanced" is when they say the date.

6. I hate that plastic surgery has become so pervasive that women are actually getting work done to make their vaginas  "more attractive". I think the fact that it works should be attractive enough, dammit.

7. I hate that InStyle says that sailor pants are in. Even models don't look good in sailor pants. Even SAILORS don't wear sailor pants anymore.

8. I hate it when my friends don't read my blog and I actually have to go through all this drama again and again when they call. (It's perfectly fine - great, even - when friends who do read my blog call)

9. I hate it that I'm not on the Alltop list of parenting blogs, even though I totally don't deserve to be there.

10. I hate it that I feel like all of my creative juices have been sucked away by stress and nausea and all I can post are lists and pleas for emotional support.

You Know That Really Needy Friend? Always Demanding Support and Advice?

I am now her. Feel free to let the machine pick up.

For those of you givers still here, this is today's issue:

When did you first hear the baby's heartbeat?

Because I didn't hear it today. I will be ten weeks tomorrow and I heard Ironflower at nine weeks. I don't think this doctor was all that good with the doppler and she seemed to think it was too early but I am unnerved. She thought everything felt fine. But still.

Because I am old this time around (36! Call the gerontologists!), I get to have an ultrasound next Tuesday. So I have to wait until Tuesday to make sure everything is okay. Patience is not one of my virtues.

So please, please, tell me that you didn't hear heartbeats this early either and that everything was fine. Because I believe in you, internets. And I'm very, very, needy.

(Also, this time I get to have genetic testing. Wahoo. Anyone got any opinions on amnio? I don't know whether to risk the test or not. There's no history or anything. But now I'm over 35, that magic age when your eggs go crazy.)

Top Ten Signs That You're Pregnant

Well, the top ten signs that I'm pregnant, anyway.

10. Parmesan cheese is the most revolting food on the planet.

9. Except for fish.

8. And whatever the houseguests cooked for breakfast.

7. Watching A Baby Story has suddenly become somewhat entertaining.

6. Twelve hours of sleep is really not enough.

5. Nausea only stops when you're eating.

4. Obedience is a virtue that your children, husband and neighbors need to develop immediately.

3. Your chin looks like a small, mountainous country.

2. Nothing fits but yoga pants and fleece pullovers.

1. You desperately need ONE REAL DIET PEPSI, Tiger Balm for your sore shoulders, Zyrtec for your allergies, acne cream for your chin, a COLD club sandwich, some Brie and to dye your roots but you can't because you've read that all of these things will deform your baby.

(Er, if anyone has any stories of doing these things while pregnant and having a healthy baby, please share. )

PS - Thank you all again for your support and good thoughts. You all rock. Even if it takes me the next three weeks to catch up on your blogs, I will.

Dirty Floors, That's My Vacation

Would any of the millionaires who must regularly read my blog like to send me to Florida for a week?

*eerie silence*

Then you're just going to have to listen to me whine.

*evil laugh degenerates into major coughing fit*

Seriously, this is getting ridiculous. I think I have bronchitis. Ironflower brought home another cold two weeks ago. She passed it onto Lovebug and me. Now (and really, I am GLAD about this, I AM) the children still have runny noses. But they are fine otherwise. I, on the other hand, am coughing up a lung and achy and exhausted and possibly feverish.

I have not been completely well since we went to Kansas.

Clearly I need a tropical vacation.

Or maybe just a vacation.

Instead, I'm going to go lie on the couch and NOT clean my dirty floors.