No longer 4 where 2 should be

Remember this? That was actually a post back in January. Bad Mother, FroggieMom, didn't take Emma back to the dentist until yesterday, about 5 weeks after I was supposed to. She still had the 2 top front baby teeth behind her almost totally grown in permanent teeth. It was definitely time to get those babies pulled.

With the help of a little 'magic gel' to numb her gums, the two long-lasting (she turned 8 in December) baby teeth were gone in a matter of minutes! Followed by bleeding gums for about an hour and a half. I thought they'd never stop bleeding. Emma didn't mind getting them pulled too much; she was so excited for them to finally be out of there! Poor thing was tired of the kids at school teasing her about being a shark.

So, back to my beautiful Emma smile. I took an 'after' picture of her smiling yesterday but haven't had a chance to upload it. I'll try to do it this weekend.

Here's to 'regular' teeth, LSU in the final four for the first time in 20 years, and a warm weekend ahead! Go Tigers!

Bloglines

Do y'all use Bloglines? It's a great way to manage your regularly-read blogs? It lets you know when there are updates and is just so handy! If you're not familiar with it, try it and make sure to subscribe to me! My goal is to get my subscriber list total number up to my bra size (NOT a big number, trust me. These puppies are little!). Anyway, I have 7 subscribers now so I've a long way to go! Check it out.

People have a tendency to piss me off

Okay, so my Wal-Mart story from the weekend. I'm sitting in my van with Anna and John M. in the parking lot of W-M, eating our gourmet lunch from Mickey D's. We do this often, eat in the car before going on the dreaded Wal-Mart adventure. I notice a lady getting into her car that's parked on the left of me. I don't pay much attention to her, because you know, I'm concentrating on my fries and all.

Next thing I know, I feel my van shake and hear a 'boom'. I'm thinking, 'that's great, she just hit me when she was backing out', but I look over at her and her car is still a little ways away. She kind of throws her hands up, as if to say, 'Sorry, I'm not sure what happened'. So we both get out and she walks around to my van. In between our cars, there's a buggy turned on its side. Apparently, she hit it while backing up and it fell between our cars. I check for damage to my van and all I see is a very small scratch on the plastic strip on my van door. So, thinking that I'm being nice about the whole thing, I tell her 'We don't have to worry about that, it's just a tiny scratch'. She comes back with, 'Well, YES WE DO have to worry about it, because look at my car!'. The buggy had dented in her door and scratched the side of her car. Well, fine, sorry about that, but it had nothing to do with me. She called 911. Yes, you heard that right, she actually called 911 because SHE hit a shopping cart in the Wal-Mart parking lot. All real emergencies will have to take a back seat to that for a minute!

So, she gets in touch with the local police and they're on their way. I figure, at this point, this really has nothing to do with me, so I get my kids out of the car. Anna tells me that she actually saw what happened (she was in the back of the van). She says there was a buggy behind the lady's car and she backed out fast, hit the buggy, and it flew between our cars. Anyway, I'm making a short story long here . . I wait a minute for the lady to get off of her cell phone. She had called her dad to tell them about what happened. I'm standing behind her with the kids and I realize that she doesn't know I'm standing there.

Here's what she tells her dad, 'I was just involved in an accident in the parking lot of Wal-Mart. A lady opened her door and knocked a buggy into my car and dented it. She went in the store with her kids already.' WTF? She's standing there telling a total lie without a thought. Anna looks at me with a gaping mouth 'Mom, did you hear what she said? She's blaming you. That's not what happened!'. I said, 'I know, I'm going to get this straight'. At this point, the lady realizes we're standing right behind her. She hangs up the phone, whips around and says, 'OH, I didn't see you there, I thought you had gone in the store.'. I told her that I had not hit her car; that I hadn't even opened my door until it was all over. She's really embrarrassed at this point and says, 'Oh okay, alright, I misunderstood.'. Yeah, sure lady, whatever.

The police come. I didn't hear what she told them, but I know that she lied about the incident because when Anna told them what she saw, the officer turned to the lady and says 'OH, so the cart was behind your car and you just backed into it?!", in a tone that said that wasn't at all what she had reported. She just turned the other way and didn't say a word.

Anna was asked to write her statement; she was thrilled to be a 'witness'! I turned to go in the store. I was never told 'Sorry', 'Thank you', anything at all.

I guess this is just a sign of the times. No one wants to be held accountable for their actions. They are careless and don't want to pay for their mistakes. They want someone else to pay. If it takes lying to get that accomplished, they do it without a thought. What an awful example for our kids; I hated for Anna to see that. But on the other hand, it was at least an example of what NOT to do. Geez . .

About 547 days old

Tomorrow John M. is 18 months old, on the dot. I must say, that kid is growing up too quickly. Maybe it's the finality of it all. He is my last baby. I know there will be no others. This is it. No more 'noopies', no more bottles, no more chubby baby hands around my neck. No.more.little.baby.
Okay, let me snap out of it. John, an update on YOU:

In the past few months, you've started to add more and more words to your vocabulary; you say 'Mama' regularly now and you also enjoy a good 'Cheese!', which you learned after watching Macy snap pretend pictures with her 'camera'. You try to say everyone's name now and that has caused us to all be wrapped around your little pinky finger a little bit tighter.

You still love anything chocolate; I think if we dipped a dog turd in chocolate, you'd wolf it down like nobody's business. You also enjoy macaroni and cheese. You even love the 'Easy Mac' variety. Yeah, me! And hamburgers; you can eat an entire little hamburger from a Happy Meal in no time flat.

We gave you your first sip of beer the other day, and you scarfed it down with such enjoyment, I almost called AA. You even kept shaking the bottle while you had it turned totally upside down in your mouth, so as to get every miniscule drop out. You then proceeded to hand me the bottle and point to another, like 'NEXT'. I considered letting you have the entire bottle and getting a really good night's sleep that night. But then I thought again.

You've taken to saying 'OWwwwwwww!' - this is something brand new, when you've hurt yourself, you look at me with your confused little wrinkled brow and curled up eyebrows as it to ask 'how do I express this pain that I'm in?' and I'll say, 'It hurt? Say Ouch' and you'll kind of growl it out 'OWwwwuhhhh'.

During the past few weeks, you've discovered climbing. Everything. And standing atop what you've just climbed. You'll usually throw in a little victory jig once you're on top, as if to say, 'I have conquered the coffee table, hear me roar!'.

You still love being outside more than just about anything else. We can't say the word 'outside' unless we plan on taking you there. We have to spell it. I'm hoping you outgrow this before you learn to spell 'outside'.

I'm still waiting for you to enjoy being read to. Right now, the only books you like are the 'touch and feel' books where you can feel fur, or bumps, or something of the sort.

You've discovered your body parts and like to get more familiar with them when in the tub.

You really enjoy being powdered, you love viewing bellybuttons, and also brushing other people's hair with any object that remotely resembles a brush. A phone, a toothbrush, whatever.

Another favorite pastime is knocking things down. Doesn't matter what. As long as you can knock it on the floor or across the room, your work has been done.

You're just my boy. As I tell you every day. 'Hey John M., you're my boy, do you know that?'.I wonder how many times in your short little lifetime I've said that.

But, it's true. You're my only boy. I can't remember how many times before you were born I told people I didn't want to have a boy because I didn't know what to do with them. I just knew girls and I thought I liked it that way. I don't think I've ever been more wrong (and trust me, I'm wrong about lots of things.) A boy is exactly what I needed and God gave me the perfect one. Thanks for being my boy. I love you, Mr. John M, more than mud puddles.

'Roody' and 'June'

Emma's First Communion ceremony is this Saturday. It's bringing back memories. Memories that evoke mixed feelings for me. You see, Anna's First Communion was only about a week before my dad died. At that time, he was very, very sick. Only, we had no idea. No idea that in a few short days, he wouldn't be with us anymore. I am still amazed and overwhelmed how he managed to go to the ceremony and out to eat with us afterwards, in the condition that his body was in. We found out later that he had one-third of the blood that he should have had, because he was bleeding internally. One-third. Can you even imagine? When I get a little sick, and think I can't make it somewhere or do something that needs to be done, I think of him at that time, and know that I can.

But that's just the kind of person he was, he'd do absolutely anything for his children, his wife, his grandchildren. When Emma (nicknamed 'Roo' or 'Roody' when she was brand new) was about a week old and had RSV, Mark was out of town a lot, traveling for work. My dad ('June', to all of his grandchildren) would come over every night that Mark was gone, and hold Emma the entire night. She was on a respiratory monitor, but it would malfunction often and sound this deafening alarm that would scare us shitless when it went out. Number one, because it was loud! Number two, because we thought she had stopped breathing. We would often hold her all day (and all night) long, so as to act as 'human monitors', rather than keep her hooked up to the thing. Gee, I wonder why she's so spoiled . .

I can still see my dad sitting on the left hand side of my couch, in the camp where we used to live holding little tiny Emma, in his big arms. I'd leave them in that position when I went to bed and find them exactly that way when I woke up. I don't think she's slept quite as soundly since. I truly believe that, at that time, they developed a bond that could never be broken. The little, tiny love of my life and the big, strong one.

He picked Emma up from her preschool for me, between the ages of 3 and 4, and he never failed to tell me and my mom a story of what Emma told him. She used to crack him up with the things that she would say and the stories she would totally and completely make up. Until she was done and she would finish up with 'Just kidding, June! That didn't really happen'.

June used to buy entire cases of those Dove ice cream bars for Emma. Poor little Emma, takes after her grandmother, and has an addiction to chocolate. She loved those bars like no other. She could be sicker than sick and not willing to eat anything else, but she'd eat one of those ice cream bars in a wink. He'd buy those Dove bars for Emma and restock as soon as the supply started to get low.

Emma told me and my mom last week (out of the blue) that she promised to never eat a 'Dove bar' again until she was in heaven. To share it with June.

When she tried on her First Communion dress in the store a few weeks ago, I couldn't help but cry. For my dad who wouldn't get to see his 'Roody' on her special day. I really do believe that he will get to look down and see her that day. I just wish he could be standing next to me when he did.

She was so much his little girl. She still is, I guess.

It's been too long since my last blessings count . .

I try to remember and do this on a regular basis, but I forget . . you know me.
Here goes.
I'm thankful for:

1.) My family; their (and my) good health.
2.) Good friends at the place where I live (and do a little work) 40 hours/week.
3.) Ore-Ida EZ fries
4.) Warm weather getting closer and closer
5.) Flowers in bloom in my yard
6.) John M's little baby toes
7.) The weekend coming up!
8.) Lunch at Chili's

Are you thinking 'this can't be good'?

You'd be right.
He dragged it from the bathroom into the living room, then to the kitchen.
He has a love affair with toilet paper.
Little tree killer.

Wal-Mart is loving me.

John M's favorite position

for the past week. Clinging to me like a little baby spider monkey. Screaming when his little pudgy feet hit the floor.

It's tough to get anything done.







but okay, I kind of love it.
Well, more than kind of.

Turn-around

"It's a bad morning. I feel like I should be awarded 'Worst Mother of the Year'. The number one reason is I left John M. at the babysitter's when I knew he was sick. The worst part about it was he threw up the minute I walked in the door. Everywhere. The entire bottle of milk that he had drank this morning. I still smell like regurgitated milk, in fact. We cleaned him up and I thought about how maybe I should take him home and stay with him. He's been sick all week. First a cold, then a low-grade fever, now this. I didn't feel so bad about having him at the babysitter's earlier in the week because his symptoms were pretty mild. I had to take Anna to the doctor Monday and Mark's been out of town, so I've been taking off a little time each day to bring the girls to school. I thought about that, the fact that I have so much to do today at work, and the fact that I honestly feel like he's in better hands with the babysitter. She has him on a schedule, he eats more......."

This is a post I had started on Friday. It's Monday now. What a difference a weekend makes!
I was feeling awful about the situation when I started to write this Monday. I felt so guilty for having left my baby when he was sick. I was trying to rationalize why I did it, but it wasn't working. I think the bottom line was I was tired, tired, tired. Not having a helper, aka Mark, for 3 days apparently can do that to me. I'm no spring chicken anymore, you know.

The good news is John M. is better and back to his old self. As is Anna (she had the virus first and missed 3 1/2 days of school). The weekend was good. Nice weather and lots of time with the kids and Mark.

I'm trying to learn that I need to cut myself some slack and try not to feel so much 'mother-guilt'. I don't know if it's working but I'm trying.

Green Acres

Mark's been all about the farm lately. He became a grandfather again. To a calf. Well, that sounds sick, but you know what I mean.

All of the kids, especially John M. love to ride out in the pasture and see the new baby calves. We took a ride out Saturday and Mark and Emma rode back in on Socks, one of Mark's horses.

Thus, the picture.

Sleepy

John M. has been sleeping since 1:30. Three hours. That NEVER happens.
I have been productive beyond belief.

Mardi Gras in the Crescent City!

Last Sunday, we caught the Mid-City parade and the first half of Bacchus, down in New Orleans. Here's some pics from our trip:

There was a lot of poking fun at F.E.M.A., local and state gov't, etc from Katrina at the Mid-City parade. I don't know if you can read the signs below. There was even a 'refrigerator heaven' float.


J
John enjoyed climbing the ladders, oh, and the Clydesdales. Look, the horse on the right even smiled for the picture!

More pictures to come . .

Just a tidbit of the girls' conversation on our way home . .

Me: John M. pinched Carson on the cheeks today and Sam put him in the corner.

Anna and Emma: Yeah, we know (they were at the babysitter's all day b/c they had the day off)

(small bit of silence while Emma's little brain wheels spin)

Emma: Horses don't have cheeks.

Me: (after thinking on this for a second). No, I guess they don't. That's true. What else doesn't have cheeks?

Emma: Frogs!

Me: Well, frogs kind of have cheeks. Those big puffy things on their faces.

Emma: Oh yeah.

Anna: (chiming in from the back, back seat) Michael Jackson doesn't have cheeks.

Me: True.

Where, I ask, do they come up with these things?

No longer a 'throw me something, mister' virgin . .

Next year, we're going to work on 'Show your tits!'. (for John M., I mean, not his mother).