Mom to the Screaming Masses

Friday Flashbacks: 911

Mir has posted her own version of 911 flashbacks, and asked for our versions.  So, because I just can't let anyone have a more dramatic story than me, here's the Screaming Masses emergency log:

- When Nikolas was 6 weeks old, he had a virus.  After our trip to the ped, we were driving home, and he vomited.  He was sitting in the seat next to me - no airbags then - and I looked over in time to see him aspirate and turn blue.  I let go of the steering wheel to grab him, and I hit a car, who in turn hit another car.  The driver of the first car, who wasn't going very fast as we had just left a stoplight, immediately jumped out and started screaming "My back!  My back!"  The driver of the middle car, an elderly gentleman, appeared to have no injuries.  (Later, he and his wife sued me, claiming that I aggravated THEIR backs.  I was found innocent in court.)  We went to the ER by ambulance, to have my son checked over.

- When Nikolas was five, my sister took him for a bike ride.  He was walking his bike across the street, and a car turned onto the street.  He panicked, ran with his bike and tried to jump up the curb.  His bike balked, and he fell, cutting his neck open, up near the jaw line.  He was superglued back together, and still carries a scar.

- Gabriel had a febrile seizure, and was unconscious.  He was out for 45 minutes.  Transported by ambulance.

- Gabriel had a vaso vagel, and lost consciousness. Transported by ambulance.

- Gabriel had a food reaction.  We drove him there.

- Gabriel had a cat reaction.  We drove him there.

- Mackenzie, at the age of four, was running at the pool with a floaty around her waist.  She let go of the floaty, and it fell around her feet.  The floaty had a seat in it, and it tangled around her legs.  She fell, and broke her leg in a spiral fracture in three places.  She was in a wheelchair, and a toe to hip cast, for 6 weeks. 

- Allegra had a week of asthma, every single night.  We drove to the ER two nights, back to back.  It was ultimately discovered that she had reflux, which was aggravating the asthma.

- Riley had a breathing episode, when she was 7 days old.  I drove to the ER.  She ended up needing a deep suction, which caused her to vagel twice and she lost consciousness both times.  The second time took almost 30 seconds to bring her back.  I think I died a bit that night.  When I drove home, I was so paranoid, that I left her in the sling, pushed my seat back far, and drove home on back roads, at 2:30 a.m.  I was afraid to put her down for the next week.

- Gabriel had an asthma attack.  Drove to the ER.

- Mackenzie was grocery shopping with me, and wanted to ride on the bottom of the cart.  She made a bed for herself, out of the coats, and was chatting happily.  Her glove fell off, and she grabbed for it.  Her hand went under the wheel, and somehow that I don't understand, her ring finger was pulled into the wheel casing.  Her nail was pulled out - this hurts me to even type it - from the nail bed.  We took her to the ER and had the nail reimplanted.  Her finger was splinted and casted for four weeks.

- Allegra got her hand caught in the automatic door at the bank.  Crushed two fingers, which we had splinted.

- The Hubster took Allegra last month, for her broken thumb.

- The Hubster was trimming his father's hedges, and cut almost all the way through his finger.  His sister tried to doctor him up, by pouring alcohol on it.  I think she was getting back at him for all the crap he did to her as kids.

Wow. I think that's it.  The Hubster, in a frequent desire to cut costs, mentions losing the medical insurance.  I don't think that's such a smart idea.

Funny, funny

Note from my seven year old's teacher:

A packet of Math work is in the Red Folder which you will get on
Friday.  Please use it as a Final Exam Study guide to prepare your child
for the up coming exam.  You have the long weekend to get through all 11
chapters.  Also feel free to use the workbook and big work to review.  Complete any pages that are left from Chapters 1-11.

Okay, then. Do I look like all I want to do is prepare my daughter for her math exam?  Geez, lady.  I'd like to have a life ONCE IN A WHILE!

Eye-talian food

I LOVE me some Italian food.  Love anything with pasta, sauce, cheese, meat.  Yuuuumm.  The only things that I really don't like Italian are the seafood dishes.  I like shrimp, crab and lobster; fish and calamari, no way, Jose.

I could - and have - made a weekly menu consisting of manicotti, spaghetti, fettuccini carbonara, chicken marsala or picatta, and the resultant leftovers. 

One thing that I have been unable to master is a really good red sauce.  A chunky one, with meat and tomato pieces.  A rich, deep sauce, one with character and body.  The Hubster has an Italian aunt, who is known in the family for making incredible sauce.  I had it, on meatballs that she made for a funeral, and it was so-so.  Just a plain red sauce, nothing to rave about.  Every time I try to make a sauce, The Hubster suggests using her recipe.  I don't have the heart to tell him I didn't particularly care for her version.

I've tried to make homemade sauce, and it's not great.  I frequently buy a jar of sauce and add stuff - sauteed mushrooms, peppers, meatballs, etc.  It's good, but not homemade.  It's one of the few things that, as a pretty accomplished cook, I haven't been able to master.

Recently, I have become a fan of Giada De Laurentis on the Food Channel.  Her Everyday Italian show has good recipes - although a bit too much in the way of sex appeal for me.  I can do without the clevage shots and such.  The show, though, is calm and restful, and every single thing that I've made of hers is great.  I bought her cookbook.  I am ashamed to say that I paid the list price of $30 - I see it's almost half that on Amazon now.  Grrrrr. 

Looking through, I saw a recipe for simple bolognese sauce.  It looked yummy, without many ingredients. I made it last night, for the base sauce for my manicotti (also from the cookbook), and it was delish.  I made it my own with a few small twists.

Saute a cut up onion and four or so cloves garlic in olive oil, poured two times around the pan. (she said two cloves  - I buy the large jar of precrushed stuff in oil, so I just scooped out a bunch)  After a few minutes, add one carrot, minced.  (I used a handful of baby carrots, crunched up in a chopper).  Add a pound of ground beef, when the carrots are tender.  Chop meat finely as it browns.  Drain off fat, and add 2 large cans of crushed tomatoes (28 ounces each) and one smaller can (14 or so ounces) of diced tomates with basil and garlic added.  (The recipe just calls for one 28 ounce can of crushed, but it looked very thick to me and I just kept adding until it looked right.)  Add 1/4 cup chopped parsley and 8 leaves basil, chopped, as well as salt and pepper.  (I didn't do this - instead, I used Garlic and Herb Mrs. Dash, and Tomato and Garlic Mrs. Dash - and I added about a tablespoon of each, maybe a bit more.  Until it *looked* right - which I know is hard for non cooks!) Simmer on low for an hour or so.  Stir in 1/4 cup grated parmesan cheese, and season to taste with salt and pepper. 

This was really good.  I made beef and sausage manicotti with this, homemade wheat bread (which was a rainy day activity with an incredibly active Gabe and Emma, and carpool kid) and cut up cucumbers.

Brown fat looks better than white

Or so say the Sweet Potato Queens.  White pork chops, not so appetizing.  Browned?  Yuuuum.  So goes it with body fat.

Let me start here by saying that I am a white chick.  W-H-I-T-E.  White has color next to me.  I am Pale with a captial P.  My mixed breed heritage includes some Irish.  The only thing missing on me is some red hair.

My entire life, I have coveted the deep, brown, crispy tan.  All the popular people were tan.  When I was 8 or 9, I found a bottle of my mother's Coppertone QT - I think one of the first quick tanning lotions made.  I grabbed it, and slathered it all over.  I daydreamed about my new, improved tan.  Surely I'd look gorgeous.  The results?  An orange, streaky body. 

For the next fifteen years, I tried to tan.  I laid out in the sun, earning myself some spectacular sunburns - but no tan.  I went to tanning beds, wearing the cute little goggles and nothing else.  It was nice to have some peace and relaxation, but no tan.  I finally realized that I was destined to be pale.  I embraced the pale, buying clothes in colors that celebrated the unique (lack of) coloring I had.  No more sweating for hours, no more chances of skin cancer.  Just me and The Pale.

I have been reading, with some interest, the reviews of sunless tanning sprays in monthly magazines.  I've always been too afraid to try them, though - that first glance of orange streaked legs pretty much cured me. 

And yet.

I decided that I was sick of The Pale, and so I decided to dip my toe in the sunless tanning pool.  It sure would be nice to look like I had some color, in my new bathing suit - the one that promised to take my belly fat and deposit it somewhere else.  Hopefully Poland.

At the Wal-Mart, I perused the rows of suncare products.  There were so many!  I remembered that the Coppertone Gradual Tanning had gotten a pretty good review, and I was really interested in the gradual aspect.  So, I bought that one.  I followed the recommendations that I've read over and over in magazines - shower, exfoliate until you bleed, smooth the lotion on and wait until it's dry before you dress.

My first attempt?  Not a bad result.  My arms were, indeed, darker - a bit.  My legs, well, they were a bit streaky.  I did Allegra's legs with a makeup sponge, very lightly, and her's came out pretty well.  Not too dark at all.  No stripes, but not exactly the color I wanted.  Ok, let's try a different product.

Sally Hansen's Airbrush Sun was next.  The thought of a spray was appealing.  While in my Wal-Mart, looking again through the supplies, I grabbed the bottle to read the label.  In one of the stupidest moves evah, I sprayed my hand, just to see what the spray was like.  Hmm.  It was clear, and so I didn't think anything else about it. 

Four hours later, my hand was darker.  Not excessively, but definitely darker.  Great!  THIS was what I wanted.  I bought the Airbrush Sun. I did my other hand, and filled in the spot on my first hand. And then, the spot darkened.  Crap.  I now had a very large, dark spot on the back of my hand, and several drips running down the sides.  Beautifully white palms, though.

While ordering coffee, the clerk told me that her second job, The Body Shop, offered a much better product, and she offered to pick some up for me, with her 40% discount.  She promised that it was streak free, and non orange.  Just a natural, safe, fake bake.  The allure of brown skin still sung to me, and so I agreed. 

In the meantime, I decided to try the Airbrush Sun once more, but with a difference.  I exfoliated AGAIN, taking off the second to last layer of my skin.  I sprayed my body, this time rubbing the spray in.  I was very careful to rub in both directions, with lotion on my hands. I thought adding lotion would soften the color, and make it more gradual. The back of the bottle said to rub the spray in, and so I thought that must have been the problem before. I only did my legs, so that if didn't work, I could wear jeans.  But, surely, this time would be great.  I was excited about the results.

Until I saw the broad, two directional stripes on my legs. Which coordinated with the darker areas on the tops of my toes, and the demarcating line on my ankles, below the hem of my jeans.  Those matched completely my dark, dark knuckles.  Oooh-kay, then.  Jeans it was.  My hands?  I washed and scrubbed in a sink full of very strong bleach water, and was able to get most of it to fade.  It was still enough to draw attention, but not nearly as bad as before. 

I tried one more time, and used the product that my friend had sold me.  She had also given me a hand mitt, in order to avoid the problems with my hands.

I did only my upper body, giving my legs a chance to fade.  It worked, pretty well.  No streaks, light color.  I think we may have a winner.  I'll try once more, when my legs calm down. 

Or maybe I'll just embrace The Pale.

Breakfast practices according to Riley

Beg for a peanut butter sandwich quarter, left over from yesterday's soccer party. (40 kids, 21 adults.  No injuries, no drunken cavorting, much to my dismay)

Open said sandwich, lick off the jelly and some peanut butter.  Drop bread on floor.

Scream.  Point to the bagel that sister is eating, and cry. Cry some more, until Mommy realizes that a buttered bagel could result in three minutes of peace.  Smile when the bagel is given to you.  Lick the butter off, poke holes in the bagel.  Scream.  Drop bagel on the floor.

Make sign for milk.  Laugh manically when Mommy motions "milk" back.  Laugh with delight when the cup of milk is handed to you, sans sippy spout because Mommy is still half asleep and didn't remember which kid was getting said milk.  Drink a sip of milk.  When Mommy turns around to get coffee, enthusiastically shake the milk on the tray.  Paint it around, smear it in your hair and on your naked belly, since the shirt was the first article of clothing not to pass "Riley muster" this morning.

Yell to be picked up.  Wipe peanut butter/bagel butter hands on Mommy's clean black shirt.  Smile widely.

Scream when put on the floor.  Yell some more when Mommy washes the butter off your hands.  Climb on the table when Mommy is helping Daddy get out the door, and smear the stick of butter that was left there by bad, bad Mommy. 

Wonder why Mommy is googling "military school for infants".

I feel so special

I woke up, rubbed my eyes, and stumbled out of my bed.  A quick hunt around for my glasses - hard to do when you are blind, the glasses are not where they are supposed to be, and the lights are off - and I carefully made my way downstairs.

Where I was greeted by the supernaturally chipper voice of my seven year old.  "Good morning, Mommy!  I've been up for a LONG time now!  I'm watching tv with Daddy!"

A glance at The Hubster confirmed my first impression - he was stoned out asleep.  Dead to the world.  He frequently lays down on the sofa when he comes home from work, as he is too hyped to go straight to bed, like a normal person would.  Somewhere in the neighborhood of, say, fifteen minutes later, he's asleep.  There are many mornings that I come down to see at least one, and many times, two or three, children sleeping with him.  I have been a bit worried about the kids seeing something on tv that they don't need to see, but so far, so good.

"Mommy!  Mommy, guess what!!!  I was watching this show with Daddy, and I saw this pair of pants that I...."  Her voice went on and on, and I felt my way to the coffee pot while trying to process what she was talking about.  She was really excited, and talking so fast I couldn't get every word.  More like every fourth.  I thought she must have seen something that she wanted me to buy for her.

She ran over to the sofa, grabbed a piece of paper, and thrust it under my eyes.  "See!  Here it is!" 

I looked, but it really didn't make sense to me.  I asked her to explain, slowly, and this time I got it. 

My child had been watching QVC.  She saw a pair of yoga pants, and got a piece of paper.  She was *certain* that I would love them.  She copied down the item number, the name of them - Balance Yoga Pants - the price - $36.50 - and the phone number that I should call to order them.

I felt so important to her.  I could imagine her, in her excitement, running to the drawer to get paper and pencil.  I could see her concentrating, tongue between her teeth, as she carefully copied all of the information down just.right., so I could get the pants that she was certain I'd enjoy.

I really felt loved and special.

Interview questions

Ok, so here are the questions:

Dollymama:

1) Where were you when you recevied your first kiss?  Were you traumatized?      

2)  Would you like to have more children? 

3) Why do you call yourself Dollymama?

4) If you had a free hour, what would you do with it?

5)  What is your favorite section of the newspaper?

Elaine:

1) Where did you come up with your child's name?

2) What were your educational plans?  Did you fulfill them?

3) What did you want to be when you grew up?  How close are you now to that dream?

4)  If you could, would you ever swim at a nude beach?

5)  What is your favorite thing to drink?  Alcoholic and non, please. ;)

Rachel:

1) How do you deal with extended family and food allergies?

2) If you could change any part of your body with plastic surgery, knowing that it wouldn't hurt, would you?  What part?

3)  How long do you typically spend at a bookstore?

4)  What is your favorite flavor?

5)  Do you ever contemplate driving away and never coming back?

Mary:

1) Have you ever wished that you didn't have to attend your kid's games?

2)  What would be your ideal lunch?

3)  What are your favorite movies? 

4) Have your ever watch the Jerry Springer show?

5) What would you like to do with yourself when you grow up?

Anyone else???

Elizabeth interviewed me, per my request on her blog.  She asked me these questions.  My answers are below.  if you want to be interviewed, let me know in the comments, and I'll give you some questions.  Rules follow my q&a.

1. Did you always know that you wanted a big family? Or was it just a "we'll take whatever God sends us" kind of thing?

My mother says that I said 6 kids when I was young, but I don't remember that.  She's told me that, I think, so that I won't want to have more.  I had, at first, said two.  #3 happened by accident.  Then we took the NFP class, and it quickly became whatever number of kids we ended up with.  That's not to say that we aren't fairly strict with the guidelines right about now. 

2. If you had an entire day to yourself, what what you do?

Sleep, shop and read.  And write.

3. Where did you get your children's names? (I know I asked Anne this already, but I'm interested.)

Nikolas just came from a book of baby names.  I liked it, but I wasn't crazy about the name Nick.  I thought maybe by spelling it differently, no one would call him Nick.  Silly me. ;)  Allegra was named after NYCB dancer Allegra Kent, and not after the medicine, as everyone so humorously asks.  Mackenzie was a name that had been tossed around in a ballet class I was taking, and I liked it.  Gabriel came from the Bible.  Emma was a name that I liked, and of course it was right around the same time as Rachel had her Emma on Friends.  Riley, well, it was just a different name that I read and liked.  When I was a kid, no one had a name like me.  I always wanted to change my name, because it was so different.  I longed to be a Kelly, or a Michelle.  Now, thought, I see how cool it is to have a name that is unusual.  Future names I like include Charlotte, Phillip, and Jack.

4. Do you have a favorite movie? What is it? 

Hmmm.  I have a couple.  I absolutely love While you were sleeping, for the romantic aspect.  Sweet Home Alabama, Yours Mine and Ours, My cousin Vinny, and Sinbad's Afros and Bellbottoms are all well up there. 

5. Name a well-known person (dead or alive) who you think set a good example of how to live.

Mother Teresa.  I know that there are more, but she's the first that comes to mind.  I'll try to think of some more soon.

Thanks!

The Official Interview Game Rules

1. If you want to participate, leave a comment below saying "interview me."

2. I will respond by asking you five questions - each person's will be different.

3. You will update your journal/blog with the answers to the questions.

4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post.

5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

(.)

You know, a period is a funny thing.  I'm not talking about the period at the end of a sentence, or the time it takes to learn your math.  I'm talking about the curse, Aunt Flo, your monthly, the visitor.  Whatever you want to call it. 

(mnstr-shn)
n.

The process or an instance of discharging the menses.

When you are a preteen, or at least when you were me (HA!), that first period is fraught with expectation and worry.  When will I get it, what will it feel like, how will I do anything while I have it?  Finally, the period fairy appears, and you have joined the masses of the flowing.  You revel in the fact you can act bitchy for a whole week and get away with it.  After all, you've got your period.  Within a month or two, you get used to the cramps, and learn how to handle it.  You even figure out how to wear white pants at "that time of the month", and can swim.  You decide between tampons and pads.

As a late teen some of us begin a new, different stress. "Will I get it?  What happens if it never shows this month?  What on earth will I do?" 

During the adult years, the period can either be a most welcome friend - "Thank God I got my period!" - or a horrible, terrible curse - "I can't believe I got my period!" depending upon birth control, sex, and desire for children.  It can come at a most welcome, or unwelcome time.  You've developed a preference for a certain method of "protection": tampax, pads, cloth pads, Diva cup, what have you.

Childbirth can make it heavier or lighter, the cramps can become much stronger or non existant.  Your period makes you part of the sisterhood.  All women have it in common.

Then, your period, your trusted, most every month friend, begins to fade.  And soon it will be gone.

I've been pondering this for a while, with the knowledge that a) I still have 15 or so years of this and b) my daughter is almost old enough to start. 

A open letter to the WalMart shoppers in my city

Dear folks:

I have a big family.  This is not an apology, this is not an excuse.  This is a fact.  A larger than normal family requires a larger than normal amount of food.  Since my husband gets paid once a month - except for a small salary, and I mean small - I do a large shopping trip on the fifteenth of each month. 

This month, I opted to spare us all a reprise of last month's drama, entitled "Whhhhhyyyyy do I have to go to the grocery store if I can't pick out the food??????"  The principal players in that show, Mackenzie and all the littles younger than her, were happy to be left home today with a baby sitter. 

So, it was me and two carts today.  All by myself.  Let me tell you all something, despite my demeanor, it's no picnic for me to go grocery shopping.  In fact, I'd really even rather fold laundry - shudder - than grocery shop, but someone's got to do it.  We have grown rather fond of eating around here, as I'm sure you can tell by my daily growing behind.  The very nature of shopping with two carts means that I will, occasionally, block the particular item that you must have right now.  It's not intentional - I didn't wake up today and decide to ruin your shopping trip.  Rolling your eyes, muttering under your breath, and the comments about how much food we need don't endear me to you.  Stopping in front of me, as I attempt to drive both carts, is really a dumb move.  Thanks for the cut on my heel, as the cart I couldn't stop ran up my leg.  Blood in the Wal-Mart is fun. 

Really, I think that a big grocery should either have traffic signals built in, or crossing guards.  It would save me so much trouble, as clearly I was the person you all thought it didn't matter how long I was there today.  Everyone in this city was in more of a hurry than me, apparently.  I certainly hope that you all got to where you needed to be.

Pointing at me in the parking lot?  Saying, "Wow, you bought a lot - are you trying to fill up that big van?" as I unload my car?  Not necessary.  Also?  When I turned the corner, and my strawberries fell out, standing there and watching me struggle to get them was no lesson for your child.  When you yelled at him to help me, think how much more effective you could have been if you moved your lazy ass and picked them up yourself.  Smacking your son for not moving fast enough was an added bonus I didn't need.

Since you were all soooo pleasant to me, next time, I bring the kids.  THAT'LL TEACH YOU!