The Queen's Rambles

I’ve been sleepy for the past 24 hours. I was so sleepy that I fell asleep while putting Erik to bed, which never happens. Usually I’m wired up, ready to run out of the room at the first possible chance to go do really important things like stare at the TV or eat ice cream. Or stare at the TV while eating ice cream.

Have I mentioned I’m addicted to ice cream sodas? Vanilla ice cream, chocolate syrup, and a bit of club soda in a coffee cup. I haven’t been to Dairy Queen in months. Who needs DQ when I can be my own barista? Only I suppose the word would be soda jerk, but who wants to be called a jerk?

My mom left yesterday so we’re all recovering–Erik is sad, Mike is energetic and I’m . . . sleepy. It was so nice having her here. She was the perfect buffer between me and Erik, plus she did most of the laundry and a lot of the cleaning. I could go places without worrying about dragging the baby along, or I could send her on errands. I’ve been watching Sister Wives so I decided I needed a sister wife or two (one to earn money, one to help around the house), but I wouldn’t want to share Mike. I guess that’s why normal people have nannies. But how do I get a nanny that will work outside the home and give me all her money? There must be a word other than slavery.

At least we had a very nice distraction today. Brenda is back in town to help Bethany prepare for her soon-to-arrive baby girl so we went down to have some fun. You get three kids together and you often have a pouting mess, but thankfully all the kids played well together most of the time. When they didn’t we told them to cheer up and be good and that was about all the intervention they needed. Bethany took some great photos HERE (updated link that should work). I didn’t even take my camera in because I knew I could count on Brenda and Bethany to take a ton of pictures and they would turn out better than any that I would take. Photography is definitely not my game.

Brenda and I lamented the loss of my grandmother. She was such a great character. Sure, she was a bitter old woman, but the stories wrote themselves. I need more blog fodder like that (and obviously I loved my grandma for more than just blog fodder). I have a few people in my life that I could turn into characters and you’d all be begging for more ridiculous stories, but I’ve learned my lesson. No more writing less than flattering things about friends and acquaintances unless I lock the posts. Being a conscientious friend has taken a major toll on my blogging. Remember all the stories of my Swedish friend, Annica? She probably would have killed me dead if she ever read the things I wrote about her. I had no idea what the hell I was doing.

I guess I could write about my family, but I get tired of them. They have gone from wacky into “someone call the police.” Since there are children involved it is no fun at all. My mom wants custody of those kids so badly and she needs custody, but it’s not as easy as all that. I’d like to share a wise piece of advice with all you ladies out there. I hope to Fred none of my readers need this advice, but here goes: if you have an emergency bag packed for your children and you’ve told your children where to hide/what to do if your spouse goes crazy and starts hurting you or the kids GET A DIVORCE! RUN! ESCAPE! That’s not normal. Normal people don’t have an escape plan. A fire escape plan? Yes. Spouse escape plan? That’s just crazy. If you need one you are in a bad relationship and it’s not going to get any better. I’ve been a kid with an escape bag. Don’t do that to your kids. Go to the crisis center. Call the police. Call your mom. Whatever. Leave and never go back.

I just wish I could tell my sister the same thing and have her understand and follow through. I fear her children and her husband need an escape plan to get away from her as much as she needs an escape plan to get away from him.

I need to go to bed and stop dwelling. Thinking of those kids makes my heart hurt.

As you’ve probably guessed, my sister is back with her husband and everything is hunky-dory. She never even filed the restraining order paperwork, though she did get out a gun from my dad’s house (and then put it back again). She’d ready to kill him one minute, and be his wifey the next. So it goes, so it goes. It’s so damned frustrating.

I really hate to visit home because I’m always scared her husband is going to crack and kill the whole family while we’re there. My mom laughs it off and says he’s not like that, but honestly? How do I know he’s “not like that”? I don’t feel safe there and no one understand why.

In the mean time my mom is always telling me that I need to move back to my hometown to get away from the dangers of Muslim extremists who are just waiting to bomb me.

Do I doubt that there are Muslim extremists or other baddies out here in the DC area? No. Absolutely not. I simply can’t dwell on it. Where else are we supposed to live? Even is Mike could magically get a job in my hometown, I wouldn’t move there. I would be hard pressed to intentionally move my children to a depressed cesspool of drug and alcohol abuse.

I think my mom thinks all that is normal behavior because she watches all those stupid judge shows and trashy talk shows. The people are almost always nasty, low-income liars who constantly yell at each other and everyone else. I can’t stand listening to all that yelling. I don’t see why people subject themselves to it in real life, much less invite it into their homes as television entertainment. It really skews her view of how life is lived. She doesn’t understand our life at all.

I don’t think she tries to stir up trouble, but she keeps saying “oh no, Mike is so mad at you” when he is nothing of the sort. She can’t seem to understand that when he and I have a discussion that’s just what it is–a discussion. We don’t always have to agree or say the same things. We hash things out without yelling. We think about what the other person says. We talk about the pros and cons of a situation. Mike thinks some more and we finally act on what needs to be done (or we don’t act).

I’ve decided I want to move the TV to the basement because we’ll have a lot more room down there and our family won’t be fragmented (our only working computer is down here). Mike is not keen on the idea of moving everything just because it’s a lot of work, but he understands that the walls are closing in on me upstairs and I desperately need a change. We can’t just pick up the TV and carry it down here, though. We need a plan. Where is the cable? Where will we put things? How will this work? My mom thinks we are having some horrible fight over it because we haven’t done it yet. She has no idea that normal people talk things over and don’t act out of spite.

I am going to miss her so much when she leaves, but it has definitely put into focus my very real need to stay far, far away from family drama. She must thrive on it. She’s always on the phone, getting the latest scoop. I prefer to avoid all knowledge of what’s going on back there.

In completely unrelated news, several of you asked about the Santa hands in the Elsa portrait. Those were provided by the studio and worn by me. My vision came about because I saw sample pictures in the JCPenny’s portfolio, so I knew they had what I wanted if they were just willing to pull them out for me. I am DYING for a picture of a newborn cradled in Santa hands. I am not dying for an actual Christmas newborn, though. Or an actual newborn of any season. There’s no way a baby could ever be as sweet and easy-going as Elsa and it’s hard enough to deal with her and Erik.

Did I mention how unhappy I was with our last portrait session? It wasn’t that I was unhappy, so much as I was disappointed. We went on a no school day, which was a huge mistake. Everything was rushed and we didn’t get the quality or service that I have become accustomed to. Yes, I know I just go to Penny’s, but usually I go at off times and get great service.

So I did what any reasonable human being would do and went back a second time.

Mike thought I was crazy, but I had a vision. A vision! I was determined I would get something similar to what my vision was showing me.

I made an appointment online and received a confirmation e-mail, but when I showed up they had no record of my appointment. I was about to hyperventilate, but then the girl said she could take me anyway.

We were the only people there. She worked with us for 40 minutes and I am so, so very happy. The above picture is a fulfillment of my vision. I was bossy direct and insisted on things being done a certain way.

I also got some of my moles removed today! Happy, happy! I am now missing two big moles off the back of my neck and a giant, nasty mole off the front of my face. I’m like a whole new person.

Funny how the little things make such a difference.

Now, if I could just lose about 100 pounds I might really be a happy person.

Oh wait.

I am not supposed to tie my happiness to my weight.

I try. Really I try. I have given up on losing weight, but some days I feel so heavy. Heavy in terms of pounds. Heavy in terms of spirit. Just. . . heavy.

I’m finally going back to the gym, so if I can keep that up maybe I’ll start to feel lighter, at least in spirit.

Or maybe I just need some liposuction.

But now I have to go back to being happy. My mom is using the sun and her watch to make a light spot on the wall and Erik is chasing it like a kitten. He thinks it’s Santa Claus (ummmm. . yeah. . I might have told him that).

Dang! He just figured out it was the watch. I was quite entertained by my kitten boy.

Oh, the drama! I don’t even know what to say about the drama. I don’t know if I even want to say anything about the drama.

You know my mom can’t have a nice, normal trip to my place without having tons of stress about her life back in Oregon. My sister simply won’t allow it. My sister can’t pull her head out of her ass for five minutes and take care of her children. If I could, I would find her, grab her by the hair and slam her face into concrete until it was a bloody pulp. Not because I care about her, but because she and her husband are putting their children through hell and they don’t even give a shit.

So my sister has this ex-stripper friend with five kids and a common-law husband who’s been working in Idaho for several months. Apparently she also smokes crank. Is that how you do crank?

My dad has an alcoholic friend who loves to chase skinny tail.

My sister doesn’t want her friend to move to Idaho.

The alcoholic friend wants tail.

The alcoholic friend, the ex-stripper and my sister decided to use my invalid alcoholic non-functioning dad as a babysitter for nine kids ages 1-7 while they “partied.”

My sister’s husband is friend’s with the ex-stripper’s common law husband and became enraged when he walked in on the whore-house scenario.

Apparently he destroyed my mom’s house, destroyed all my grandma’s old furniture and cut up all my sister’s clothes.

The police have been around several times but nothing ever happens. My dad is taking a restraining order out against my BIL. My sister is no innocent flower in all this. She took a sledge hammer and knocked out all the windows of his vehicle (that he’s not even allowed to drive).

My sister is talking about it all on Facebook. My mom is beside herself with worry over the kids, but thankfully we have now been told by a good source that they are with my BIL’s 22 year old son and his girlfriend (as crazy as that sounds, that is actually a really, really good thing). My mom is freaking out that my BIL will take the kids and disappear. He’s a sociopath and he’s insane when he’s doing drugs and alcohol.

My sister isn’t much better, but at least tomorrow she is planning on going to the crises center first thing and filing a restraining order and something to do with a custody thing. Not that a restraining order can stop a hell-bent husband, but it might be something.

My mom keeps saying “if your sister would just get a good man who works, pays the bills and doesn’t drink her life could turn around.” And you know what? It could.

But she finds good men to be incredibly boring. She was with a functioning (meaning he worked and paid the bills and took care of his own children) alcoholic for a couple of years and she couldn’t stand it because he wouldn’t go out carousing and he didn’t like to fight with her.

And seriously? What good, hard working man would want a violent drug addict with three little kids?

AND WHY WON’T THE POLICE TAKE THEM AWAY?????

I hope this was the final straw and my mom is finally awarded custody. They need a stable life. My dumbass sister and her husband are too lazy to get up and get them ready for school most days. And that’s one of their lesser offenses. They don’t beat the kids and the kids have food in the house, so they aren’t “neglected” under the legal definition, but they sure are having a hellish childhood. Why would anyone do that to their kids? I don’t understand. If I think about it too hard I cry and make myself totally sick. Those poor lost souls who just need love and a little guidance. . .

So there. Now you can all be angry with me. I don’t understand how this guy isn’t in jail after all the things he’s done. He’s currently on probation so why didn’t they haul him in right away?

It is ridiculous that my mom can’t enjoy a vacation with my family, her rarely seen grandkids, because my sister and her drug addled husband can’t keep their acts together and take care of their children.

Anyway. . something good. Something good. Cleansing breaths. . .

I am taking Elsa back to the portrait studio tomorrow. I have a very specific picture in my head and I am determined it is going to happen. I want a picture of her against a white background in her Christmas dress with the Santa gloved hands reaching for her. We are members, so don’t pay sitting fees. I’ll buy very, very few prints and it won’t be that bad (yes, I have coupons). I just hope my dreams aren’t dashed, but I have to at least try.

*We have new neighbors! I was really worried about what kind of tenants might move in right across the gap from us (we are an end unit townhouse that faces to the side, so basically there is a small patch of dirt/trees between us). The last people were nice and I can’t complain, but they were total rednecks who drank and smoked all the time. It could have been a lot worse, which was my fear. I am beyond thrilled to see a young, professional couple move in! They have nice cars and dress well. They are the type of people you want as neighbors. Hopefully Erik won’t annoy them too much.

*Speaking of Erik, I forgot to mention the “sink into the earth” move he made at the portrait studio. He did not want to wear the outfit I had picked out. As in, I could have skinned him alive and he wouldn’t have cared. Not. Gonna. Happen.

As all you parents know, parenting is about who can lie and manipulate the best. My mom and I started telling him how handsome the shirt made him and really playing it up. The boy has a vain streak a mile wide. He can barely focus on karate because he stands in front of the mirror and stares at himself all class. I guess it’s common? Maybe? At any rate, let’s just say he has a healthy sense of self.

At the studio he was walking up to people and telling them he was handsome. Then he walked up to two boys and told them “I’m more handsome than you!” I wanted to die on the spot. The mother glared at me and I grabbed him and told him that the boys were very handsome, but they had their handsome clothes on under their coats.

We’ve been having lots of discussions about bragging the last couple of days. I’m glad he loves himself, but he needs to tone it down in public.

*My mom. Oh my dear mom. I don’t know about her. She is such an enabler with my sister, my BIL and my father. She claims she hates what they do and just wants out of it, but then they call her and she gives them money/her social security number (I about died)/use of her vehicle/whatever they ask for. She says she is stuck in a bad situation, but I don’t see it. It is a bad situation, but she’s been “stuck” in it for the past 36 years. In all that time she hasn’t been able to come up with a solution?

I just finished reading Backseat Saints by Joshilyn Jackson which gave me a lot of food for thought. I didn’t necessarily like the book. It was about an abused wife who finally has enough and leaves her husband. I don’t like books about people who allow themselves to be victims. It was interesting, though, because it was obvious that the main character was getting something out of the abuse. It thrilled her. I suppose my mother must be getting something out of being the savior and door mat for the other people in my family. I can’t wrap my head around it because I don’t have that–whatever that is–in my personality. I won’t allow myself to be used and abused. Why would that be fun?

I used to worry about my mom so much (and I still do in some ways), but a very wise person (julival, I’m looking at you) told me to stop trying to solve her problems and stop feeling so sorry for her because she has choices. After digesting that and really looking around I know it’s true. She DOES have choices and she constantly chooses to be an enabler.

I do feel really, really bad for my niece and nephews. I wish I could rescue them but I don’t know how. But the rest of them? My mom needs to step back and let my sister figure it out or else initiate proceedings to get custody of the kids. My sister is 33 years old! My BIL is 45! They should be able to function without my mommy buying them vehicles and paying all the bills.

Ok, rant over. I have to do something about a very sleepy baby.

Click through the picture for a complete set of adorable portraits.

Does everyone go through hell on portrait day or is that just my family? I knew we would have trouble because Erik has always had trouble at the portrait place and Elsa won’t smile for the camera. I didn’t realize the whole place would be INSANE with people. I usually go in the beginning of October, which makes me miss the holiday rush. I learned never to do that again!

I know I should be happy. We did get some really cute shots and if I didn’t already have something very specific in mind I would have been happy. Me and my danged mind.

Erik was wiggly and squirmy and kept grabbing his crotch (no, he didn’t need to go potty). He also kept trying to help us make Elsa smile, which was nice of him but didn’t really work b/c he needed to hold still.

Elsa. . . dear, sweet Elsa. She just is so befuddled by cameras. It was like pulling teeth to get a smile out of her. I ended up laying on the floor under the white backdrop, tickling her belly.

I’m really disappointed that we didn’t get any pictures of just her in her holiday dress. I am going to go back next week and do a shoot with just her. I’ll go on a school day so hopefully it isn’t so crazy. I want Santa hands reaching for her! I want ornaments! I was a crisp, white background! I’m a crazy momma! I should have what I want.

We ended up with an inexperienced photographer (she didn’t tell me I was standing in front of the flash so half the pictures didn’t take at all) who was insanely busy and didn’t want to bother pulling out all the props.

I also had a vision of Erik holding Elsa up by the hands while she was standing. We practiced at home but they both freaked out there and it didn’t work.

Deep breaths. . . deep breaths. . .

So how was your Halloween?

Ours was fine. I took my car to the shop Sunday evening so asked Mike to have Elsa in her costume by the time we got home. Poor man had her in the costume, but I’m a harsh taskmistress and he can never do anything right. The costume was on backwards. She was mad about the whole thing. I nursed her to calm her down, but it calmed her down a little too much. She fell asleep on my lap, so we both missed trick or treating.

Erik, the little turkey, decided he would be Indiana Jones after all. He wouldn’t even try on the Jedi costume I made for him.

In other news, Elsa is growing at an amazing rate. Last weekend she fit into her 12 month clothes perfectly. This weekend they are capris and belly shirts. She was in them literally less than two weeks. Anyone need some practically new baby girl clothes?

If she keeps up with her growth curve (the doc pointed out it isn’t a curve, it’s a vertical line), she’ll be wearing 5T by her first birthday. I don’t think that’s possible. Is it? I think my niece was wearing 3T at her first birthday and they seem to be on the same trajectory.

My mom says I should just wrap her in an old t-shirt and a towel until her growth evens out.

Speaking of my mom. . . it has been so great to have her here! I am going to be lost when she leaves. I’ve hardly done any laundry or cleaning since she’s been here and she’s painted Elsa’s room twice! The first time the paint totally sucked and looked terrible, so the second time we got cheap Home Depot paint and it looked a lot better. Wish I would have known that from the start and not bought the super high quality piece of shit Benjamin Moore paint.

If the room ever gets settled I’ll take pictures. We are owed about a million dollars in Amazon gift cards from our credit card so Mike says I have to order everything from them, but when we order the cards they only send one at a time instead of a bunch like we request so I am just waiting to order the crib skirt, sheet and curtains.

Mike is home and he smells like Hugo Boss. I still fondly remember the scent from my days of being the perfume girl at Dillards. I loved that job, but only because I knew I was quitting in three months. I would have hated the stress of meeting sales goals if I had to do it long term, but since I knew I was outta there, I didn’t give a rat’s ass if I made my quota. I just flirted with boys who needed cologne and had my make-up done by the Lancome lady every day. What could be more fun?

I sold a $300 bottle of the rankest, foulest concoction to some old man. I almost felt guilty, but he really seemed to like it.

Anyway, I have no idea why he smells like Hugo Boss. My mother, the Lifetime television fanatic, is making googly eyes about it. She has weird thoughts. Erik’s regular karate teacher was gone for two days and she was convinced he was murdered by ninjas. Apparently in her day sickness was no excuse to skip work.

My mother is also making plans to kidnap one of my friends. She has suggested I invite my friend to Oregon.

Oh.

My.

God.

My friend is from an upper class New York City family. Her husband went to the same school Obama’s children go to. She’s a sassy black woman. My dad still says the n word on occasion. I can not even imagine bringing her to my home. Some of my closet friends have met my family and it has been mortifying, but I know their stories and they know my story and we can all just agree that my family is insane and I’m not like that. To bring someone from this life into that life? So so so not happening.

As if she would ever want to go visit my family.

I’m writing this entry because I went to sit in my chair and found The World Series of Poker on the TV. How is that a show? Even after all these years, I still don’t understand. At least the old Celebraty Poker shows were semi-entertaining (in a comatose sort of way). Mike actually records these games. Like. . . he had to figure out how to use the DVR and make an effort to specifically make the TV record them. I fundamentally do not understand.

I probably should get up there because I hear a very unhappy Elsa. My poor little sweetie-pie.

Do we have time for an Erik story?

We were at Sears and Erik decided he wanted to buy my mom a cheap, fake diamond ring. We get up to the cashier and he starts chatting with him (Erik with the cashier, not vice-versa).

“I’m going to buy my grandma a ring because I’m going to marry her and she’s going to be my wife.” The cashier looks slightly amused.

“Oh wait. I can’t marry my grandma. She’ll be dead when I’m old.”

The cashier looks horrified. “Uhhhh. . . that’s not very positive thinking.”

I’m so sad when I look at my LiveJournal calendar and see the majority of the squares are purple. They used to turn pink every day. A pink square was a square with an entry. Now? I’m lucky if I can get to two entries a week.

In fact, I shouldn’t even be writing this. I abandoned my mother. I told her I was brining Erik to the basement and left her with Elsa. Erik did come with me, but I guess I wasn’t entertaining enough. I’m sure she doesn’t mind too much, but I suppose it is not polite to be writing an entry instead of dealing with post-dark Erik. Post-dark Erik is a rascal, mainly because he is inside the house and he is not supposed to act like a wild, crazy man. Pre-dark Erik goes out to the park and runs around with the other kids for hours. What are we going to do this winter? I’m scared.

My mom is painting the nursery. She’s been at it for three days and finally has a coat of paint on two walls. She is very frustrated because there is never time to get anything done around here. It’s “the baby is sleeping, the kid has to go to school, the groceries need to be bought, the party needs to be planned, the playdate needs to be had, the floor needs to be vacuumed, the kid has to be picked up from school, the baby needs to sleep, the doctor’s appointment must be attended, the gym would be a good idea, the kid needs to run around outside, the dinner needs to be cooked, the laundry needs to be done, the baby is sleeping, the baby is sleeping, the baby is stinky, the kid needs to go to karate. . . ” When do we have time to paint?

Now that she’s in the thick of it, I hope it goes quickly. The room is tore apart, as happens when you paint, and I am going insane. This is why I never start anything. I can’t stand the in-between stage and I know I won’t be able to get anything done in a timely manner.

In other news, I talked to Erik’s teacher today and she claims she doesn’t tell the kids they can’t scribble-scrabble. She said maybe he picked that up from the other kids. That does make sense. Kids can be know-it-all bossy bosses (at least my kid can be a know-it-all bossy boss). But really? From what she says when she talks to the parents? I think some of it has to be coming from her.

I guess I better go rescue my mom. I hear a very sad Elsa. She’s turning into such a mama’s girl. I love this stage of infancy! What a shocker, eh? I loved Erik more than life itself, but I certainly did not love this stage of infancy with him. Hard to love a stage that seems to mainly be screaming. I can’t get over how different these two babies are.

I don’t know why this didn’t post when I wrote it on Friday. Weird.

—-
We had such a fun day today! Bethany and Annalie came up for lunch and a playdate at our castle playground. It’s so fun to talk to someone new. I like my friends, but our conversations can get a little static. Talking with a blogger is nice because we already know a lot of deeper things about each other and know our beliefs and philosophies so don’t have to tip-toe around things.

Plus, Erik and Annalie get along great. She’s older than him so gives him a run for his money, which he desperately needs. He has a big personality and is very used to being in control, so it’s nice when he has to listen to someone else. Not that he would agree.

Bethany also got to see my beautiful baby and understand my frustration. She has the most beautiful smile, but as soon as you pull out the camera she gets a puzzled look on her face and won’t smile. It’s very disappointing since I want lots of pictures so I can remember the smiles.

The only bad thing: my mom moved my skillets to the drawer under the stove. I never use that drawer. It never occurred to me that the skillets would be super hot (I was baking corn bread at 400F), so when I grabbed the metal handle of the pan I seared my thumb and finger. Talk about intense pain.

I immersed it in water, which I try not to do with burns because it usually makes it hurt worse over time. I used aloe. Nothing was helping until Bethany told me to take some ibuprofen. I never would have thought of that on my own, but it certainly did help.

I can’t wait to see Bethany’s pictures. I didn’t take very many, mainly because my brain was not working. That seems to be my perpetual state. Maybe it will start working in a year or two? I hope.

In other news that will only excite about three of you, I’ve figured out a night diaper solution! We used disposables for awhile, but they give her a major rash. I guess it’s a good thing we decided to do cloth. Erik never had a diaper rash, but poor Elsa has my skin.

Anyway, after much trial and error I’ve figured out the she doesn’t leak when I put her in a Blueberry at night. It’s a pocket diaper with a really, really wide crotch. I only have two useable ones. I have three with velcro, but her tummy is so big that it hangs over and the velcro irritates her skin. My friend has a snap press so I’m going to have to see if she knows anything about converting them to snap diapers. I don’t want to buy any more because they are crazy expensive unless you buy them on clearance. They only stock their clearance store every few months and of course they stocked it last week. I figured out they work for me yesterday. Duh!

Tonight is Erik’s big karate graduation. I hope I’m able to take pictures. The charger for the camera is missing even though it is always supposed to be plugged into the outlet next to my chair. My mom claims she didn’t touch it. I can’t imagine Mike touched it. Where did it go? Who knows? I suppose I’ll have to bring my old camera as a back-up even though I hate it.

Did you know the karate place stinks to high heaven? Lordy lou that place is nasty. We’ve been going eight weeks, so I guess I had that stupid cold for eight weeks. I never noticed the smell before, but I thought I was going to puke from it last night. My friend says it has smelled like that since we started. I think I need to invest in a nose plug.

Ok, Miss Elsa is getting rowdy so I better go be a good mommy and take care of my kid.

I am so glad I had company on Friday! I am not the best housekeeper, but we cleaned the place up and made it presentable. We didn’t totally ruin it this weekend, thus I was able to host a huge impromptu Halloween party this afternoon. Crazy! Totally crazy!

I was somehow roped into being the planner for our Halloween party (mainly because I do the newsletter and when I e-mailed the board, asking who was hosting, no one replied). We were going to do it at a local park, but it sounded a bit boring so I bought a pinata and came up with a “pin the bone on the skeleton” game. I spent money! The party must happen!

I went outside to pack up the van and the skies looked like they were about to open. I checked the forecast and the downpour was supposed to start about 15 minutes after our party was supposed to start.

Life is so busy that there was no good time for me to reschedule, so I sucked it up and said I would host. At the time it was only going to be four families, but we ended up with seven families. If you’ve ever been to my house you are probably wondering where I put seven families.

Luckily it didn’t rain, so I put seven families out on the deck, out in the yard, and all over the basement. It was a squishy party. Very squishy.

Do you remember my theory that Erik acts like a lunatic right around his birthday and half birthday? Sure enough, he went insane and went on a major crying jag because he didn’t get to go first in the “pin the bone” game. It’s lovely to be a hostess when your kid is standing out in front of the new neighbor’s house, howling louder than any wolf ever dreamed, wearing a Darth Vader costume.

Other than that, I think things went pretty well and people had fun. Made for a crazy day for me, but when aren’t my days crazy?

We also had Erik’s five year appt and Elsa’s six month appt. He’s 43 pounds/42 inches and she’s 23 pounds/27 inches. He’s still 50th and 5th percentile. She’s off the charts for both height and weight.

The doctor asked me what I’m feeding her and I explained that I’m giving her cereal and mashed banana but she just spits it out. “Well, yes, but what are you giving her as a supplement?” She kept asking and didn’t seem to think I understood the question. I would say I just make rich breast milk, but I think it comes down to genetics. Erik had the same breast milk and he was just a little guy.

I know, logically, that she is really big, esp when I can’t fit her into 12 month clothing, but the point was really driven home when my neighbor came by with her son. He’s three days older than Elsa and makes her look like a linebacker. I wouldn’t say he’s tiny, but he’s dwarfed by Elsa.

Other than that, things are good with both kids. Elsa started crawling and clapping her hands yesterday, so we’re in for a world of trouble.

Erik decided he hates school because he is “nervous” that he’ll scribble-scrabble (what his teacher calls coloring outside the lines). I asked the doctor if that was a developmentally appropriate expectation and she started spitting fire. She said I need to talk to the teacher ASAP because there is no way most five year olds, especially boys, care enough to color inside the lines. I’m glad I’m not crazy. I also thought it was a little too much. I really hope this teacher doesn’t instill a dislike of school in Erik. I plan on talking to her tomorrow.

I was surprised by the very thorough genital exam that Erik received. He was not happy with it at all. I guess those exams are normal, but it was weird to see.

The doctor did please me immensely when she refused to give Elsa her vaccinations today. I was going to tell her I wanted to delay them until she was feeling better, but before I got the chance the doctor said that she wouldn’t give them today because of her cold. Score!

I don’t know when we will all ever get well. Mike has been coughing so hard that he thinks he broke a rib. Poor guy has some cough syrup, but that’s it. He is in AZ for a few days so I hope he was allowed to take it in his carry-on.

I guess I better go upstairs and see if Erik is asleep and Elsa is awake. My mom has been a huge help, but she is not familiar with our patterns and missed the moment of night diaper/pajama change time so I’m not sure what’s going to happen tonight.