Back from Vacation

If parenting six kids has taught me anything, it's that parenting anything under six kids is a flippin' walk in the park.

In our herd, we have just about every flavor monkey you can imagine. We have monkeys with learning differences. Monkeys that are brilliant. Monkeys that are bossy, monkeys that smell (good or bad, we're not particular), monkeys that whine, monkeys that are amazingly kind, monkey that are dour, monkeys that are hilarious and on any given day, monkeys that are all of the above.

No joke.

So when I decided to go as the SOLO parent to Disneyland with all the monkeys that were available-- which turned out to be only the 3 that I birthed-- I was completely undaunted. In fact, so used to the million monkey march am I, that I invited one of my sister's kids to go with us, to make up for the dramatic loss in numbers.

Oh my GAWD, I am so AWESOME.

FACT: I did take 4 kids to Disneyland, and I was the only parent.

FICTION: I am not awesome. My sister's kid is easier to parent than... something really easy to parent. I don't know what that would be. He is compliant, helpful, kind, mannerly, easy to be around, witty, and distinctly likable, at least in a 2 and a half day stint. We didn't get to day 3, so I have no idea if he smells like fish at that point.

But I will say with all the sincerity that I can muster, it was an easy trip. Mostly because my sister's kid, like my oldest, is 14. He is also my oldest son's best friend. And he and my son hung out with my 11-year old, who felt super cool in the company of teenagers (even if it did include his older brother). So my trip to Disneyland as the solo parent largely consisted of me entertaining my four-year old.

Which if parenting six kids has taught me anything, it's that parenting my four-year old is the hardest thing EVER in human existence... but generally only when she is hungry or tired. Or breathing.

FACT: Hanging out with a four-year old in Disneyland just might be the best way to experience the wonder of that place.

No Fiction.

It was a great trip.

Harry Gets Braces!!

The process:
The product:

Whaddayacallit?

Last Thursday, one of the sunshiniest people I know got her tonsils removed. Gabby, my eight- year old stepdaughter --

--wait. Is that the right word, if I'm not married to her father, but rather, actively choosing instead to have a life-partnership sans fluffy white dress, bad hair and overlong ceremony?

Call it my subtle protest against the people who are against gay marriage.

Call it my even-more subtle way of flipping the bird at "the man."

Call it living in delicious, wrongful sin-- if sin can be delicious while you're busy conscientiously building a life and family for six kids, two dogs and a cat in the process. (I believe it can.)

HERE'S MY ISSUE (well, an issue) : What are the names for things if you have no ring? What do I call wonderful Gabby, if in fact my Parter In Crime (hence, PIC) and I are not formally tied?

Okay and ANOTHER issue: A car loan, three bank accounts and our lease pretty much effing TIE us, I would think. So why can we not be considered domestic partners? (My office won't consider us as such until we've been one-full year in our current living arrangement. DETAILS.)

And then PIC himself. I am a WOMAN. A thirty-seven year old WOMAN. Children have passed through the hallowed halls of my birth canal. Further, PIC is a MAN. A man who "discovered the wheel and built the Eiffel Tower out of metal and brawn!" I REFUSE TO CALL HIM MY BOYFRIEND.

...ahem.

That said... I want a relationship word for the three monkeys I coparent, whom I happen to care about greatly and-- dare I say it-- LOVE and for whom I have similar dreams and hopes and desires as my biological monkeys: that they grow into happy, functioning adults.

My three whaddayacallems.

Bad mommy

I heard a small voice shouting at me from across the house, and I actually sank lower into my chair. In some kind of ridiculous way, I was attempting to hide even more quietly in my room, while at my computer. I got all still-like, similar to a mouse who's trying to go undetected. The problem is, I'm mommy -- which is EXACTLY like being a brown mouse hiding quietly against a white background. Or like a horn blaring through the silence. Or like a searchlight existing on a dark night. Or... you get the idea.

No worky.

What makes my shrinking particularly silly is that I was entirely alone, behind a closed door in my bedroom, working quietly at my computer which FACES A WALL. I was actually trying to hide what would technically be IN FRONT of my computer, thus remaining in plain sight.

It makes no sense. I know that now.

Seconds later, my brilliant secret lair was infiltrated. A four-year old burst through the door, her hyena-like chatter filling the room with a barky, non-stop patois laced with too many pronouns to follow logically.

POINT: If I lived in the wild, I would be hyena food right now. WORST HIDER EVER.

Post Game Analysis: Week Six

The week started with a delicious blessing -- PIC and I had the WHOLE WEEKEND to ourselves, sans children. We are occasionally blessed with such unfettered time, and we luxuriated over it. we slept in on Saturday, read the paper, lazed about, and then went car shopping.

Apparently that killed the day right there.

Is there anything more exhausting than shopping for a flipping CAR?? (Well, duh. Don't answer that.) I had forgotten that the whole process takes many, many, many hours,even though we picked out what we wanted right away. and the woman who helped us with our contract.... we are somewhat convinced she's a meth addict. A rare meth addict with all her teeth, but still...

Sunday we went for a lovely bike ride, a 26-miler, whereupon PIC's front wheel went ballistic and busted out two spokes at the same time. The front tire was so out of balance, the wheel couldn't even rotate. that was at mile 12. I jammed home and returned with our new pride and joy (aka new car).

When we got home, my sunny and relaxed demeanor was replaced with aches and sniffles, and WHAM! Full-blown sinus infection (no pun intended). YES, for the LOVE OF GAWD, I will STOP writing about my ILLNESS.

For me that was week six. All of it. I was incapacitated for several days, and finally just now am surviving. and PIC's kids have returned back home. We are a blended family once again, with two (currently) whole coparents.

They're ALL somebody's children

The war in Iraq is horrific. I am not a fan of war, period, and I don't know anyone who is. The people that fight -- on all sides -- all of them are somebody's children.


I feel some sense of justice knowing that the very man who guided us into this morass has faced the consequences of his decision. And in doing so, hopefully now knows deep sorrow. (And perhaps some intense insomnia to go with it.)

Hey Moms: Cool Find

I didn't need to see Michael Moore's "Sicko" to know that America's health care system leaves something to be desired. But half my battle is getting my busy rump to the doctor's office in the first place, simply so I can go on to complain about the expensive, shabby service later on.

And then, by the time I DO make an appointment, I am forced to spend too much on the copay or the deductible; spend too much for the prescription (if the doctor deigns to give me something); spend too much time taking antibiotics (with that lovely yeast infection side affect); and eventually spend way too much of my life in the whole sick/avoiding-what-needs-to-be-done/finally-taking-care-of-it process.

And sometimes, when one of my many monkeys wakes at 3 a.m. with an earache-- well, what's a mom to do? I hate the do-I/don't-I go to the emergency room dance.

Found EarthClinic.com today, offering a slew of tried and true remedies for various ailments RIGHT THERE in my very own kitchen.

So next time, while I am avoiding the doctor, I can try to help myself. Which, hopefully, will save me time and money in the end.

Nasal Irrigation with an Apple Cider Vinegar Chaser

This morning as I applied water to my sandpaper-like mouth, I finally succumbed to partaking of an old homeopathic remedy for a sinus infection. Why I waited I don't know... I mean, other than it is really kind of gross and not something anyone should allow others to view.

On the upside, if you desire breathing again, it works.

SINUS IRRIGATION:
Dissolve approximately 1/2 tsp. salt in 1/2 c. of lukewarm water. The salt to water ratio only matters if you don't want to endure PAIN during the process. too much salt, and you will experience discomfort. Too little, and it will be worse. Same goes with water temperature-- make sure the temperature is as close to your body temperature as possible.

Using a clean baby nose syringe, tilt your head back, and squirt the saline solution into one nostril. Snort it through, and spit it out.

Usually this step make me sputter and cough when the solution hits my throat. Hence the prettiness. It's amazing what you find has made it's way up your nose. Ick.

I decided to Google Sinus Infection, because while this amazing little homeopathic remedy does not cure the infection, per se, it does make breathing entirely possible.

In my result, I read huge support for the consumption of apple cider vinegar as an actual cure to the infection, along with other useful tidbits (Grapefruit Seed Extract, anyone?).

I'm trying all of it. Well, maybe not snorting the cayenne pepper.

Icky.

"I feel icky.
Oh so icky.
I feel icky
and yucky
and
gaaayyy!!!"

I could sooo be a songwriter. Unfortunately I'm too busy trying to see past the searing pain of my sinuses to care. Four days of this. It's gotta end at some point. Right?

I mean... right?

uy.

Guitar Hero III

Addiction is a small word that speaks volumes. I am struggling to live the dreams of my youth as I rock out with PIC to my favorite songs.

But having played, and realizing my middle and ring fingers are FAR too close together, methinks that maybe my true calling was the base. Seriously.

All I know is, my game character looks sweet in her tight jeans with "ELECTRIC" tattooed across her flat abs.

I sit in my sweats and grungy t-shirt ("Team Building Exercise '99!"), hair crumpled up in a make-shift ponytail... Eyes drooping, glands swollen, sinuses stuffed, throat scratchy and at times, dizziness overtaking me-- I proceed to somehow jam through AFI's "Miss Murder". I do my best to compete at the EASY level on BASE, missing half the notes and forging on simply because... in my mind: I AM that sexy guitar hero.

I coulda been a contenduh.

Post Game Analysis: Week Five

Down one (off at camp) and still it was the Hardest Week Yet.

Offhand, I would say we are dealing with the following issues:

* Teenage-ism: Also known as "I know all, parents are so out of it"-ism.
* Aspergers Syndrome: Both diagnosed, and the Suspected-yet-Undiagnosed. In life, in general, sometimes there are no explanations for why certain things bother certain people. We all have our peccadilloes, it's true. The difference is, with most people, you can anticipate EXACTLY what those peccadilloes might be. With Aspbies, it might just be the way you say "maybe" combined with the light levels in the room.
* Toddlerism: They own the world. Why even try?
* Depression: I think it lurks, loudly, like the zebra crapping endlessly in the living room that everyone sees and pointedly doesn't duscuss. Help is needed. But first, doctor's need to return PHONE CALLS so APPOINTMENTS can be made.
* Bossiness: Six kids. Duh.
* Grumpiness: That's me when low on caffeine.
* Lonliness: Even when the room is full, some people still feel off-put.

It's a great big household. THANK GAWD PIC and i have the weekend sans kids.
:^)

Merry Commercialism Season

Thank you, severely blond neighborhood real estate lady, for that wonderful holiday card/calendar/refrigerator magnet you left on my doorstep. It was so thoughtful of you to be the very FIRST to remind me of the importance of the holiday season by simultaneously wishing me "Holiday Blessings" and also informing me of the many services you provide neighbors such as myself. I was not only amazed by your prompt delivery of your card -- NOVEMBER 1! -- but impressed by its ability to multitask.

Your card/calendar/magnet makes me want to shout thanks to the heavens for all those hard-working people in third world countries who made it possible for me to receive such an amazing thing, so useful, so almost personalized.

In fact, thank you third-world people for working so hard so I can decorate my home with a truckload of plastic crap. You all know what I mean-- the largely-unrealistic, highly-cheap decorator items I get at TargetWalgreensCostcoRiteAidEnterNameOfChainStoreHere, the items that popped out on display on the morning of October 31 so I would know that the official start of the holiday season officially started a month earlier than last year. Officially.

No sooner did I remove the Styrofoam gravestones, synthetic skeletons, and polyurethane pumpkins from my yard, than was I greeted with all kinds of kitschy, colorful doo-dads to announce that the season of peace and goodwill toward humankind was underway-- just right down the aisle from the "Support Our Troops" car magnets, wouldn't you know.

Yes, thank you China -- and all you other third world countries whose names are not important enough for me to commit to memory -- for trading your clean water and clean air and stunting your children's futures so that my family and I might enjoy the freon and lead-based pine tree in our living room, or the ozone depleting, life-sized snow globe in my neighbor's front yard... ESPECIALLY since I live in an arid region and likely wouldn't be able to fully grasp the concept of the holiday season without these man-made nature-knock-offs...

Moreover, thank you big business for helping me truly see this vast, gaping hole in my life and producing everything any individual could possibly imagine, just so I could fill it. And all for a very reasonable price.