On "hipster" parents

I admit, I fall into the description of "hipster" parents.

I've read all sorts of things about the topic lately, but Mom101 says it best.

The Final Word on Hipster Parenting. (Oh, Who am I Kidding.)

This will give you a taste of the piece. She quotes an article that slams the idea and gives her own insight:

So I'd hate to think that when I hit the streets of Brooklyn (who knew we were making such a hipster move when we got there; and here I was thinking we had simply gotten priced out of Manhattan) with my new baby in her Doc Maarten booties, that it will lead David Brooks and his ilk to leap to make value judgments about me. Especially when those value judgments are that I'm self-absorbed, emotionally stunted, and unfit to breed. Or, as it was expressed in the column: "Parents who refuse to face that their days of chaotic, unscheduled moshing are over."

Oh, how I mourn my days of unscheduled moshing, truly I do. Why, an impromptu mosh would really hit the spot right now. You got me there, David.

Random link Tuesday

I forgot to post yesterday with a random link, so you'll get one today.

Anyone who would frequent this place has WAY too much money and free time.

Oy!

waving the white flag

That's it. I give up. I can't take any more of the disappointment, the drama, the mess, the vomiting or the screaming and crying. I'm done.

I surrender.

Silver lining

When The Boy woke up from his nap (2 hours early), I brought him into bed with me. He only stopped screaming when the sisters came in. So they went, grabbed a toy for him and played with him to keep him quiet. When he, further investigating this new fangled technology we like to call "Gravity," kept throwing the toy, his sisters happily played fetch with him.

I've never been close with one of my sisters (emotionally or physically). She was 17 when I was born and didn't have much room for a baby sister. We plan on moving out her way in about 2 years. She sent me a card today. It reads,

I wish you where here, so that we could have done something together on your birthday. But I know that it will be soon that we are together and we can spend many more birthdays together. Have a great day.
Love Your Big Sis,

That made me smile. She's not one for sharing emotions or getting sappy, so that really meant a lot to me.

Dh went out and got me Starbucks. Granted, I forgot to ask for the decaf variety and I didn't get it until 8:30 at night, so chances are I'll be up all night, but hey, Girl2 is still throwing up, so I suppose that could be useful.

I vote to move my birthday. A friend thought it was the 28th. Maybe I should celebrate it then instead. Although, when shit like this happened a few years ago and I tried the same thing, I just wound up being disappointed twice because nothing happened on the Unbirthday day either. :::sigh:::

And the hits just keep on comin'.

Girl2 is throwing up. There will be no going out for my birthday. There will, however, be lots and lots of cleaning up, rubbing backs and filling the tub for her.

The little old man no longer smacks my hand. He now chases me with a cattle prod yelling, "No restaurant for YOUUUUUUU."

The rest of the day absolutely sucked. Dh has yet to wish me a, "Happy birthday." None of my friends have called. No one on my board made any mention of the day. That includes one board where mine is the first birthday they've missed. They even keep a birthday list up on top that has today listed as my birthday.

Lots of other stuff has happened to tick me off. I am NOT a happy camper.

Blah

So, guess what I am? I believe the technical term for this feeling would be, "Blah."

I'm just feeling down lately for a number of reasons.

Restaurants hate me. I never get to go to them. I love them dearly, but they apparently have some sort of force field that keeps me away. About this fact, I am greatly displeased.

Yesterday, plans to go out to eat with friends got nixed which ticked me off more than I realized. So I hit the phone and called a bunch of friends trying to find someone I could meet up with for a change of lunch plans. Everyone was either sick, busy or at work.

So I told dh we'd go out for dinner. He was fine with that (which is odd because he hates going out to eat), but then that got nixed because my kids headed for Pestville at warpspeed and I refuse to reward bad behavior with a trip to any place that they adore. So yet another chance at going out was nixed. Can't you just see some little old man smacking my hand away screeching, "No restaurant for YOUUUUUU?"

I wanted Starbucks tonight after the Nutless Wonder's training class which is conveniently right across from a Starbucks, but that didn't happen for a number of reasons. My fault because I didn't say I wanted it, but I'm getting annoyed with dh's ability to get huffy lately. I didn't want to deal with the passive aggressive sighing, so I didn't say anything.

I adore Starbucks. Anyone who knows anything about me knows I love my iced coffee drinks with a frightening passion. So any time one is within 100 or so feet of a Starbucks, one should know to ask. One should make absolutely certain he/she offers me coffee when it is just hours before my birthday, there is a Starbucks right there and one is well aware that not only is said Starbucks within reach, but it can actually be on the way home if you just make one simple left turn. But, alas, no Starbucks.

I'm sensing this is going to be yet another in a LONG line of sucky birthdays. Last year, for the first time in a long time, I actually had a good day. The previous year had been a tough one, so I threw myself a birthday party. I needed it. I had a blast. This year, no party and no definite plans for anything. Every year, I hope for something, but that never happens.

Grrrrr. I love my birthday. I just hate that it gets screwed up year after year. There's so much potential, but it usually gets squashed.

Let's see how many people forget it completely. Let's see how many people stumble across this entry and say, "Oh shit! It was her birthday?"

Screw this. I'm going to bed.

In the eternal words of Eric Cartman: "Screw you guys. I'm going home." That and, "Mooooom. Kitty's being a dildo," but that last one really has nothing to do with this entry. Except, maybe that last word.

FTR, after about 12:30 pm tomorrow, I'll be home. If you have any clue where I live and you're in my metro area, feel free to show up at my door with coffee. Just don't expect me to invite you in. I have 3 kids, a dog, 2 cats, a husband who zones out with a book (when he's not sighing about granola bars), way too much junk of which I'm trying to dispose and a nice heaping case of malaise. Plus until just a few hours ago, it was Shabbat and G-d expressly said, "Dude, it's MY day. Step away from the mop!" Really, it's in there. Just bust out your copy of the Tanakh and you'll find it there. I promise.

The granola bar martyr

And now let me introduce you to the bane of my existence: granola bars. These are yummy, chewy, happy granola bars that are cheap and are only 2 points for those doing Weight Watchers. Every week, dh buys a big box of them. And every week, he bitches about the fact that I eat them all and he doesn't get any. Yet every week, he doesn't EVEN TRY TO EAT ANY. WTF? I grabbed two after we went food shopping last week. That prompted the damn passive aggressive sigh. It was lunch time, I hadn't eaten, and we still had to sit there and wait for the kids to get out of Sunday school. Shut up. Sit down. And give me my freaking granola bars!

The other day, he reached in for a granola bar (which is a shock because he never does until the day before we go shopping). He saw there were only 2 left and declared (with a heavy sigh), that he wasn't going to have one because there were only two left. I told him to eat one. He didn't. I then told him he doesn't get to play that game. You can't bitch just to bitch. You can't bitch when there aren't any and then bitch when there are. None left? "Oh woe is me, by the time I got there, you had eaten them all and there was nothing left for me." A few left? "There were only two left, so I couldn't have any. Doesn't matter that you told me to have one. I can't play the freaking martyr if I actually eat a granola bar. So I'll just stand here and whine instead." My husband, the granola bar martyr.

This is getting really old. I've taken to hiding when I eat the damn granola bars because I don't want to hear it. That pisses me off because I'm an adult. I shouldn't have to hide to eat my own damn food.

Oy. I'm just not in a good mood lately (more on that later) and this shit is pissing me off big time. Keep it up. Let's see how granola bars work as projectiles.

Reason to love homeschooling #372

Dh has been reading the Emma books to the girls at bedtime. Emma is an 8-year-old living with her mother. They have a friend's 4-year-old little boy staying with them.

In the story, Emma doesn't like the little boy. They don't get along. Dh tried to explain to the girls that it's because Emma is older, so she'd rather play with kids her age and she finds the little boy obnoxious. The girls don't understand. They're homeschooled. They play with kids of all ages and kids of all ages willingly play with them.

Here's the gist of the reply dh got to his attempt to explain the age thing:

But Cecilia is 8. We're little, but she plays with us. She likes to play with us. Her sister is 9 and she plays with us too. We like playing with them. They have beads. We play dress up with them. We put on fashion shows with them.

At a field trip in October, the mom of the aforementioned sisters summed it up nicely. The kids were all playing on a haystack and a boy of about 12 called for another little boy to play with him. This friend of mine asked, "In what public school would you find a pre-teen willing to play with a 4-year-old?"

Civilians

When you're Jewish, you have the word "Goy." It basically means "non-Jews," but it's usually used when someone is completely clueless.

In military life, civilians are our goyim. When someone makes a stupid comment or makes it clear that they have no concept of how the military works, you shrug your shoulders and say, "You can't blame him. He's a civlian." If they say something particularly stupid, you usually pepper that with a few expletives.

Dh has started interviewing for civilian jobs. He starts his terminal leave in less than a month. His separation date is the end of May.

The prospect of being a civlian family frightens me. I've been a military wife for so long now. Our kids have always been military "brats." This isn't just a job, it's a way of life. I'm glad dh is abandoning his military career (never thought I'd say that) because it's obvious that it's not the best place for him (which sucks because he has gotten all kinds of honors and awards, but the current administration has screwed up royally and that directly affects the military). Still, everything we know is about to change and that's scary as hell.

Operation Get This Crap Out Of My House: Day 1

Inspired by Kamrin's quest to simplify her life towards the end of last year, I decided to do the same. That whole ordeal started today. When you're a pack rat, that is not an easy task. Oy!

After dh and I folded and put away a few loads of laundry last week, we were left with the realization that we have more clothes for the kids than we have room. Mind you, the girls have a closet and an armoire, the latter of which they now have to share with their brother because his clothes no longer fit in his dresser.

That's it! Not only am I going to stop buying all this crap, I'm also going to sort through the clothes and get rid of a bunch. Those that we borrowed from friends will go back to their rightful home. Anything anyone else gave us will be given away (I'm not comfortable selling things that other folks have given us). Some items will be passed to my sister. Everything else will be sold either at an upcoming consignment sale or at one of the local kids' consignment stores.

I sorted clothes today. Oh my word! My kids have more clothes than any 5 or 6 kids could need. And mind you, that's only what we had out. There are boxes and boxes in the attic. I'll sort through them when I'm feeling a bit more ambitious. Right now, I'm far too tired.

We're not just forcing the kids to simplify. Dh and I sorted through old magazines today. A huge stack went to the recycling dumpster type thing at a local church (not sure what the official title is). That left us with two empty plastic storage boxes. Woo hoo. After sorting through the kids' clothes, I got another one emptied. Yay to getting rid of crap and freeing up some space.

Next step, consolidate the two giant plastic boxes of diapers into just one. Then donate all the extra liners/covers. Sure, I cloth diapered twins, but thanks to generous friends, I actually have enough liners/covers to diaper 4 babies. That's AFTER I gave some away to a foster mom two years ago. So some of this has got to go.

I'm exhausted and a bit overwhelmed (to be honest, WAY more than just a bit), but it's also so freeing. I'm just beginning to realize how much having all this stuff around weighs me down. It leaves the place cluttered. It means we're constantly cleaning or moving things around. I'm really looking forward to pairing down to only what we need and use.

On the agenda: stop obsessively checking the super cheap jewelry website & definitely stop buying more pretty shiny useless crap from there.

What a doll (with a penis)!

For a while there, I went on a rampage--the type of rampage where, when one is finished, one has bunches of plastic babies with bits. Yes, I went on an anatomically correct doll buying rampage.

When dh came home last time, I had 2-year-olds who could accurately and without hesitation tell you about their girl bits. When they saw their daddy naked, though, they were a bit baffled. "Vulva," they asked questioningly when they saw him in the shower (and yes, it was complete with pointing). Hey, there hadn't been a penis in this house in months until dh came home. What do ya expect? Daddy didn't like that at all. He tried to explain the concept of the penis, but alas, they didn't understand.

So I scoured the stores, the internet and the ebay. There were none in the stores (what's up with that? Is Toys R Us afraid of the power of a tiny plastic penis?). I got a bunch of plastic dolls from E-bay, but most of them broke. Then I found these. Three years later, we still have the Hispanic boy doll (which the girls named NoDoubt. Don't ask because even I don't know). I love that doll. It's adorable.

So when I saw them featured at Cool Mom Picks, I had to say a hearty, "ITA."

FTR, they now understand the whole boy/girl thing and are no longer baffled by the penis. In fact, when changing their little brother (yes, they change him too), they're very likely to announce in a sing-songy voice, "Oh look, he found his penis. Do you like your penis?"

I love my kids. They have cute toys and they crack me up.

I love my husband.

We have always boycotted Valentine's Day. We think it's a stupid Halmark holiday. Although, now the girls are old enough to really appreciate it. So we opted to celebrate it for them. We had agreed to just buy/do something for/with them, but dh surprised me.

First off, on his lunch break, he went to the store and bought them Valentine's gifts. What did my tough military husband get? Two blinking tiaras that come complete with matching clip-on earrings and rings. Oh and a pack of bracelets too. The kids adore them. I love that dh isn't afraid to be seen buying tiaras and even more than that, I'm thrilled that he's the type of dad who knows what his kids like.

Then he surprised me. He got me a gift. He warned me, "It's not your standard Valentine's Day gift."

What was it? Strawberry Daiquiri mix and tequila. The man is GOOD.

Mother knows best

The doctor "poo-poo-ed" us when we called about the kids' fevers. He insisted it was nothing and would take care of itself. I decided if they still had fevers today (a full week later), I would make an appointment. I had a feeling they had a secondary infection. The nasal congestion started in full-force just today.

Sure enough, after an exam, the doctor agrees. I don't like to take/give drugs when not necessary, but when needed, I want 'em and I want 'em now (or a week after the onset of the illness, whichever comes first). All the kids' got prescriptions. Oddly, he wrote one for the girls and a different one (Amoxicillin) for The Boy. I asked him to switch it and he did without a question. Dh and I are allergic to Penicillin as is Girl2. We don't know about Girl1 because this very same doctor won't let her try it. He said we're better off just assuming she is allergic since chances are she is. So it was strange when he prescribed it for The Boy.

Anyway, the kids have been dosed and are now on their way to feeling better. Yay. Maybe I can save my sanity after all.

And I must point out that I WAS RIGHT. I do so love that phrase. :-)

Random link Monday

Okay, I need a break from the sick kids (yes, they're STILL sick. The doctor finally agreed to see us later today), so here are a few links from my "funny" folder:

A collection of interesting and fun links
You can waste lots of time here. From building your own action figure to a warning sign generator, there's something for everyone.

Bald Guy Greetings
Funny cards. I particularly like this first birthday one and this multi-occasion one as well.

Postcards
A friend of a friend made these. They crack me up.

The Rudy Letters
Here's the official discription:
A man, a computer, and too much free time on his hands. Prepare to enter the complex and oddly alluring world of Rudy.

Now go forth and enjoy the linky goodness.

This is how you know it’s love.

I don't know what initially brought dh and me together. He was not at all what I thought I wanted. He thought I was cute, but I don't believe he had any serious plans of asking me out. Yet 10 years ago, we met, started dating, and made our way to this time and place.

I adore my husband for many reasons--far too many to list, but I want to write about one of them.

After a conversation the other evening, though, I came to a realization. We started this journey as a couple because we were in love. Contrary to what the Beatles would have us believe (even if the song is oh so wonderful), love is not all you need. Love is the foundation, but you need trust, you need security, you need to compliment one another, you need to have a similar vision of the future, you need to be willing to work through the rough spots, you need sensitivity.

You need a huge helping of fun. You need to be able to have fun together, not at the other one's expense.

Dh and I had the strangest conversation the other night that left me giggling, shaking my head, and realizing just how much I love my husband (and how lucky we are to have that). I swear this is the dumbest thing and it won't translate well, but follow me anyhow.

We had a discussion the other evening about whether or not Oprah would feature a levitating cat on her show. We never did come to an agreement (he says, "Yes," I say, "Not unless it also starts spouting off something about honoring your spirit,"), but we cracked up laughing. In the same conversation, we covered topics from Batman to _Jane Eyre_.

The fact that we can have these discussions (serious and absolutely freaking insane) and can still laugh together is one of the reasons we're still together today.

For that, I am very thankful. For him, I'm more grateful than I could ever say (and trust me, I talk A LOT, so for me to be left speechless is a huge deal).

Random linky goodness

A friend sent me this and I must share:

Barbie as you've never seen her before.

I don't like Barbie. I have huge issues with Barbie dolls and the roles they play in female gender identity and body image. That being said, I LOVE that link and I love Margaux Lange's designs. She's SO creative and she definitely works outside the box.

the strangest thing (finding peace)

I had the strangest realizations today.

So, you'll remember that I've been bitching for months about some baby-related things.

Today, a whole host of things happened that should have ticked me off. Not only did they not in the least, but I actually realized I'm grateful for where I am at this point in time.

I went to a homebirth meeting. We discussed what typical homebirths are like and how even with most hospital transfers, the baby's are born vaginally with no drugs. That was very much not my experience.

I keep thinking that should have bothered me, but it didn't. Even when my very favorite midwife mentioned how physical abnormalities that make it impossible for babies to fit through the pelvis are very rare, I didn't get all "Woe is me," about it.

I know things could have gone very differently with my first pregnancy when I saw an OB (long story short, but the OB didn't do her job and I got very sick and had an emergency c-section 2 months too soon as a direct result), but I'm beginning to let that go. I learned from that experience and it has made all the difference. Maya Angelou had it right, "When you know better, you do better." I made a mistake in seeking Obstetric care. I have since learned the difference between the midwifery model of care and Obstetric care. I am blessed to have been fortunate enough to experience midwifery care with my second pregnancy rather than just clinging to what was familiar.

I was shocked to find that I think I have forgiven everything surrounding The Boy's birth. I know now that there is no way my son would have been born vaginally. It wasn't anyone's fault--not mine, not the doctor, not G-d's. No one could have done anything any differently.

At the meeting, a friend asked, "What if you transfer to the hospital and you refuse a c-section." It occured to me, "Wait, I did just that." Granted, I eventually signed the damn consent and had him sliced out of me because I'm one of the rare few cases that really needed one, but I went down fighting. I refused until I had a chance to exhaust my options. I didn't give up. I didn't buckle under pressure. It wasn't a waste because I proved my own strength. I find a lot of strength in that fact.

I find I'm not villifying my second c-section any longer. I still think the rates are WAY too high in the States and all this bull with not allowing VBACs in some states has got to stop, but I'm actually grateful that the procedure exists. We need to cut this shit out when we reach for the scalpel just because the doctor wants to make more money ($2,000 for a vaginal birth vs. $5-10,000 for a c-section), their "Chicken Little mentality" has them insisting there "could" be a danger when it's actually not likely, the hospital staff is tired of waiting for mom to labor on her own, or just because it happens to be a day ending in Y (a nod to Giselle for using one of her catch phrases); but when used effectively (and only when there's a true physical need), c-sections save lives. Twins are typically smaller than singletons, so with better care, there's a chance that I could have birthed my twins vaginally, but there's no chance that The Boy would have been born that way. Without a c-section, I would have died as would my son. I am the rare case (2% vs. the 30-some-odd % currect c-section rate in the U.S.) that truly needed that surgery. Words cannot express how thrilled I am that I had the option.

At the end of the meeting, it occured to me that I was the only woman present who wasn't pregnant. And you know what? That didn't bother me at all.

I'm actually grateful to NOT be pregnant right now. Dh is about to end his military career (well, the active duty part at least). He has only just begun to interview for new jobs. The Boy is still young (I like at least a 3 year age difference between my kids, not counting those that come as a matched set). My body will have a much better chance for a successful VBAC if we wait at least 2 full years after The Boy was born to start trying. There are things I'll need to do/avoid next time around and I'm just not ready to go there yet. I like that I'm giving myself time to adjust first.

This has been my biggest issue for a long time. It has torn my heart out and made me absolutely miserable. So it's very strange to, all of a sudden, find such peace with it. I am imensely thankful for that. I am just in awe of it all.

The silver lining

The girls are still sick. The Boy is apparently done with it all after just one day and no meds. G-d bless breastfeeding!

There was a really cute bright spot today. The girls huddled together on the couch this morning and Girl1 started singing to her sister to make her feel better.

Nothing brightens your day quite like hearing the deep congested voice of your sick little one singing "The Brave Old Duke of York" to her equally sick sister all while they're hugging each other cuddled up under the blankets.

Quite possibly the most inappropriate survey question I have ever answered:

"What places, if any, have you or anyone in your household purchased a glazed, spiral-cut ham from in the past 12 months?"

Bwa ha ha ha ha.

Unfortunately there's no box that reads, "I'm a Jew. I don't eat pig corpse, but I do have this* hanging on my fridge."

*

Thank you, sir, may I have another?

And the hits just keep on coming.

More kids are sick. We almost took Girl1 to the ER. I planned a dinner with friends only to have to cancel.

I called the sister and made plans to go out to eat with her. We were going to invite along the newly pregnant friend that I missed at lunch. I was leaving the kids with dh, shopping with the sister, then dinner.

When I came home, Girl1 was feeling much better. Then Girl2 got sick. She had a fever, but she put herself to bed. That NEVER happens. My girls stopped napping right after their second birthday.

The bright spot of the day was that without prompting, Girl1 colored a picture, brought it in to her sister, gave it to her and said, "I made this. It's a card for you to make you feel better."

Then Girl1 crashed on the couch. I know Christians believe in signs of the Apocolypse. I'm telling you, my girls willingly putting themselves down for a nap should be on that list. You know that if that happens, the news is not good.

Girl1 woke from her nap hours later still with a fever, but feeling much better. Girl1 woke crying. She had a fever of 104.7. I tried desperately to keep my calm while I called the doctor's after hours number. I waited and didn't hear anything. I gave her some more Motrin and a hot bath (I've heard cold baths can be dangerous with a fever). She came down to 103. An hour later, the doctor called back and told dh not to worry. Unless she absolutely refuses to eat or drink, don't be concerned even if her fever goes as high as 106 or 107.

Wait. Wait. Wait. I adore my doctor, but that's bull. I know kids can survive higher fevers than adults, but when they're that high, there's a risk of brain damage. A call to a friend who is a nurse as well as a checking in with a friend who is an Occupational Therapist and whose husband is a physician confirmed my fears and told us that should her fever get above 103, to get her to the hospital.

The doctor suspects we have the Flu. He says we'll probably all get it. Yet he didn't offer to call in a prescription for Tamiflu and he's now completely unreachable. Grrr. I like to avoid pills whenever possible, but I'm all for a medication that keeps my entire famly from suffering and possible trips to the ER.

I left our plans up to the sister and she bailed. I completely understand. She's awfully pregnant and the last thing she needs is to get the Flu. Still, it sucks. I wanted to hang out. I wanted yummy food. I wanted to spend some time with friends. Not gonna happen.

This also means no gym for me tomorrow. The gym is what keeps my sanity. Plus I'm in a contest there for the most inches lost. This is the last week of the contest. Missing 2 days (remember, I missed today because of my meeting) is not going to help. GAH.

This sucks. See that corner over there? I'm gonna go sit there and pout now. Wait, first I'll treat myself to some of that wine. I do have a whole gallon after all.