This time of year, more than any other, the pressure is intense to get everything just right.  Pressure to be ready, pressure to go above and beyond, pressure to stop focusing on the wrong details, pressure to enjoy the season.

So many mixed messages.  "Are you ready?  Not much time left.  Hurry up!  Slow down.  More, bigger, better!  Simplify.  Shop till you drop.  Cherish family.  Enjoy the season!  Remember the meaning of it all."  All of the voices whispering.  "You're doing it wrong.  Get it together.  This is of utmost importance and you are blowing it."


Last week sickness hit the family.  Sickness.  Now.  Like I have time for this.  As if I don't have enough going on.  Sickness.

And when it finally passed, and I took a look around, I saw major setback.  I was already behind in my preparations.  My house wasn't quite clean enough to start getting out all the decorations.  I hadn't even pulled out the Advent stuff.  I was so behind.  Then add another week of just dragging ourselves through.  And do you know what happens to the house while I am waiting on two sick littles?  It gets wrecked.  Dishes piled up high and so much laundry.

I haven't even had time to address all the Christmas cards.  And I have already received two.  Two moms that have it more together than I do.

On St. Nicholas Day I forgot to put out their gifts until half way through the day.  I had to do the whole, sneak it out and try to pretend they have been there the whole time and no one noticed.

And here we are half way through Advent and we haven't even gotten out the Advent calendar.  Or the Jesse tree.  We haven't started making homemade ornaments for the Jesse tree like I promise every year we will do "next year."  Another year goes by and I still don't even own an Advent wreath.

And all the Pinterest moms are doing it so much better.

I remember my own childhood.  I remember doing the Jesse tree every year and lighting the candles on the Advent wreath.  I remember excitedly opening the doors on our Advent calendar.

I want my children to have those same memories.  To understand what Christmas is really about.

Mom had it together.  At least that's the way I remember it.  Funny thing is, I don't know for sure.  Did we always have all those things every year?  Did we ever get half way through Advent before we managed to dig it all out.  Maybe mom felt the same way I do and we were just too young to notice.  Maybe what really mattered was what we did and not what we didn't do.

Maybe other mothers have it less together than I think they do.  My friend, who sent the first card of the season.  Confided in me that half her cards went out without stamps.  Now she has to readdress and resend all those cards.  I'm ashamed to have felt a little relieved when she told me that.

I watch my kids get excited about their little pipe cleaner Advent wreaths.  And argue about who will get to put today's part of "The Story of Christmas" on the little tree.  And add a little bit of straw yarn to their wrapping paper tube manger to get it ready for the clothespin baby Jesus on Christmas.  In the back of my mind I see that box in the closet with all the other Advent items I haven't gotten out.  I don't even have the Nativity up!  Flashes of the Pinterest board, with all the other amazing ideas to take things above and beyond, fill my head.


Then I hear the Princess telling her brother, "Christmas is not about the presents.  It's about baby Jesus's birthday!"  I saw her eyes fill up with tears on the Sunday she was too sick to go to church because she didn't want to miss the second purple candle being lit.

I hear them make the connections.  Remembering a bible story, thinking to pray for someone, caring for each other and for "Mr. Cool."

Maybe I am doing something right?  Or maybe they are learning despite my shortcomings.

I think maybe there is a reason that now more than any other time of year we find ourselves falling short.

It's a pretty good reminder of what it's really all about.  Isn't it?

Because if we did have it all together.  If we were Pinterest perfect people.  We wouldn't even need Christmas.

Christ didn't come for the people who had their acts together.  He came for the struggling, for the weak, for the searching.

Even for the moms who are weeks behind on their blog, have a sink full of dishes, half a stack of Christmas cards to address, mount laundry ready to erupt, no Advent wreath, an undisplayed Nativity, and a mess in the corner where the Christmas tree is supposed to go.

Especially for those kinds of moms!



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My only excuse for the garbled bunch of nonsense you are about to read is that I am a bit tired.  Not sure what my excuse is every other day...

I have wanted to write a Five Favorites post for a long time now but never quite got around to it.  Because I am a procrastinator to the extreme.  I procrastinate doing things I WANT to do.  Pretty bad I know.  Love reading everyone else's Five Favorites and keep thinking, "That would be an easy post to write.  I can come up with 5 things I like."

Wait can Five Favorites be one of my Five Favorites?  Or would that be taking it a bit too far?

Ok, here we go.  Five random things that I love at this very moment.

1.  Mom's Night Out.  The movie.  Haven't seen it yet but I love the trailer and am determined that it is going to be as wonderful as it looks.
Plus, it was co-written, co-directed, produced by a homeschooler.  Awesomeness!!

AND Patricia Heaton is in it.  Love her!

2.  Patricia Heaton.  She is so funny and talented and beautiful and awesome.  And Catholic.  Totally cool.  She always picks the best roles.  I think she gets that it's possible to not have everything totally together but for things to still be good.  (I know that doesn't make total sense.  Not totally together here.)  Though I suspect in real life she has things at least somewhat totally together.  She is also in one of my all time favorite TV shows.  The Middle.

3.  The Middle.  Seriously people.  Do the writers of the show spy on us or what?  A show about a totally "disfunctional" family that are maybe more functional than they give themselves credit for.  Frankie is my favorite TV mom ever.  She is always so tired and frazzled and defeated and chaotic yet she just loves her family and wears herself out doing things for them, all while berating herself for not doing enough.  (I know that was a run on sentence so I threw a comma in there.  You're welcome.)   It's just so real.  When they had to hold the dishwasher shut with the broom handle while it was running to keep it closed.  Yes!  And when they finally got a new dishwasher but it wouldn't fit in the space.  Nice!  And when Mike gave that awesome speech about how the house hates them.  Truth!  And when someone turned on the oven and burned the quilt that was stored inside because no one ever cooks.  HA!!!  The toenails in the chip bag.  Dying!  It also happens to be one of the very few shows on TV that I can let my kids watch.

4.  Mitzi's new blog.  Coquades Galore  Just discovered it today and I am super excited.  She is already making me laugh.  Especially when I read her description of me in her Blog Roll.  (And her introduction to the Blog Roll.)  I had totally forgotten the escalator until she mentioned it.  So I guess it didn't scar me for life after all.  Though I am still convinced it is somehow my destiny to die on an escalator and if I just avoid them I might live forever.  Um.  Right.  Back to Mitzi.  We were friends in college and then roommates after college (she was an awesome roommate) until she decided to move far away JUST to get married to her love.  Whatever.  I guess I either need to get over it or she needs to come to her senses and relocate her family right back to Texas where everyone belongs.  Unless they are mean.  Then they can live somewhere else.  But Mitzi isn't mean so she needs to be in Texas.  Mitzi also inspired yesterdays blog post.  And when I say inspired, what I really mean is "gave me an excuse to ramble on about Doctor Who to a captive audience."  That's almost a direct quote from my husband.  He's right.  I tried to add Coquades Galore to my Blog Roll but it is being mean to me and refusing to work.  Mean Blog Roll should just move away to somewhere that isn't Texas.  Or work.  Work would be better.

5.  This cuteness.

I just wrote an entire post without including any pictures.  So.  Here.
Linking up my (very rambley) post with Five Favorites at Moxie Wife.


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Have I ever mentioned that my favorite color is green?

And if there happened to be some kind of holiday that would give me an excuse to wear green from head to toe, that would probably be my most favorite holiday ever.  Wouldn't it?

Most likely.

So, you can probably guess how much I love St. Patrick's Day.

Yes, I am Irish.  Of the McGinness vintage.  Yes, I know St. Patrick wasn't.  Originally.

Anyway.  When I was in first grade I went to school on St. Patrick's Day and got pinched for not wearing green.  I still dispute the charges because there was green in our uniform.  Not much but it was there.

No, of course I am not still bitter about that.  What kind of person would still be bitter about something that happened when she was 7?  Sheesh.  Totally over it...

Never again my friends.
What I wore today.
Dress: Dress Barn  "Dry Clean only"  I washed it (after waiting in my closet, to go to the dry cleaners, for a few years) and it's fine.  Except that the hem seems to have been glued rather than sewn so it came out.  Which made the skirt longer.  Which I liked so I left it out.  The edge is serged to keep it raveled.  Is raveled  a thing?  Kind of like the look of it.
Black Shrug: Avenue

I know what you are thinking.  Black shrug??  Shouldn't it be green?  Don't you have some kind of green cardigan or something?

Something like...
But shorter would be better.

Like the same length as the black one.

I could just shorten it before Mass right quick.  Dwija does that sort of thing all the time.

Or, I could sew the new hem in and then totally panic about the idea of cutting it.  Won't it just unravel????  I don't have a serger.

And because I cut the button off I can't just rip the seam back out and wear it as it is.

Plus it is HOT out today.

Maybe I should shorten the sleeves?

So, I wore the black one.

And I totally did not obsess over it at all.  Nope.


Ahem.

It seems I have been inducted into the Mommy Blog Mafia.

Did you say T-Shirts?

Obviously the bad clipart image should be replaced by a fisher cat but I didn't have any pictures of fisher cats.  Cari should really send me one so I can remedy that.

Oh, and I am supposed to answer some questions.

Stealing the explanation from Cari who copied it from Paula.

"According to the paragraph I've cut and pasted from Paula's post, " The Liebster Award originated from a German blogger who wanted to recognize her fellow bloggers with fewer than 200 followers.   Liebster  means "dearest" in German."

And, because I love me a lazy Google search, I found this blogger with more ambition than I have tracked down the award to its  apparent  source.  Like a Snopes for blog awards.

Now for the questions and answers:"
1. When you were little, who did you want to marry?
Oh goodness.  Who didn't I want to marry?  I always had some sort of crush as far back as I can remember.  Except for the times I decided I was going to be a nun.  A nun astronaut.  Hmmm.  Probably the first person I actually remember wanting to marry was Joseph.  How old was I?  8?  He was four years older than me.  I thought that was just the right age difference.  Ironically my husband is four years older than me so I must have been on to something.  Joseph was really more of an older brother figure.  I remember him teaching me how to roller-skate.  Most of the boys in the neighborhood liked hanging out at our house because we had a "TI" with all the best video games.  Like Burger Time.

No, really.  You should stop reading now.

You can't go back and unread once you have read.

Seriously?  Why are you still here?

I warned you.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

Last chance...

Ok, then.  If this is how you want it.

Here we go.

Once, I was a new mom.

Are you sure you still want to be here?

Ok...

I was a new mom with a tiny little Peanut.

A sweet squirmy little guy.

Who NEVER STOPPED CRYING!

He had colic.

And

Here is where it get's gross.

Had the worst diaper explosions known to man.

All the time.

Little did I know that my son had a milk allergy.  And if I had only known I might have been able to eliminate dairy from my diet and save us both a lot of grief.  But I had no clue the colic and the explosions were not normal.

Not gross enough for you.

Just wait.

Or don't, cause it's really super gross.

On one of these occasions, he was about a year old at the time, I took off his diaper and ran him straight to the bathtub.

Got him all cleaned up and dressed.

Put him down for a nap.

Came back to clean up the mess on the changing table.

No diaper.

Where could the diaper possibly have gone?!

Oh, there it was.  In the next room.  In pieces.  Scattered all over the floor.

Only, it wasn't ALL there.

That's right.  The dog ate it.

Told you it was gross.  But it gets worse.

The dog ate the diaper.  The king of the disgusting diaper explosions.  Eaten by the dog.

Then he proceeded to...

Pajama clad Photobomber

 And that picture is as good as it gets.  BTW, as you can see, we have decided to store the shop vac in the bathroom on top of the hole.  Easy access and it "hides the hole" or at least that is what we are telling ourselves.

A good friend of mine is getting married soon.

She is getting married out of town.  An 8 hour drive away.

Planning for the trip has been a bit tricky.

The minute she announced her engagement I wrote the date on the calendar and planned on attending.  At the time, I was expecting to have a newborn but that wouldn't stop me.  There was no reason we couldn't make an 8 hour drive with a few week old baby.

Then we had our ultrasound and everything changed.  I had no clue how things would turn out and was no longer sure I would be able to attend my friend's wedding.  Which made me feel terrible.

Devastated actually.  She is a really good friend and my daughter's Godmother.
How could I miss her wedding?!

I've previously missed two weddings of close friends.  My childhood best friend and my college roommate.  It still makes me sad.

I kept hoping that somehow we would find a way to make it.

Then Matthew came early and went to heaven after his 36 hours with us.

After the funeral (which I have written about and will post one of these days) was over I realized that one of the gifts Matthew had given me by coming early was to allow us to attend my friend's wedding.

So, I started making plans.

I'm sure my emotional state didn't help matters any.  I was very determined and started frantically looking up hotel information.

Unfortunately since I wasn't making reservations far enough in advance I found that the hotel everyone else would be staying at was booked.  Not only that but it seemed like the entire city was booked.  The only hotel rooms anywhere in the city were $300-$400 a night.  Not happening.

I was so upset.  Frantic.  I didn't know what to do.

We started considering trying to drive 8 hours to the wedding and 8 hours back on the same day.

Like I said, emotional and not very rational.

My husband kept helpfully assuring me that whatever decision I made was the right one.

Finally I found a hotel.  An hour drive away from the wedding location.  I booked the last room.

An hour drive to and from the wedding was better than 8 right?

Now here's the best part.

Yesterday, I was packing and getting ready for the road trip to her wedding.  Hotel reservations had been made.  My husband's vacation day had been approved.

Then I get a text message from my husband.

"You sure the wedding is this weekend?"

September 24th, Matthew was born.
September 25th, Matthew lived.
September 26th, Matthew went home.

Imagine the roller coaster of emotion we were on.  We had gone from finding out our son had Trisomy 13 and learning he wouldn't have much time with us, if any at all.  To hearing the positive news at our Care Conference that, for a baby with Trisomy 13, Matthew had relatively few life threatening issues and he had every chance of going home with us.  To going into labor a month early and not knowing if having him early would put him at higher risk.  To giving birth to a rolly polly, 6lb 3oz, rosy pink, healthy little guy.  Healthy except for the occasional failure to remember to breathe.

This is the part of the story that is hardest for me to share.  Not because it's sad.  It has it's sad moments.  But more than that it is precious.  It's the part of the story I treasure the most.  Because it's the story of our private moments with Matthew.  It's the part of the story that only we know.  And as hard as those moments were, they were also my favorite moments with him.  Because it was in those moments that I felt closest to him.  And in those moments I was surrounded by saints and angels.  Those were the moments when all the prayers, the hundreds if not thousands of people praying for our Matthew, those prayers surrounded us and held us.  They carried us through.

But if I really want to tell his story, I have to share these moments with you.  Because the story is not complete without them.  I want you to know my son as I knew him.  And without the chance to introduce him to you in person, this is the next best thing.

 And he was beautiful!

Once I got back to the recovery room I was able to hold him.
 We started bringing family and friends into the room and everyone had a chance to hold him and love on him.  His brother and sister got the chance to meet him.
The Peanut helped to change his first diaper.

 And he got to hold Matthew's hand which is something he had told me he wanted to do.

Cousins

Everyone of his visitors got to spend time with him and hold him and love him.  He was passed around and around.

Let me tell you about my little "Matt-man."  (Feel free to hum the Batman theme song whenever you say his nickname!)

It's hard to know how to even begin to tell his story.  How do I begin to put into words what is in my heart?  It was really one of those, "you had to be there" times.  But I want to share his story.  Because part of being a mother is knowing your child is wonderful and perfect and wanting the entire world to know how wonderful and perfect he is too.  Before the details start to fade and blur.  I want to introduce you to my 36 hour miracle.  I want you to meet my precious Matthew.

I guess I will start at the beginning.

Friday September 21st was the Princess's 4th birthday.  We took her to Legoland.  Afterwards we took her to the toy store to spend some birthday money she had been given.  She proved her natural shopping abilities by scoring a few deals and walking out of the store with over $70 worth of toys for $30.  It was a happy day.

That weekend was a relaxing lazy weekend.  Not much productivity.  I wanted to write a couple of blog posts telling you about the day we sat our kids down and explained to them that their baby brother might not get the chance to come home.  I wanted to tell you about the name we had chosen for our son.  Matthew meaning Gift of God.  I wanted to tell you about the Care Conference we had just that week discussing all our plans for Matthew's birth.  How the doctors had all acted very positive about Matthew's chances for coming home with us.  I wanted to tell you about making preparations and writing a birth plan and packing a bag.  I wanted to publish the post I had written about two of my friends who have gone so above and beyond the call of friendship duty.  To whom I owe a life debt.  But my computer had gone from making a strange noise, to fan going out and overheating.

5 weeks until my due date.  4 weeks until my scheduled c-section.  Plenty of time.

Little did I know that there would be no more preparations.  No written birth plan.  A half packed bag.  And when all was said and done the list of people I owe a life debt to has increased significantly.

On Sunday September 23rd we went to church.  After Mass we walked around the church festival a bit.  Then we headed home.  I had a few contractions throughout the day.  Just tightening, no real pain.  All the same they had me a bit worried.  See, I never had Braxton Hicks contractions with my other pregnancies.  About a month ago I had contractions.  They were upper abdominal and clearly different than anything I had ever had before so I didn't worry about those.  These however seemed more like "normal" contractions.  So I did my best to relax and kind of hung out in bed all day drinking water and playing a lot of Spider Solitaire.

As the day went on they became more frequent.  I tried to tell my husband not to worry.  This was totally normal.  Inwardly I was starting to panic a bit.

Bedtime and I tried to get some sleep.  But the contractions were becoming more frequent.  And more painful.  I would start to doze off only to be awakened by a contraction.  I started to time them.  They were coming every 15 minutes or so.  I decided to take a shower.  Maybe that would relax me and they would stop.  Me stressing about them was probably not helping matters any.

I took an hour long shower.  Only had one contraction the whole time.

Good.  Now maybe I can relax and sleep.  By morning time they will have stopped.

I went back to bed.  It was 3am.

20 min

12 min

8 min

10 min

I moved to the recliner.

6 min

1 min

6 min

14 min

9 min

At this point I was timing contractions by how many Hail Mary's I would say during one.

7 min (two and a half Hail Mary's long)

11 min (two Hail Mary's)

5 min (three Hail Mary's)

I was panicking.  It was too soon.  My son would have enough problems without being premature too.  I was only 35 weeks.  I just needed at least two more weeks for him to be full term.

I thought of Mary on that road to Bethlehem.  Was she afraid?  Was she in labor as they searched for a place to stay?  Did she fear having no place to give birth.  That her child would be endangered by exposure to the elements?

Was my son about to lose any tiny chance he had at even a few hours of life?

This was not the plan!!  God and I had a bit of a chat.

"I'm not the only one whose plans will be affected!  There are lots of people who have made plans to be here.  Days off work have been taken.  Hotels have been booked.  They want the chance to meet him.  This is not the plan!"

And God answered, "It's not YOUR plan."

These contractions were exactly the same as the contractions I had right before my water broke with the Princess.  Fluctuating between 5 and 10 minutes.  Same pain level.  I knew.  This was real labor.

At 7:30 am my husband woke up.  We decided to call the doctor and head to the hospital.

I realize I have not been the best at keeping up with the blog lately (or really ever.)  I blame my slow computer.  Five days now it has been trying to update Facebook (which is why all my Facebook followers have been missing out on all my witty banter and such) and it took almost two weeks to get this page open to write a new blog post then another two days to add links and a picture.  Yes, it's a bit slow at times.  It has also begun to make a strange noise from time to time...

So, last time I told you about my doctor's appointment of awesomeness.  It was so incredibly awesome that I felt a great weight lifted.

Which is why you might have been very surprised to see me the following morning, driving back home after dropping my husband off for work, having a bit of a mental breakdown.

Let's back up a couple of days.  The day before my amazing doctor's appointment of all amazing amazingness, two things happened.

First I was doing dishes.  (I know, I should really learn my lesson!)  And I made a huge watery mess on the floor.  My husband stepped in the puddle and commented on it.  I waved him off and told him I always made a mess doing dishes and it's just water so it will dry.  He brought in a towel and dried it up.  Then I stepped in the puddle that was leaking out of the towel.

Wait, what?

Yes, a giant puddle over and above the water that had now saturated a full size bath towel.  There is no way I made that much of a mess!  We pulled out the contents of under the sink cabinet.  They are currently still scattered across my kitchen counters and floor.  After some investigation we discovered that the garbage disposal is leaking.  Well you probably know by now how much we enjoy plumbing problems around here.  So we decided simply not to use that side of the sink.

During all this craziness the Princess came running in crying.  She was holding her mouth.  Correction, she was holding her tooth.

No one saw her injure herself and the best she can tell me is that it was the rocking chair.  What do you want to bet she wasn't just sitting properly in it?

Ya'll know how I love a good mouth injury!  (Yes, I spell it ya"ll and spell checker has no problem with it so it must be correct.)  So, I calmed her down and hubby washed her mouth out and got the bleeding to stop.  Yes, there is always blood isn't there?  We checked her tooth to see if the gum looked swollen or red and it looked ok.  But I was rather worried about it.  She has caps on her teeth (chalk teeth) and so we have to watch carefully because if she injures the tooth we might not be able to tell under the cap.  Yup, queen of mouth injuries and we have to take her into the dentist any time she injures a tooth.  This is amazingly only the second time in the year since she got the caps put on.  The first time was one week after she had the caps put on.

So, all that craziness happened and then the next day we pretty much put it all out of our minds because we had the doctor's appointment and at first we were all nervous and then we were all relieved and it was all emotional and stuff so I honestly didn't think about any of the other stuff all that day.

Then that night I remembered her tooth and took a look at it to see if there was any redness or swelling.  I didn't see any redness and maybe a tiny bit of swelling but it was hard to tell.  Still, it didn't look quite right...

It took me a minute and suddenly I realized one tooth looked lower than the other.  Now this might not be that big a deal except that I knew for a fact that the caps had been perfectly even.  I reached out and touched her tooth.

"A miracle is something that seems impossible but happens anyway." MIB3

Weeks ago, when we were freshly reeling from the difficult news we had received about our baby, we sat in Mass and listened to the Gospel.  It was about miracles.  We listened to stories about how Jesus had healed a woman and brought a little girl back to life.  I'll be honest.  At that moment it kind of felt like a bit of a slap in the face.

I am sure I felt a bit like some of the people in the crowd might have felt.  Pressing around Jesus.  Looking for miracles. Then one woman who touches the hem of His garment is healed.  Her faith healed her.  It makes me wonder if any of the people in the crowd asked the question.  "What about my miracle?  Why her?  I have faith too.  I wouldn't be here if I didn't believe.  Why not me too?"

It was a question I found myself asking.  "Where is my miracle?"

Because in that moment all I wanted was a miracle.  Not just any miracle of course.  My very own custom made to order miracle.  I wanted to be able to ask God for exactly what I wanted exactly the way I wanted it.

My vision is very short sighted.  I can't see the whole picture and because of that it is sometimes easy to forget that there is something beyond my field of vision.

It's all too easy to call out that challenge to God.  God you are all powerful.  I know you can do this.  So why don't you?

Sound familiar?

It's pretty much the same challenge the first thief called out to Jesus on the cross.  "Are you not the Christ?  Save yourself and us!" Luke 23:39

Of course the second thief had one simple request.  "Jesus remember me when you come in your kingly power." Luke 23:42  And we all know what Jesus responded to him.  He said, "get down off the cross.  Your faith has healed you."  Right?

No?

First I would like to apologize for the long break in my posts.  I realize I am not overly consistent in writing anyway but this recent break has been a bit excessive.

Ok.  How shall I begin?  

I guess I will start by telling you it was the day of The Dark Knight Rises premier.  My husband bought tickets and the plan was for him to take our nephew to the trilogy event to watch all three movies back to back.  I would join them at the midnight showing.  I knew I couldn't manage to sit through that many movies in an uncomfortable seat while this pregnant.  I have to pick my battles.  Sadly even for BatBale I couldn't put myself through that level of discomfort.  (Have I ever told you that Christian Bale is my favorite actor?  Has been since 1993 when he starred in the world's greatest movie ever.  Newsies.  What do you mean you don't think it's the greatest movie ever?  Clearly you haven't seen it enough.  Watch it again.  Watch it everyday for an entire year.  When you can recite the entire movie word for word by heart at night in bed, then you will appreciate it's true greatness.  What?!)

I spent the day cleaning the house because I have been preparing for the plumbers to come out and drill holes in the floor.  (I really have been doing way too much cleaning lately.  It isn't good for my mental health.)  My husband picked up my nephew and they headed to the movie.  I decided to take the kids to grab them a quick dinner before my sis-in-law came over to watch them.

We got in the car and I drove to the end of the block and stopped at the stop sign.

Just as I see my opening to hurdle myself out into a break in traffic, and my foot touches the gas pedal, the Peanut cries out.

"Aaahh, there's a bug!!!"

I manage to control my startled reaction and move my foot quickly back to the brake pedal rather than ramming down on the gas.

I had seen a mosquito flying around a second ago so I figured that is what he was seeing.

"Where?"

"Right there!" "Your arm."

Oh, so it was probably biting me and that is why he is overreacting.

I turn my head and prepare to brush it off my arm.

"On my arm?"

"No, next to your arm."

I glance down.

YELLOW JACKET!!!!!

I choke down the pure panic as I attempt to roll down all the windows.  Maybe it will just fly out?

I can't take my eyes off the thing as my hand frantically pounds on the down buttons.  My window is the only one that goes down.

WHY WON'T THEY GO DOWN?!?!

In the back of my mind it dawns on me that all the other ones are locked because the kids were playing with the windows the other day.

I can't quite make my mind work enough to figure out what to do about that and I can not take my eyes off the wasp that is about to attack my entire family and what if my kids are allergic and should I just try to smash it with my hand and kill it but what if I don't smash it well enough or I miss and make it mad and it attacks my kids and what if my kids are allergic?!?!?!?!


This is the point that the Yellow Jacket decides to crawl off the console and ONTO MY SEAT-BELT BUCKLE.

Great.  Now the option of totally panicking and running out into the street leaving my kids in the car with a wasp is gone.  Because how would I get my seat-belt off?!

While I am in complete and utter panic the kids are in the back asking questions.  "Is it an owie bug?"  "YES!"  "Is it a biting bug?"  "No, It's a STINGING BUG!"

And then a moment of clarity.  Thankfully our car stays about as messy as our house.  So, right next to me, in the cupholder, was a cup.  An empty cup.  With a straw and a lid.

I picked up the cup.  Unfortunately I couldn't quite squeeze the cup into the space to catch the wasp.

I took the lid off and angled the straw along the wasps path.  I held my breath as it crawled onto the straw.

Now what?

I could try to sling the wasp out the open window but what if it didn't go?  I could drop the lid and straw out the window but that would be littering.

So, I simply put the straw with the wasp into the cup and fastened the lid down good.

BZZZ!  BZZZT!  BZZZZZZ!

The wasp was not a happy camper.

So, I did what any other rational person would do after escaping from a near death experience.

I drove to Taco Bell.  Went through the drive through.  Ordered tacos.  Drove home.  Took the kids and food into the house.  Went back out to the car.  Took out the buzzing cup.  And set it on the side of the driveway.

Then I went inside, fed my kids, and started to get the kids into their pajamas and ready for bed.

The adrenaline from the wasp incident was wearing off and I was starting to get sleepy.  I figured I would put the kids to bed and sneak in a quick nap before going to the movie.

They put on their pajamas and started to brush their teeth.  Peanut was brushing his teeth and I was brushing the Princesses hair.  I don't remember exactly why but I ran out into the other room for a second.  Maybe to let the dog in?  Or I thought I heard my phone ring?

As I am standing in the next room I hear a cry from the Peanut.

"Aaaaahhhhh!"

I run to the bathroom to see what happened.

"I was brushing my teeth and I went like this and it hurted."  He makes a gesture of ramming his toothbrush really hard towards the back of his mouth.

Perhaps I should also tell you that in the previous two days, the Princess had somehow managed to accidentally drop two of her brother's toothbrushes on the floor.  Why was she holding them?  The world may never know.

We had run out of backup kids toothbrushes and so I had to give him a temporary backup adult toothbrush to use until we could buy him a new one.

I looked into his mouth as best I could in the bathroom light.  I didn't see anything so I told him he was finished brushing and to put away his toothbrush.

A few seconds later he let out a pained groan.

"Mmmmm!"

He held his hand to the side of his mouth.

This couldn't be good.

Ok, let's get another look.

Not thinking rationally, I didn't do the obvious and get a flashlight to look in his mouth.  Instead I had him angle his mouth up towards the light and open wide.

Then I saw it.

OMGOODNESS!

There was a HOLE in the back of his mouth.

That's right folks.  He had jammed the toothbrush into and THROUGH the back of his freaken mouth!!!!

Not even kidding.

Remember how well I deal with mouth injuries?

The Peanut is remaining rather calm.  No crying.  Doesn't seem to be in constant pain.  I try not to panic and freak him out.

So, I run around in a bit of a circle and grab my phone.  I frantically call my sister-in-law.  No answer.

I frantically call my husband.  No answer.  Remember he is at the movie.

I call my sister-in-law again.  No answer.

My husband calls back.

I start to pour out the whole story in absolute panic.

"I might have to take the Peanut to the ER."

Hearing the panic in my voice as I explain what happened he freaks out and starts asking questions.

"What do you mean a hole?"

"I mean a HOLE.  A huge gaping HOLE through the back of his mouth!!!"

"Where?"

"Straight back."

"In the cheek?"

"No.  Straight back.  In the hinge part."

"In his throat?"

"No.  The hinge part.  Like between where your two wisdom teeth would be."

"So, the cheek."

"Not sideways into the cheek."

"Right but cheek tissue."

"Sure..."

"What do you mean by hole?"

"I mean there is a big freaking hole in the back of his mouth!"

"How big?"

"The size of the end of a toothbrush."

"Is it bleeding?"

"Not exactly.  It is bloody looking but no blood seeping out that I can see."

"Are you sure it's really a hole?"

"YES!!  IT'S A HUGE BLOODY HOLE IN THE BACK OF HIS MOUTH WHERE HE RAMMED THE TOOTHBRUSH THROUGH!!!!!!!"

Bad pic I took in an attempt to show hubby what I was talking about.  The hole is above his tongue on the left (his right) and looks like a black ring with pink tissue in the middle.  Imagine it being blood red rather than black.

At this point I turn around and see the Peanut standing behind me.  Tears are streaming down his face.

"Oh buddy!  Are you ok???!?"

He shakes his head no.

"Is your mouth hurting?!"

He shakes his head no.

"Oh, am I freaking you out because I am panicking?"

He shakes his head yes.

"You said there was BLOOD."  He dissolves into tears.

"Oh, no honey.  It's not really bleeding.  It's ok.  Calm down.  Mommy just thought you were hurting and so I was freaking out.  But it doesn't hurt right?"  He shakes his head no.  "See you are fine.  I'll calm down now.  Don't worry."

My husband on the phone.

"Call my sister."

"I did.  She isn't answering."

"Ok, try again.  I'll call you right back."

I hang up with him and try to call her again.  No answer.

I decide to try her house phone.

Only I can't find the number.  I know I have it on my phone.  Don't I?

Later I found it.  I can only attribute my lack of ability to find it then to the panic.  Which must also be why it never occurred to me to call from the house phone which also has her home phone stored in it.

Hubby calls back.

"She still isn't answering."

"Ok, I'll try calling her.  Just get ready to come get me and we will take him to the hospital.  No, we won't all fit in the car.  Just take him to the hospital and I will have her come get me."

He hangs up and calls her house phone.

He calls back.  "Ok, she is on her way to watch the Princess.  Give him a popsicle to help numb his mouth in case it starts hurting."

"I don't think we have any popsicles."

"Ok, call her and ask her to bring one."

Just then she knocks on the door. (She lives a block away.)

I open the door.

"What's wrong with the Princess?"

"No, it's the Peanut."

I tell her the story taking care not to freak out the Peanut any more.

We use the flashlight to look in the back of his mouth.

"Wow.  That's a hole alright."

She remains calm.

"Unfortunately with a mouth injury the hospital can't really do anything.  They can't stitch it."

"I know.  I just don't know what to do and I feel terrible just doing nothing!"

"Well, he isn't in any pain.  Maybe some kind of antibiotic for the germs..."

I remember we have some antibiotic mouthwash from the dentist.

"Oh, I can have him rinse his mouth out with that mouthwash."

My husband on the phone again. "Give him a popsicle first.  It might burn."

I go in the kitchen and manage to find one popsicle.  I also give him a dose of children's Advil just in case it starts to get sore.  I give him the popsicle.  He happily eats it.  Then he rinses his mouth out.  No problem.  No pain.  All is well.  I'm still shaking.

Hubby, calmed by his sister's rational response, returns to watch the remainder of The Dark Knight.

I collapse into a chair and my sis-in-law and I chat with the Peanut for a bit to make sure he is really all well. The kids head off to bed and we sit and talk for a bit.

Hubby calls back to let me know they are on the last intermission and I decide to go ahead and go to the movie (feeling somewhat terrible motherish) because clearly leaving my kids in my sis-in-law's capable hands is the perfectly sensible thing to do.  After all she is much better in a crisis!

After two adrenaline rushes in one day I wonder if there is any way I will be able to stay awake for a midnight movie.  Amazingly I managed to get a third rush (slightly less powerful than the previous two) when the movie started and stayed awake to enjoy it.

Of course the next morning I awoke to read about the tragedy others endured that night and it certainly put my day into perspective.

Can I just say.  Christian Bale is awesome.  Thank you.  The end.

Today is the first day of Vacation Bible School for the Peanut.

This morning I got up early, got breakfast tacos, fed the Peanut and got him ready for his first day of VBS.

He picked out his clothes.  I asked him if he wanted to wear his Star Wars t-shirt and he looked at me like I had two heads.  "I'm going to church!"  "Oh.  Well you can wear a t-shirt to VBS or you can wear a church shirt.  Whichever you want."  "Church shirt."

He got dressed.  He excitedly chattered away.  As he was eating his taco he would get contemplative.  "Mom?"  I fought back the urge to hurry him along.  He was taking his sweet time eating and I didn't want him to be late for his first day!  But I knew he would have important questions and I wanted him to feel comfortable and prepared.  "What is it buddy?"  "Remember that episode of Sponge Bob..."  "EAT YOUR FOOD!!!!  WE HAVE TO HURRY!!!!"

I was supposed to drop him off between 8:30 and 8:45.  Obviously being his first day I planned on getting there right at 8:30.

At 8:30 on the dot we left the house.

I was understandably a bit frazzled as I buckled the kids in and got on the road.  No worries though the church is only about five minutes away.

I was starting to feel anxious.  Peanut was pretty quiet during the car ride.  For some reason no urgent questions about Sponge Bob came up.

I gave him the lecture about being good and listening to his teachers.  Told him how much fun he would have and that I would be back to pick him up before he knew it.

Right before we walked in the door I snapped a picture.  I really wanted one of him standing in front of some sort of VBS background but there were a ton of parents dropping off their kids and for whatever reason I was the only crazy mother stopping to take pictures.

What?  I needed it for the blog!
Can you see how nervous he was getting?!

We went inside and registered.

I took him in to his age group and they gave him a t-shirt and a name tag.  He was really excited about the name tag having his name on it.

I told him we would be leaving and to have fun.  We would be back to pick him up before he knew it.  He sat down to color and I turned, took a deep breath, and started walking away.

He came running after us.

Now, before I embark on my little pity party I just want to express a few things.

First is that it is really hard for me to share at times like these.  Don't get me wrong.  I can complain with the best of them.  About all the little annoyances and inconveniences.  I don't like to clean.  I can't cook.  My kids keep making messes.  Wah!  But when something major happens?  I fold inward.  I cave.  Just hide away from the world until it all goes away.  I have a really hard time sharing the difficult times.  I feel bad calling out for everyone to feel sorry for poor little me.  Then I feel totally overwhelmed when everyone steps forward with offers of help or support.  How will I ever begin to repay them?

This time I am pushing myself out.  I know hiding away won't change anything.  I would have to say something eventually.  Unless I just quit blogging all together and I'm not really ready to do that.  It will only get harder the longer I wait.  And if I really am going to be open and honest then I need to be able to share the lows as well as the highs.

So I will start by sharing some of the highs.  That way you will know that there is some brightness in our world right now.  When I talk about my busy schedule, it's not all doctors appointments.

It's also...

Right now I feel like I am sitting at the top of a roller coaster just waiting for the bottom to drop out from under me.  I don't know exactly when it will happen but I know it will and all I can do is hang on for dear life.  I never liked roller coasters.

I am normally not a very organized person.  I know, don't be too shocked.  When it comes to schedules and appointments I am a mess.  Usually I rely on things like the Evite email or the phone call from the doctor's office to remind me I am supposed to be going somewhere tomorrow.  I have a calendar in the kitchen and have been steadily working on improving myself by remembering to make little appointment notes in it over the last year or so.  Still, I usually have between one and maybe four things written down on that calendar for an entire month.
The other day I looked at my calendar for this month and next and felt the panic start to seep in.  My schedule is so busy.  Usually I feel busy when I have those four thing months.  Now I have something at least every other day.  Every week I have a doctor appointment scheduled with a different specialist.  Tomorrow we have our first meeting with a fetal cardiologist.  Sprinkle in all the added summer activities like Vacation Bible School and play dates with friends and add a few other appointments like a dentist visit.  We decided against putting the Peanut in swim lessons this year because we just couldn't find the time to fit them in.

Now, let me tell you what is making me feel so overwhelmed.

The #1 search term leading visitors to my blog is "how to dress like a mom."  Everyday women all over the world look to me for fashion advice.  As you can imagine I don't consider myself fashionable in the least.

Imagine my surprise when I read this post by Cari @ Clan Donaldson.  She is participating in a fashion linkup and the inspiration is this picture.

Source

Wait!  I own this outfit!!!  I wear it all the time!  More or less.  Are you telling me I can be fashionable?  Well I certainly have to try.

Let's start with the skirt.  Long neon colored knit skirt.  Check!
Now for the t-shirt.  So many to choose from.

Do I go with Star Wars?

Too cartoony.

Purple Batman?
This one has an added bonus of matching the blue in the skirt perfectly.  In fact it is a usual favorite of mine to wear together.
Too bright?

Pepsi?
Too blue.

Finally I found the perfect option.

I am terrible at planning things.  Truly terrible.

My husband is a planner.  He always needs to know what the plan is.  Whenever his sister and I take a trip to the mall to hang out and browse, he asks us our plan.  We always answer the same way.  We "plan" to hang out and browse.  It drives him crazy!

I should clarify something.  I am terrible at making active plans.  When I do plan something I usually leave some really important part out or go way overboard on tiny unimportant details.  It all falls apart.  Which is of course why I don't like to plan anything.  And I am lazy.

I am really good at making passive plans.  By that I mean that I simply expect things to go a certain way without any direction or interference from me.  It should just happen.  You know?

Drives my husband crazy!

Perfect example.

Tomorrow I will have my 20 week ultrasound.  Long before I even got pregnant, I came across the idea for a "gender reveal party" on Pinterest.  Complete with a cake revealing the gender when cut.  Genius!  It seemed so perfect.

The Peanut.
He is the king of fit pitchers.  When he really gets going he will screech louder than any horror movie victim.  He can go for hours and never tire.  When he was still a tiny lil guy he would sometimes fight bedtime so hard that he would still be screaming 4 hours after he was put in bed.  I would think, surely he will pass out from sheer exhaustion at any moment.  No.  Never.  It was enough to drive me over the edge.  I would literally have to force myself to stay away from him because I was seeing red and there was no telling what I might do.  Somehow we both lived to tell the tale.  He has outgrown his fits for the most part.  Sometimes we still see glimpses of the little Hulk but they are pretty rare now.  And they never last longer than about twenty minutes or so!

The Princess.
She tries to throw little tantrums sometimes.  Something upsets her and she drops down to the floor crying.  She always does the little, peer out to see if anyone is watching her, maneuver.  Unfortunately for her, her older brother ruined me.  When she lets out her tiny squeals, that normally last for all of two and a half minutes, I can't help myself.  I laugh.  I try not to let her see it.  But it's so darn funny.  Like that little display is going to budge me!  I have lived through WAY worse.  When I send her to her room to cry it out she is usually done before she makes it to the room.

All this has me wondering.

Me.
When I pitch my fits, does God see red?  Does He throw His hands up in exasperation that I never learn?  Or does He laugh at me?

I like to think he laughs at me.  After all, He is infinitely more patient that I could ever be.  And I sure do need that patience.

Hopefully, as I have gotten older and wiser, my fits are less like my son's and more like my daughter's.  Because, in all honesty, I know better.

When something doesn't go according to MY plans, I know that I should put my trust in Him.  He knows what's going on.  He has a better plan than mine ever could be.  Like I said, I KNOW all that.  I'm just not always happy about it.

Recently, when things didn't go according to my plans, I managed not to throw a monster fit.  I refrained from shaking my fists at the heavens.  I even admitted that God probably knew what he was doing.  Didn't mean I liked it.  Oh, I pouted.  I whined.  "This better be good!"  I sulkily warned Him.

A few weeks ago my son made a little story on his Leap Pad.  It was a story all about his sister.  When he finished it he took it over to my husband.  They started watching it together.  From where I was sitting, I could hear it but not see it.

When the story got to the section that said, "When I grow up I want to be" my son had recorded, "She wants to be just like Mama."  Awe.  How sweet.  Even though I know she didn't make the story, it was still sweet of him to think that.

My husband started laughing hysterically.

I was clearly missing something.  Or, maybe he was just laughing at the cute sweetness of it all?

"Show this to your mom!"