It Started Out As A Compliment

Last Thursday, Mr. MOTH got to watch the Pens beat up on the Rangers (that's hockey, yinz guys). It was a last-minute thing - a "guys' night" if you will, something he's absolutely NEVER done since we've been married. It was so last minute that I had to bring him a change of clothes at work (yes, two hours round-trip, with 4 kids). We were originally schedule to have movie night and then sleep out in the living room (the kids think this is the biggest deal! Don't worry, we rescheduled and did it Friday) but instead we watched the game to see if we could spot Daddy.

Baby Girl thought she spied him and shouted, "I saw a striped shirt!" Then, "No wait. We need to look for a striped shirt (gestures down her torso), short, dark hair (runs her fingers around her ears), and glasses (makes glasses with her finger and thumb)." This is all said like the rest of us somehow forgot what he looked like! LOL!

As we're watching, an ad pops up in the bottom of the screen for something. I was in the kitchen preparing snacks, so I only caught a quick glimpse but I think it was Anne Hathaway:

Anyhow, Oldest Boy yells from in front of the TV, "Mommy! That looks JUST like you!!" Feeling flattered, I said, "You think that looks like me?!?!" Oldest Boy said, "Yeah! When you were much younger!" My ego deflated a bit on that, but then Youngest Boy threw in his two cents, "And much, much thinner!!" And my ego bottomed out somewhere around my toes.

Of course, I told my mom this story and, thinking she would somehow try to cheer me up, said, "Well, dear, Anne Hathaway IS really thin!" Thanks, Ma.

My Version

Growing up, I had several children in my class whose families owned a business. Because of the obvious affiliation, we made a field trip to those family businesses as a class every.single.year. Field trips are awesome, right? Well, sure, they get you out of class and all, but these field trips were...smelly.

First we would head to a chicken farm known around the area for egg production. Do you know what chickens smell like? Let's just say it's NOT like Chicken Parmesan or even nuggets. It's more like...uh...farm. I don't remember a single other thing aside from the aroma. Oh, and I remember several of my classmates losing their lunch. And I'm not talking about the brown bag we were required to bring along.

Next up was the cheese factory. Now, this one might not be as obvious to those who have never been to one but again, it does NOT smell like cheddar! It's more like fermenting milk with a side of curd thrown in. Not.Good.

A child in my Oldest Boy's class (one of his best buds, as a matter of fact) is the son of a baker. Guess where his class gets to go for a field trip? That's right. A bakery. (This bakery, if you're in the area)I would have given my right arm to get the chance to go some place that smelled like baked goods instead of the god-forsaken aroma that we were made to endure.

And I had to walk up-hill to school. Both ways. In snow up to my eyeballs. Through blistering heat. I was lucky to have shoes!

Now, get off my lawn!

What's A Bunny To Do?

I mentioned several weeks ago that Youngest Boy has been having some belly issues. While we still don't have any answers (although we DO have a nice bill from the hospital) we mostly suspect that chocolate is his problem. I don't want to call it an allergy but it definitely does something to his delicate system. We see a specialist the day after Easter (mental note: call Aunt Jo - the other kids are all off that day) and I'm hoping she won't order any more seemingly unnecessary tests but I'm willing to trust her.

Easter is coming up FAST. I absolutely ADORE Easter. It's easily my favorite holiday - spiritually, emotionally, decorationally (is that a word?), tastefully it's just my all around favorite. I give up sweets for Lent (although this might be the last year for THAT) so around the day after Ash Wednesday I start dreaming about what I'm going to bake for Easter morning - cinnamon rolls, mini raspberry cheesecakes, fudge, butter cookies, sunflower cake (a yellow cake iced with chocolate frosting - put yellow peeps around the outside and fill in the middle with chocolate chips!), peanut butter Easter eggs, white chocolate Easter eggs - I get so excited! And of course, I get to be The Bunny.

Around here, The Bunny is pretty cheap. The baskets are filled to bursting with grass...and there's some candy and eggs in there somewhere. There's always a book (because we love to read and so do they) and usually some small toy or art supply, depending on the kid. I'm a little annoyed at how every store that sells toys is showing you some "must-have" Easter basket loot. Um, no. That ain't what Easter's about. And in our house, it never will be. Christmas - fine, although I still fight the good fight on that, too. But Easter is a CHRISTIAN holiday - the ultimate one in my humble opinion - and I refuse to cave.

Of course, this year The Bunny is stumped as to what to put in the baskets in the way of candy. Youngest Boy clearly can't have a chocolate bunny. Or chocolate eggs. Or chocolate...anything. He hates peanut butter. And I don't know if he likes jelly beans (What? I have a choking phobia, remember? We've never had them). He does love marshmallows, so even though he's never had peeps I'm hoping he'll LOVE them so much he won't care that they might be the only sweet in his basket. I'm preparing myself to overcompensate. {SIGH} Poor guy.

It's Official

I'm an idiot.

After my debacle on Tuesday, I should have just called it a week and assumed I would continue to make a fool of myself. Yesterday topped the dress mess, though.

I was cooking dinner (chicken soup from leftover crockpot chicken, since you asked) and I had to empty the garbage can. Sidenote: the garbage was full of food products, including scraps from the soup and the entire meal from the night before (tuna cakes. Not good. If you know how my MIL made tuna cakes can you call me RIGHT NOW because my husband is making me crazy requesting them). I opened the garage door, tossed the kitchen bag into the large cans with black bags in them - empty, I might add, since it was garbage day - and went about finishing dinner and feeding the kids (who, turns out, hate chicken noodle soup).

I then decided I would put the bag of clothes I was giving to a family at the school into the Space Shuttle because I knew I would see them at Mass this morning (the priest is being re-assigned and Youngest Boy made sure to ask me to be there. I think he was afraid he would be sad and wanted to make sure I would be able to comfort him.). I opened the garage door and started to walk around to the back of the van when I noticed a white kitchen bag on the floor of the garage with scratch marks on the side. This bag had not been there when we got home from school. The only bag I knew of in the garage was the one I had just thrown into the big, black can. Hmmmm. I freaked the frickety frack out. I mean, it had to be something REALLY FRICKIN' BIG to be able to get that bag out. I bolted into the house and called Mr. MOTH. He just loves when I call him in a panic. Especially when I'm using my super-loud, super-squeaky voice. I could NOT make him understand what had happened. He was not grasping that there was a HUGE MONSTROUS BEAST in the garage - maybe a bear! Or a panther! At LEAST a mountain lion! COME HOME RIGHT NOW OMG WE'RE GOING TO BE EATEN! ACK! HURRRRRYYYYY!

I finally decided I would just call my dad and have him tell me what it most likely was (my husband? He's not much of an outdoorsman. Or an animal lover. Or a country boy.). Problem? Dad's not home. Called his sister - Aunt E - because she can put any outdoorsman I know to shame. She said most likely a racoon would do something like that. I suggested maybe a cat? Possible. I was going with cat. Cute. Furry. Kitty cat. Phew! Much better than HUGE MONSTROUS BEAST!

Mr. MOTH called back and we formulated a plan. He would park in the driveway and open the door. I would come out through the front door and act as back-up (read: hide behind him ready to run for help at the first sign of trouble). He opened the door and saw the bag. We stared at it for awhile. I said, "Honey, something is IN that bag! I can see black at the top! I KNOW I put the celery on the top! AAACCCKKK!"

But the bag was oddly still considering it had a racoon in it. Or a kitty cat. Or a HUGE MONSTROUS BEAST! We inched closer. A bit closer. I said, "Are you SURE you didn't throw a white bag away this morning? Or maybe last night after you bagged every thing up? Was there anything else in a bag in the garage?" Mr. MOTH said, "Well, just that bag of Christmas wreaths and lights that you left out there. I tossed it up on top of the shelves and..."

The lightbulb came on. Yes, my friends, I was afraid of a bag of Christmas lights. I'm scarred for life. We'll never be able to decorate the outside of our house again. Maybe it would've been better if it had been a HUGE MONSTROUS BEAST! Because I love Christmas.

Stuck

Yesterday I took Little One shopping. She's not my best shopper (that would be Baby Girl) but she does OK as long as there is entertainment and/or coins involved (she has a thing for coin money)(I may be actually bribing her to pee on the stinkin' potty)(Ahem). Youngest Boy has grown about a foot and a half since the start of school (give or take) and desperately needed new school pants. Turns out, those are hard to find this time of year. Know what's NOT hard to find this time of year? Winter clearance. My two favorite words!

I had recently snagged a pair of boots for around $10 - probably because the weather around here has been the type that does not require one to actually wear boots. I also picked up warm and cozy pj's for $2/pair for my pajama party so I was on the lookout.

In April Mr. MOTH and I are going to attend the wedding of one of his co-workers. It's going to require an overnight stay (as in, we're leaving all 4 kids overnight for the first time EVER) and it also means that I will be seeing a handful of my own former co-workers. I would at least like to not look frumpy so I was scouring the clearance racks for a dress. I found a beautiful purple one in a size smaller than I used to wear but I have to keep reminding myself that I AM a size smaller, so I plucked it off along with a few in the bigger size and went to try them on.

Naturally, I tried the smaller one first. It fit perfectly! I was stoked! It was pretty, on sale for (almost) dirt cheap, and it was a size I haven't seen since I was 16! WOOT! I decided I would try the others on just for comparison...but I couldn't get the zipper down. No way. No how. I even asked Little One - who happens to be a pro and removing her own clothing - to help. "This way, Mommy?" as she yanked the zipper. No go.

I got desperate and peeked my flaming red face out of the dressing room door. It was a Tuesday morning and not at all crowded but naturally the first person I see in the ladies' department is a guy. At least he was with his wife so I motioned for him to get her attention and I blurted out, "Can you help me? I AM STUCK IN THIS DRESS!!" A salesperson heard and offered her services instead. Now. I am never embarrassed. It takes an awful lot. But having to walk out and ask for help (with my not-appropriate-for-evening-wear bra showing) was the end. I didn't buy the stupid dress. As my mom said, I was scared of it.

Day 4

Finally! The Magic Kingdom! If you're only going to spend one day at WDW, you're going to go here. This is where Cinderella's Castle is located and Fantasyland (currently under "refurbishment"). Space Mountain. Splash Mountain. It's A Small World (after all).

This was also St. Valentine's Day (known 'round here as "Oldest Boy's Birthday") and when we arrived there were red and white balloons decorating everything...and the "mondo-rails" were not running yet. This meant a much-anticipated ferry ride:

As soon as we watched the opening shenanigans we snagged a button for Oldest Boy. This was pretty cool because every cast member greeted him by name with a "Happy Birthday" (pretend you can't see his name on that button, mmkay?).
I saw this quote in front of the Tea Cups and had to take a photo. I love Randy Pausch. His book is life-changing.
The thing about the Magic Kingdom that makes it truly magic to me is captured in this photo. See it? Happened last visit, too. My boys are holding hands. They don't normally do this but something here makes it occur. I wish I could bottle it up and serve it to them when they're beating the snot out of each other with light sabers...

To celebrate a birthday, we had lunch with these folks at the Crystal Palace. Not cheap. But soooo worth it. I ate my weight in mediterranean chicken. And I don't even know what that is!

I was a little nervous that our server was going to ignore the fact that it was his birthday but I needn't have worried. He was given a cupcake and a birthday card signed by all of the Friends at the Hundred Acre Wood.

Dump

We interrupt the regularly scheduled Disney recap to bring you a brain dump, courtesty of sick kids and PMS.

It never fails, vacation = colds. Always. This time it was a foregone conclusion that we would all get sick. Everyone has at least the sniffles. Baby Girl has developed a case of walking pneumonia which I believe has been passed along to her little sister (we'll get confirmation or denial at her follow-up tomorrow morning).

But, just for added fun, Youngest Boy is having some belly issues. He's been having what we call "the squirts" for quite awhile now. Basically, he thinks he's going to pass gas...and a bit more comes out. Around Christmastime, they got worse and we eliminated chocolate with great success. He no longer had the issue...then he ate a chocolate chip cookie and they returned. For us that was confirmation that it was diet-related.

AND THEN, we went on vacation with Grandma. She feels bad that he can't have chocolate (sidenote: so do WE!), so she gave him a dark chocolate muffin with chocolate chips. I think there might have been some chocolate icing, but I can't remember...and nothing happened. No squirts. Nothing.

So. We gave him little bits at a time when he asked for it. A few M&Ms here and there. Maybe a Hershey's kiss. But this past weekend was a birthday party for the kids. And he had chocolate cake with chocolate icing and chocolate ice cream. Sunday morning (3AM) he woke with a belly ache. And then he pooped blood. Bright red blood. Dripping. Nice, huh? This meant a trip to urgent care where they did a minimum required physical exam and sent us to our pediatrician for follow up.

But. Our pediatrician is "no longer with us". Whatever that means. To me, it means we have no stinkin' doctor when all of our kids are frickin' sick! We are currently seeing the Physician Assistant who diagnosed Baby Girl and sent Youngest Boy for a CTscan of his belly and some blood work. (I made an appointment with a pediatric GI specialist on my own but the doctor can't see him until April!)

Today was the CTscan. He had to drink copious amounts of a white liquid last night (which he promptly puked up), more this morning before we left and still more immediately before the test. And he HATES needles. He had to have blood work (needle stick 1) and an IV for contrast during the scan (needle stick 2).

He gets his choice for dinner (McDonald's) and I bought him some toys after I dropped him at school. Poor kid should get a medal or something.

We need to move. 3 months out of the year I love our house - during the summer when we can be out in our nice big backyard and we don't have to drive a couple of hours a day at a minimum, it's perfect. The rest of the time, I wish we lived closer. To everything. We have ZERO choices for another pediatrician within 25 miles and even grocery shopping is a half hour drive. If we lived closer we would have gone to the Big City Children's hospital instead of the local yokel one. We've been tossing the idea of a move around for awhile...but I'm done tossing. I'm ready for a slam dunk. The father of one of the boys in Oldest Boy's class (and also one of his basketball coaches) is a realtor. Sign me up. We need shorter commutes.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled program. BLEEP!