I am not so much of a housekeeper. I know, I know. You are saying to yourself, "But how can this BE? Clearly Jessica is such a dedicated and motivated organized stay at home mother!" If so, uh, that's weird. You think about me too much. Maybe get a hobby. 

It's the truth, though. I hate cleaning. I like doing laundry, all the way until the clothes are folded and put back in the baskets to be shoved in drawers, "later". I like sweeping, because the results are so conclusive. HATE dishes. Loathe and despise. Detest. HATE. I am also not so fond of cleaning bathrooms. That one is kind of a circular whats-it, I hate cleaning it because it's disgusting, and it's disgusting because I hate cleaning it. 

Another flaw, I put things about. Like stacks of papers, over here. And a pile of clothes to be hung, here. And this dangerous screwdriver or what have you, way, way up here so no one in particular will stab their sister with it, or stick it in the toaster, because "I just need to cook this." 

(disclaimer: some of this is humor, and I do in fact keep the house clean enough for CPS to have a place to sit, if they scoot over a little laundry.)

All this to say, I am trying to pick up the joint a little, since my MOG is coming home from Caleefornia today, and he is a bit of a neat freak. ("Neat freak is a term made up by lazy people," he counters. Freak.) So I have been doing  a little here, and a little there, oh, and I bleached the bathtub. So that's gonna make a good impression. ("Egads!" he'll say, stepping over a laundry hamper with 6 baby dolls a shredded coloring book, and a shoestring. "Look at this tub! It's like the wind-driven snow!" That's what he'll probably say, anyways)

One of the problems is, I tend to get a bit distracted. Like now, with the blogging and such. Next to me is a giant stack of clean laundry, just waiting to be sorted and folded and put in baskets  for us to dig through for a week to be put away, lickety-split. Right after I do some other stuff.

In my defense, it is pretty hard to clean amidst the tempest that is Toby. This is him, post-nap, ZERO sugar, ZERO red dye. Just pure energy.

People are interesting. Everybody has a story. Sometimes I wish I could just ask. Sometimes, I do, or they just volunteer.

The dentist yesterday was younger than me. She was from New Orleans, in KC for a year now. She goes to the movies alone and eats alone, taking fake paperwork with her so she doesn't look like a loser. Her eyes are large and liquid and sad. Everybody was excited about the King Cake she had ordered from NO. She laughed and trash-talked and eventually even looked at my teeth. I wanted to say, "Why are you still here? Go home to your family." But you know, you can't say that. 

I end up being the subject a lot of times, because I let students try stuff on me. Hair, teeth, birth, whatever. I guess I figure they need to learn, and the instructor is right there.... 

The Vietnamese dental clerk was named Dip, or something along those lines. She was about 4'9, and 20 years old, maybe. Dip talked a lot, and I caught about 75% of it, I think. I repeated something to her that sounded like gibberish to me, and she wrote on her chart. Hmm. She took my x-rays, and I may have been her favorite patient ever, since I was pretty relaxed. She led me into the exam room, where two other patients were reclining, and the dental staff was gathered in a jovial circle, talking Mardi-Gras amongst themselves. 

"Put these on," Dip instructed me, handing me a pair of clear glasses. "It in case one of tools, like, poke in eye, or someting like that." she informed me. "It never happen, but you know, in case."

I don't think that's what the goggles are for. 

I lay back and tried to read my book, but everybody was too interesting. Also interesting, the signs everywhere that anesthetic mixed with cocaine can kill you, and if you are a cocaine user, ask for no anesthetic. The two large-ish women in the other chairs appeared to be finished, and just taking a little break in the chairs. The staff was discussing the King Cake, and the hunky new intern who looked like a soap star (he was not present), and Slumdog Millionaire, and what makes a movie independent, anyway. 

Eventually, they ran out of things to talk about, and the two women left. One intern cleaned the chairs in a dreamy sort of daze, and the one I had identified as being the dentist drifted over my way. I put on my safety goggles, just in case. 

She and the intern poked around and talked dentistry over me... he was not very good at it. Dip came by and corrected some mistakes he was making on his paper. The dentist told me Dip does her nails and it takes 2 hours. 

Then everybody took a little break to discuss the weather in KC, including the office manager who has been here for 10 years but is from Texas, in fact, has family in Arlington and Fort Worth and really misses Texas weather even though there are no seasons as such, and the dentist, who is from New Orleans but lived in Omaha and you don't even know cold until you have lived in Omaha, Nebraska because the wind just slices right through you and you can't even take a breath and the intern who could not believe we are having such a mild winter in KC compared to last winter when it snowed every week and he was like, come on already. 

And then they went over to #19 which is removed, and #20, in which the filling needs to be replaced, and so on. I also probably need a root canal. My next appointment is is 2 months. 

I have a dentist appointment today, at the Kansas City Free Health Clinic. Looks pretty nice, eh? 

Now, I am a good conservative, but I take me some welfare when I need it. Like this time... my teeth are so jacked up. So I was googling some options, and found this place. I had to call at 8 am for about a month, like dial, hangup, dial until finally I got an appointment. So I will bring proof of my budgetary constraints, and then I will wait and wait and hopefully get some fillings fixed and what-not. I don't doubt that this trip downtown and ensuing appointment will be entertaining. I will bring a spiral notebook for the sake of live-blogging. 

Today I took Toby and Brynn to McDonalds. They did exactly what a 2 year old and a 3 year old should do, and they were good and funny and smart. Somehow I ended up grieving. 

I wish R2 was different. That is something I rarely say that is absolutely true. I wish my firstborn was normal. I wish he hadn't been premature, I wish he didn't have brain damage. I wish he was perfectly normal like his siblings. 

Should I watch my babies play and grieve my loss? Maybe not. A wiser person would probably recognize the brevity of this season, and embrace the opportunity to watch them. I am not that person today. I miss what Richy should have been. 

Sometimes I see glimpses of him, through the fog. Yesterday he was sitting on the couch during naptime, holding M&M's in his lips (like a tongue) and laughing at himself. I started laughing too... it was a glimpse.

The thing with him is, it's a continual loss. I mean, we will go months or years just accepting him and helping him and celebrating small victories, and then it hits us that he will never outgrow this and there's a season of mourning again.

Maybe someday I will find peace and acceptance. Just him, for who he is and be okay with it. I'm sure I will.

Sometimes, in the morning when I am especially boring, I think, "I will wait until something interesting happens and then blog about that." Often, when I do this, either a)nothing comes to mind or b) something interesting takes up the whole afternoon.

Yesterday, we planned on the MOG leaving on a jet plane around 5:30. So that was ideal because we could have a normal day and R2 would get home from school and we'd all leave together and have dinner and drop Daddy off at the A-port. As is the case with all seamless plans, it didn't happen.

First, the hub found out his flight was several hours earlier. So we re-adjusted the plan, and then we didn't do that one either. I packed somewhat frantically for 10 days.... hope I remembered everything. Then his stuff (whatever he does in the basement, involving large cases and cords and computers) took longer than the plan, and so we hurtled out to the van with just enough time to drive, at naptime, without lunch.

Readjust- Sonic instead of sitting down. No Sonic on our route? Readjust- McD's drive through. Bean is asleep? Feed her later. Drop Daddy off, and head out, confident because all I have to do is STAY ON 71.

I have driven this route a lot, and the key is, stay on 71. Even when there are no signs and 3 freeways. Just stay the course. So I missed one exit, to stay on, and ended up in the ghetto. I live in the ghetto, but this was a different one. So I'm all like, hey, I'll just turn around and get back on. But nooooooo, there's crazy construction and wavy lanes and confusion. Then I remember, hey! I have a GPS!

Now, maybe you're like, uh, why didn't you already have that on? I'll tell you. My GPS is a TomTom. I got it for Christmas. By January we had figured out it's a little hit-and-miss. So I keep it in my diaper bag, and if I have already mapped out a route on Google Maps, and have the basic idea, then I can type the address in my GPS and follow it pretty closely, except when it deviates from what I KNOW to be the truth. So then I take off on my own, and C3PO (my GPS voice) repeatedly cries out, "Oh dear, Master! Turn around as soon as possible!" over and over and I get so annoyed I just turn the thing off and put it in my bag again.

So anyways. I got it out yesterday and told it to take me home. It led me through all the streets in the ghetto, like a tour with Paula Abdul. Oh, and the other thing it does is say, "Turn left now." and it means like, immediately NOW. So I have to yank the wheel and coffee is spilling and the children are yelling don't drive crazy mommy and so on.

Anyways. I am shooting along on the course it has for me, way, way that way over there, and I rocket past a sign for 71 S. (sigh) So I ignore C3PO and turn around in a scary, scary parking lot and get back to that sign. C3PO gets on board and tells me to take the next left, so I do. Only my robotic buddy actually meant the left after that. U-turn again, and finally get on 71. I start getting the warning beep that I am exceeding the speed limit. I depress the power button. I no longer need assistance. On one hand, I am grateful to Tom and Tom for actually getting me out of that neighborhood. On the other hand, I wonder where he was taking me. Is there a kidnapping plot? I guess I won't know until I get lost again, next week when I am going downtown.

I make it home a long time later. I want Apple to make a stand-alone GPS device. It would work.

Okay, so once again I am reposting something I originally had on my facebook.... mainly because I find myself pretty funny. So here you go.

♥ What are your middle names? Danielle/Lynn

♥ How long have you been together? shoot.... 15 years? Married 12.

♥ How long did you know each other before you started dating? a few months... he was trying not to rebound on me (I didn't care)

♥ Who asked who out? He asked me out, simultaneously with Jesse McDonald asking out Malinda Walsh. They only made it a week.... so sad.

♥ How old are each of you? I'm 30, he's 31

♥ Whose siblings do/ did you see the most? Hmmm. My sister Leah since she's Tred and married to Radiant.

♥ Do you have any children together? do we EVER.

♥ What about pets? GOD NO. We share a mutual disdain for furry things.

♥ Which situation is the hardest on you as a couple? oh, probably death. People dying and such.

♥ Did you go to the same school? yes

♥ Are you from the same home town? yes

♥ Who is the smartest? I am very smart, but I wreck cars and I can't tell time, so he thinks he's smarter. False.

♥ Who is the most sensitive? depends on the issue... probably him

♥ Where do you eat out most as a couple?here in this God-forsaken Mexican food hell, we end up at On the Border.

♥ Where is the furthest you two have traveled together as a couple? Jamaica

♥ Who has the craziest exes? I don't have any exes. So there you go,

♥ Who has the worst temper? if you ask me that again, I will break your FREAKING arm.

♥ Who does the cooking? I cook 98% of the time, twice a month the man makes some eggs.

♥ Who is more social? Depends on the situation. I am a party animal but when he puts on his youth pastor hat, he is Mr Chatty Kathy

♥ Who is the neat-freak? grr, him

♥ Who is the more stubborn? HE IS

♥ Who hogs the bed? He is a cuddler, so he's always over in my space and I am always escaping his clutches by sleeping on the very edge.

♥ Who wakes up earlier? me usually, what with the crumb-crunchers screaming I have poopoo at 7 am

♥ Where was your first date? I think we went to see Lion King, after some tense negotiations with my mom.

♥ Who has the bigger family? Me. But Rob and Steph are catching up as fast as they can.

♥ Do you get flowers often? no, but I did get some a few days ago!

♥ How do you spend the holidays? he mama, my mama, he daddy family

♥ Who is more jealous? him, what with the paranoia about me looking hot at the YMCA.

♥ How long did it take to get serious? couple months

♥ Who eats more? ME. Crazy fool fasts half the time

♥ Who does the laundry? I do not recall a single instance of Richy doing laundry.

♥ Who’s better with the computer? he's better at what he does, with audio production and web design and such.

♥ Who drives when you are together? always him, what with my proclivity for driving into 18-wheelers

R2 went back to school today. He's been out for 2 weeks due to sickness and overly celebrated presidential holidays. The MOG is really wanting to pull him out of school entirely and homeschool him... problem is, the MOG routinely takes off to beautiful exotic places for weeks at a time, wherein he plays his guitar and does not eat or shower. So that would make HIS doing the homeschooling a challenge. In fact, I think I would end up being the homeschool boss and I already tried that, a lot.

I like the fact that R2 goes to school, and he has a strict routine and all his therapies and everything right there. So we're staying the course for now, and will re-evaluate after this school year.

In other news, I did work out this morning, at the Y. At one point, one of the childcare workers came and got me off the stair-stepper thingy and had me come change a poopy diaper. I mean, isn't that kind of their job? Then there was an emotional crisis when I left post-diaper change for the remainder of my workout. Overall, a questionable choice on the part of the daycare ladies...

In other, other news, my hair is a violent shade of auburn today. I couldn't take the half-blond, half-red anymore. We'll see if this one takes or if the blonde wins again.



Blah blah... pretty boring today.

Warning: angsty girl-post ahead. 

I need to lose some baby weight. And by "baby" I mean, cookie. 

So here's what happened. It got really, really cold outside. So I quit going to the YMCA and stayed home. For weeks. It was pretty boring, and I was hungry, so I started baking. Now, a month or two later, none of my pants fit. I mean, I can put them on. But it's not good. There is excess flesh in many, many locations. So I plan on working out again, and probably I will be svelte again in a matter of weeks. In the meantime, however, I am in a bit of a quandary. I could rock my two pair of velour jogging pants, or I can squeeze into my two pair of jeans that sorta fit. ANGST. (disclaimer: I do not really think I am fat, I know I am a shrimp. You are not fat either)

So today, I took $14 from our tax return (thank thee, O great Obama) and hit the thrift store. The goal: fat pants that make me look skinny. Also, that do not bisect me when I sit down. I begin my search by looking for long, skinny legs in a darkish blue. Why? Maybe you ask. Maybe you need to get rid of the stonewashed mom-pants. I'm just sayin. 

So I am scrolling, scrolling through. Too light, waist too high, fat fat legs, size 2 (never again) size 10 (not yet)... made by Wrangler, etc. So I grab 15 pair or so of long-legged dark blue jeans. 

I am 5'1, with 36 inches of me being leg. I haven't measured my waist, but it is larger than my husbands, (30 inches, people) or at least the hip-area where I wear jeans is larger than 30. I'm kind of a mutant. I tried them all on, and vetoed every last pair. ESPECIALLY the mom jeans I tried on last. They went well above my navel, and tapered sharply at the ankle. I was laughing pretty hard in the dressing room, and almost took a picture with my phone, except the horror. 

I left with no jeans, I mean, except the ones I sprayed on before I left home. I will be going to the YMCA tomorrow morning. 

And now, some pictures from the princess' birthday party.

you inpsire poetry 

tiny fairy

little imp

you are all that is sweet and beautiful

and fire and spark

you issue your commands

collapse on the floor in tears

scream in amazement 

captivate us all

oh the daintiness

and the elegance

you are the princess

and the jewel

Happy Birthday, baby!

So, if you missed the late-breaking update yesterday, it was actually worth the trip to the doctor. Brynn has at least one ear infection, probably both ears. Since she was doing her lucifer-falling-from-heaven impression while they were checking, they didn't get a real clear look in the second ear. Not that it mattered. Antibiotics work all around. 

Richy also has an ear infection, a nasty one. Poor kid. Luckily he really likes Amoxicillin. He chugs it very cheerfully, inspiring jealousy in the only non-infected kid in the household. 

R2 has been out of school for over a week, and he would maybe be okay to go back tomorrow, but they have President's Day holidays Friday and Monday. (hail obama, may he live forever)

Today, the boys seem much better. Bean is definitely still feeling bad, and even fell asleep when I was holding her. She never does that, she is a busy, busy little person. So I kind of enjoyed it, even though it's sad for her and all. She is also the only one still running a fever. 

And as to the sickness... it was referred to, in medical terms, by our medical personnel, as "some kind of nasty virus". So I feel much better knowing that. 

The MOG stands, a bastion of health in a diseased sea. He continues to check his temperature every few hours, and has yet to run a temp, much to his hypochondriac disappointment  delight. He has figured out how to get record temps by breathing on the probe, but I ain't fallin  for it. I didn't just fall off the turnip truck.

The most effective way to cure children is to make a doctor's appointment. We have one at 3 today, and it seems to have made everyone well. I love this, because it makes me look like a psychotic helicopter parent, who brings their kid to the pediatrician for a hangnail. 

A few times, I have just waited it out and we end up in the hospital. That's the other alternative. 

So we'll go, and it will take forever, and they will look at me kindly and tell me that kids get sick sometimes. I will refrain from telling them that sometimes my kid gets his BRAIN opened and stuff put inside. I will refrain. 

Instead, I will sit anxiously on the edge of my seat when they tell me Brynn has a temperature of 99. "Is that okay??" I will ask, wide-eyed. "What should I do?" They will tell me what to do, which I already know because I have the internet. Maybe someone will mention infant Tylenol. (I will scribble Tylenol on my notepad) Then we will come home. 

Too bad I can't rely on what I'm pretty sure will happen. Because, every now and then you go up there and they tell you that your kid is actually, truly sick and you should have brought them in sooner. That's the way of it. Peace.

Back in the old days, before the fever, I asked for some blog topics. I was planning on whining some more today about how sick we all are and how terrible I feel and how dirty my house is, but naaah. I'll take on one of y'all's subjects instead. (yes, that is a double apostrophe. I am from Texas)
So here you go:

Viking Granny!!!! said...
You could write the pros and cons of an older single woman adopting a child and being too attentive and the perfect parent... versus.... not adopting at all because she is TOO OLD
January 30, 2009 11:45 PM

Well, to begin with... OLD is in your head. My mom used to say, "Oh, they decided to be old when they were 40." and it was true. And if that's your bag, (not yours, Eva, but in a general sense) to start being old, then go on ahead. Now, some things are inevitable, and if your bladder falls out or what have you, then yeah, that's real. I'm more talking about reasonably healthy middle-aged people who are waiting to die. But, I digress.

Adoption is so, so important. Would I recommend infant adoption to a 50 year old? Well, yeah. If you expect to live a long time and you are willing to spend a couple of years not sleeping... Plus, you already know a heck of a lot by that point... and kids need families. Especially kids with special needs. 

(let me add this: I am answering her question, but I think most people could, and should adopt)

My friends Tracie and John are in the Ukraine right now adopting two special needs kids, to add to their 4 kids at home. Watch this video and see what Jesus is doing through flesh and blood people. John's blog.

Want to see more kids like this? Look here. Hands and feet. These kids will live their lives in orphanages... is having OLD parents worse than that? :)

That's too scary? Let me say this part straight. There is nothing wrong with adopting healthy white newborns. The thing is, that's what most people want. I am afraid it is creating a supply/demand ratio that is unfair to young pregnant women, who are pressured toward giving their children up when maybe they could keep their babies, and be good mothers... and it also shortchanges kids in greater need.

digressing again? maybe you hit a passionate topic. I am having a hard time staying focused.

So the white healthy newborn market is a bit of, well, a market right now.

There are babies in much greater need of families, that don't have long lines of potential parents waiting for them. These kids? Special needs, minorities, and the greatest need of all- foster care.

Okay, that's all on that for now. More another day.

So this crud has got all of us now. I had a fever last night and made the (recurrent) mistake of taking cold medication. I can get away with like, a sinus or allergy med.  But when you start adding in bioxychloralhyratedeippenscheimers, I get a little wacky. I slur my words, and I can't think straight, and I say stupid stuff. It lasts for like 12 hours. So I am not feeling drunk anymore now, which is handy since my kids are having unheard of temperatures and pooping all over everything and ocassionally coughing till they puke. All at once. 

What is awesome is the MOGs daddy powers are in full force today, making a quasi-breakfast and changing hellish diapers and just being a general all around great guy. 

When my fever broke, I had the delusion that I was all better and went grocery shopping. I dragged my diseased coughing wheezing carcass all over Walmart, and I pity the fool who uses my cart handle after me. But if you can't pick up bacteria at Walmart, where can a good American go?

The second dose of medicine is kicking in now, I think. I am feeling a little woozy. Toby is lying on the couch, running at about 103 now, which is a significant improvement. Bean is sporting a 102 as she lays on the floor. I and R2 are both hanging out at 99, and the MOG is of yet impervious.  

So there you go. Haaaaaack! Chooo! Sniff. 

ALL RIGHT! Shoooot.... you'd think I was getting paid for this. 

As I write, there are two naked toddlers watching TV and a very mad little boy laying on the couch. I don't know why he's mad. It is one of the continual frustrations for a mom with a non-verbal child. As to the naked toddlers, the girl-child has a rash I am trying to let air-dry, and the male child is going to be potty trained so help me God. And clothing hinders him. 

I plan on taking on many of your suggested topics, on a day that I don't have my own topic to discuss. Today, I want to whine. 

R2 has been home sick for several days. He had  a seizure a couple of days ago, which we didn't catch. We only knew because he couldn't stand and was disoriented when he woke up and then he slept all day. So it was a minor one. Since then he's been running a low fever, which is no big deal for a normal kid but a real risk for us. So I took him to the doctor and she thinks he just has a cold. Which is fine, but the fever continues. Stresses me out.

Waaa... right? I mean, he's the miserable one. But he doesn't have a blog to whine on, and I do. I just wish he could talk. When he was born, I just wanted him to live. And I'm so glad he lives, and does so much more than what was predicted. He's already a miracle.  I just get so tired sometimes of being locked out of his world. 

In perspective, his disabilities are minor. And I am a wuss. 

Let this be a lesson to you. Clamor for a post when I am in a whiny mood, and voila! whiny post. 

I know this is going to come as a great shock to some of you, but I love me some internet. LOVE. So when Richy called a 3 day Radiant fast, I decided to fast... my computer. Thus, I will be out until Wednesday night. 

(sticklers: I know that's not a complete 3 days. It's the principle of the thing. Sheesh.)

So please, talk amongst yourselves and keep the topic suggestions coming. What would you like me to blog on?? 

See you Wednesday!