Libby

One of the reasons I let my husband have his way relented and named my daughter Elizabeth was because of all the nickname possiblities. I knew she wouldn't have to be Elizabeth forever and I was sure one day one the other options would stick. I was always a little jealous of girls who were called one thing but had this whole other secret name reserved only for first day of school teachers and trouble time. That seemed like the thing to have to my second grade self. How dare my parents just name me and go with it!?

Anyway, I like Elizabeth as a name but I wasn't completely sure I wanted it as my daughter's name. I still, deep down, am a little regretful that Rachel is not her first name, but, well, so be it.

The thing is, well, I didn't really know how to go about giving a nickname. I don't come from nickname people. I mean, do you decide from day one what the nickname will be? Do you try out several and see which one fits? I even called my friend who goes by her middle name and asked her how that came about, still desperately holding out hopes for the Rachel to take over. What I found out was, well, you can do just about anything you want to do, which really didn't help me much at all.

So.

Elizabeth was Elizabeth, but then sometimes also she was:

Beth
Bethy
Ella
Ellie
Betsy
Bitty
Libbet, after I read Stephen King's Duma Key and it stuck for a while,
for a very short time Betty because my friend insisted we needed to bring the Betty back,
And my personal favorite which I believe suits her the best:

Libby

She most definitely was never, ever a Liz or a Lizzie because I forbade it's use where she was concerned. I knew a Lizzie in high school and she was called Lizzie the Lezzy, meaning le*bian, and while I don't see anything wrong with that, I remember how much that girl hated it and I have hated the name ever since. Don't hate me if you're a Liz. It's just one of those things.

So recently I've been calling her Libby. Of all the names it was the one I liked the most (although I never would've guessed that three years ago). It just seemed to fit her. She was a Libby, so much so that when people asked her name, I started going straight for the Lib. It felt strange, but then it was also kind of exciting because, finally, a nickname! I even signed a few Christmas cards that way. I was a rebel.

The other day, though, my Libby and I were playing in the driveway making chalk people and I wrote her lovely nickname and spelled it out for her singing her a little song I made up about Libby, Libby, Libby that I DID NOT snag from a 70s commercial. She stopped and placed her pink and purple chalked arms on her hips and yelled back at me:

"I am NOT Libby! I am ELIZABETH!"

Say what?

After all that I she doesn't get a nickname?

I have to say I'm a little bummed.

She's a Libby to me.

So I still call her Libby. Sometimes.

Until today when she asked to be called "Princess Elizabeth"

*sigh*

Shocking Photos

I've been trying all week to write Adam's birthday post and between another school vacation and some strange desire to sort baby clothes that turned into a three day odyssey, it's not quite happening. I promise, though. Soon.

Until then, though, check these out:






Aren't they awesome?

Such a shock to get some good shots for a change.

Aimee took them! We've been blog friends for years and had never met until MLK day when she took time from her holiday to get some pics of my beautiful kids.

And, man, they do look beautiful, huh?

If you're in the Houston area, check her out. You won't be sorry. I am so pleased with these and can't wait until spring when the bluebonnets bloom so she can take some more. My kids were so at ease with her too. Jacob continues to ask when she's coming back. Hopefully it'll be soon because I can't wait to meet her lovely children and see more of her growing portfolio.

The Mother's Always the Last to Know

This fall I enrolled Jacob in a free music program through the church where he goes to school. I thought it might be fun for him to learn some instruments, but, well, he missed a lot because it's held on Sunday afternoons and we'd either be out of town, on the way back home from out of town, or I just plain forgot to drive him there.

So as part of those resolutions I almost never keep, I decided that Jacob would make it to his music program every single Sunday and he would get something out of it if it killed us both.

Yes. I forgot to take him on MLK weekend. What? It was a holiday. Shouldn't they have cancelled it?

Last week the program director called. It wasn't the first time he's called. We've talked before about Jacob's behavior so I had a lame excuse about his meds wearing off all ready when the guy explained that Jacob had been chosen for a lead part in a musical they would be performing for a conference about the new Vacation Bible School theme.

What?

First of all...I had no idea he auditioned for a part. When I asked how music went that day he said fine and, yeah, I left it at that.

Secondly....HE HAS A LEAD PART?

Huh.

Knowing that Jacob has had behavior issues there, I gave the director an out by telling him I wouldn't tell him he got the part, but he was insistent that Jacob have the part. Apparently five people auditioned eighty children and all five put Jacob at the top of their list.

Huh.

I guess my kid can sing.

And act.

Who knew?

He doesn't sing here. I can't get him to even play act in a board game we have.

He can really make a Lego creation though and if you need someone to teach your kid how to get through almost any Wii game, he's your kid, but ACT?

Jacob decided to take the part. He's added three more hours onto his Sunday music class and will be practicing every Friday night until the first performance at the end of February. So far he hasn't complained too much about it.

This Sunday he's to have his lines from the first three scenes memorized.

He memorized them on Monday and he's working on the others.

Huh.

All this time I've worried that my kid didn't have a sports thing.

Maybe he was never meant to have a sports thing.

Maybe this is his thing.

Huh.

Who knew?

RSVP. Try it, You'll Like It.

Adam turned five last week. FIVE. Who remembers when Jacob turned five and Adam was still a teeny baby?

FIVE? That's so hard for me to swallow. FIVE. Big kids turn five. How did my baby become a big kid so quickly? *sigh*

I should really write a fifth birthday post about Adam especially since I found his fourth birthday post completely blank in my draft file, but eh, I'll talk about his party.

His Ch*ck E Ch**se birthday party.





Adam has wanted a Ch*ck E Ch**se party since he knew what birthday parties were. Since Jacob got a fancy party at five, we decided Adam could choose a fancy party at five too, so we've pretty much had this party planned since the day AFTER he turned four last year.

Anyway. When preschool classes resumed after Christmas I sent Adam in with fifteen little Batm*n party invitations to place in every one of his classmate's little cubbies where his teacher so lovingly placed in each little folder before placing that in each little backpack. In addition to the date, time, and place of the party I also requested an RSVP by a certain date complete with two contact numbers and an email address for those people who feel awkward talking to a stranger over the phone. Never mind that we've all met at least three previous times, but you know, whatever.

When the invitation deadline came, I'd received one regret.

Seriously? I spent about half the day panicking wondering what would happen to my sweet baby if NO ONE showed up to celebrate his big day and then I remembered I've done this before. What has happened common courtesy and manners? Aren't we in the south here? Aah....don't get me started on the thank you card.

I waited a couple more days and got two acceptances and then contacted the mouse house and lowered my number to the minimum amount, eight, even though I only had six for sure. It was stressful, the wondering, but I had to let it go. I knew we'd have a good party no matter how many kids showed up so I just decided to be done with it.

Then on the day of the party a babysitter found me in the pick-up line half hour before and told me she'd be bringing two kids which, GREAT!, now I have my eight.

So, we get to Ch*ck E Ch**se and meet with our party hostess who sets everything up, plates, cups, tokens, pizza, for EIGHT children. Then suddenly we had TWELVE children. Twelve guests and eight token cups. Obviously the party hostess has dealt with this before because she was quick to bring out more plates and cups and utensils, but it did take her a while to get the tokens ready. The babysitter and her two charges was the last to show up and immediately demanded tokens to which I told her the hostess would be over soon with them. She wasn't happy about waiting so I gave her a handful of the 100 I bought myself and told her I'd see about the hold up. Apparently I wasn't quick enough. When I returned with the extra tokens, I found her grabbing the rest of my tokens right out of my bag. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I shouldn't have left my bag sitting there unattended but, well, we were the only people in that place so you figure you can trust your own party guests. I guess you can't.

If it weren't my kid's birthday party I would've made more of a scene than the, oh-no-someone-took-our-tokens-sorry-you-used-your-tokens-little-boy-there-aren't-anymore routine while asking my husband quite loudly in front of the thief if we could afford to buy more. Amazing, but none of that phased her.

FYI: Iif you have eight kids, you get two pizzas. If you have twelve kids, you get five pizzas. That would've been nice to know before I ordered the two extra pizzas back when we only had eight kids.

And guess who forgot her coupons??

So the party ended up costing me fifty dollars in pizza we ate three meals a day for the next three days. It was worth it, though, to finally make my five year old baby's birthday dream come true.



Next: Adam at Five

And then Later: Birthday Party Etiquette...How to Answer an RSVP, Write a Thank You Note, and If it's in someone's bag, it doesn't belong to you.

If I Had That Kind of Money, I'd Be Driving a Nicer Car

Can I just complain a little bit here.

It's nothing huge, nothing life changing, but something that kinda ticked me off today.

Jacob goes to private school. You know that. There are things I love and adore about it (the teachers) and things I completely detest (snooty parents). Of course, it goes without saying that I hate handing over a huge chunk of change every semester, but as far as private schools go, it's one of the most affordable around here. And just in case you were wondering, I didn't shop around for a cheap private school because I dislike public education. I shopped around for a half day kindergarten and this was the only one I found. We I had every intention of sending him to his regular neighborhood school in first grade but this place worked for him and we just thought we'd do this for as long as we can.

And yes, Adam will be going to the half-day kindergarten there next year (I threw up a little in my mouth typing that) because I still haven't found another one.

Anyway.

I've gotten to know some of the more laid back and less mean parents. Some of them I interact with on a regular basis. You might even call them my friends, but I don't want to jinx it or anything. So in chatting with these parents I have learned that one of Jacob's friends did not return this year because they could no longer afford it. She has since been pulled out of her neighborhood school because she was too far ahead and is now being homeschooled. They have gone in monthly asking for assistance in scholarships (which the school does offer) and have been turned down every time. This month, another parent lost his job and has no savings to fall back on so they approached the administration to ask for a one month extension fulling expecting to be employed by February. They were denied. If they do not pay this month's tuition by the end of the month, they will have to withdraw their son. In the middle of the school year. So much for that helping Christian hand.

Now. I fully understand that while trying to teach these children the ways of the L*rd is the mission of this school, I do get they are also running a business without any of the government perks given to the local school systems. I know they cannot give everyone a hand-out. I know they can't help everyone who asks. I get that. Sure, it'd be nice if they could wait a few weeks for a payment but I get they have to pay for electricity and water and teacher salaries.

This morning I went the mailbox and found yet another letter from the school. Now. They mail something out to every single family enrolled there at least once a week. Sometimes it's an ad to attend their church. Sometimes it's the monthly school newsletter. Most of the time it's a request for even more money and I don't mean tuition. All of them come with a 44 cent stamp attached.

So, I figure the enrollment is somewhere around 600 these days. Sure, there have to be some siblings, so let's say 500 families get the monthly mail. Take 500 and multiply by each of those stamps and you get about $2200 spent on EACH mailing. Let's say they send three this month and that's $6600. Uh-huh. Maybe if they just pushed those things into each kid's backpack on the way home they could save enough money to help some people in need. But what do I know?

So I opened the letter and it was an ad inviting us to the annual donate more money auction that we have actually enjoyed attending in the past. One year, I got a free weekend of petsitting for five bucks and had a good time on top of that. Last year, they combined it with the Gala (think fancy sit-down spaghetti dinner) they have in the fall because it was cancelled due to Hurricane Ike. We missed the auction last year because we couldn't do the Gala what with all these kids and everything.

I was kind of excited because, well, I don't have a life and I could really use some more pet-sitting, when I found they are yet again combining the Gala and the auction. We couldn't go to the Gala last year because we couldn't bring our kids. We can't go to the Gala this year because two tickets cost $250. That's TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY DOLLARS to walk around a smelly gym and then pay MORE money on a bunch of crap like pet-sitting and eat sticky pasta and limp salad. What?

I guess it goes without saying that the people of the auction committee are all the rich snooty parents right?

I can sit at the Grand Champion table for eight at the rodeo-themed Gala/auction for only $10,000. Yes. TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS. Seriously???

And there's a huge sign out front of the school that says they'd like 100% participation this year.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

You know, I'd love to donate some money to that school. I'd love to see all of Jacob's previous and current teachers be paid more. They deserve it. The school needs more room and computers and stuff that will give them a better education. I'd love to help out with that. But $10,000? Don't have that. $250? Don't have that either. I do have $100 I got at Christmas that I would love to spend at the silent auction on maybe a BBQ dinner at my favorite place, tickets to the symphony, or, yes, the dang pet-sitting, but I won't be able to get in. I've been denied because I don't have enough money to get in the door.

I hope they call me again this year to see if we'll be there. I'll tell them if they want to encourage the families who go to school there to become part of their school family, then they need to include each and every one of them in a way everyone can be involved because I know we won't be the only family not attending. In fact, I can be pretty certain that no one I personally know will be able to get in either.

I'm thinking I'll have my own Gala and have all the poor people come here, swim in the pool across the street and collect ten bucks from everyone to give to the family who needs the extension.

But if they don't have ten bucks. That's okay. We're still family.

Fuzzy

Our first digital photos....





They aren't great. It wasn't a great camera, but boy it cost a pretty penny. I am amazed that I have a much better one now for a quarter of the price of the first one and even it isn't a fancy one.

I remember having a film camera. It was 2001. Now it is 2010. How did that happen? Sometimes I look at my eight year old child and wonder what happened to this little baby. I see myself and remember how I never thought I'd make it through those sleepless nights and scream-filled days. It seems like yesterday, yet at the same time it seems so far away.

Our family has grown in more ways than one since we bought that fuzzy, expensive camera. We're in a different house, in a different neighborhood, in a different town with a different dynamic than that June day. I didn't really see it coming back then, but I like it. Sometimes, though, I'd like to have just one more 2001 day. One more day to enjoy that tiny baby. Kiss his toes, feel his fuzzy hair, rock for hours on end in that old recliner, and sniff his sweet baby smell. Just one more day with that baby knowing what I know about him now.

I miss that baby.

And I wonder if I knew then what I know now about his "condition" if I'd been a better mother to him then.

I wish I could find out.

Sometimes.

My Girl

I was going to write about my New Year's Resolutions today and then I realized, heh, I used the F word twelve hours into the new year during that game and why bother eating healthfully if we're all just destined to disappear in 2012 anyway?

Instead, I'm going to write the post that's been swirling in my head for a while now. The one I've been hesitant to write for fear of upsetting some of my readers. The one that will finally separate me once and for all from all the boymoms in the world. You know, if anyone is actually still reading my drivel.

Can I just say how much I love my daughter?



Oh, I love my boys too. But my daughter? I didn't know what I was missing.

The hairbows....so cute.

The babydolls....so fun.

Shopping on the left side of Carters.....full of the awesomeness.

But the best thing? The best thing is just having her around. She gets me. I get her. I am no longer outnumbered in this house full of testosterone.

I spent my entire pregnancy telling myself that I would adore the little boy that I may have been carrying. I picked him an awesome name (two actually), set up his true blue room, and waited to complete our Y-chromosome heavy family. On the morning my daughter was born, making our way to the hospital in the near-dawn darkness, I cried. I sobbed actually. The whole way there. I cried for my daughter. The one I never thought I'd have. It was a secret between my husband and me, a secret we'd never tell our third son. Then we checked in, got plugged up, and wheeled in to have our baby with smiles on our faces. I was ready to meet our boy, I really was. I knew I loved him, I'd been with him for months. But when that doctor said it was a girl..twice, I cried. I sobbed actually. It was one of the happiest moments of my life.*

In those first weeks after she was born, in my vicodin-induced happy haze, I'd just look at her and thank God for giving me a girl. I'd wake up each morning and remember, OMG! I have a daughter!, and it'd make me just a little happier while swaying and shushing the colic away.

I miss my baby girl, but I love my little girl.

I love how she wants me to comb her hair so she can be bootiful.

I love seeing her baby dolls neatly covered and kept warm.

I love hearing her sing. Anything.

I love it when she kisses her brothers. And I love it more that they kiss her back with so much adoration.

I love the princess costumes, ponytails, and the at-home manicures on itty-bitty nails.

When Santa left his loot under our tree Christmas morning, I teared up seeing the mass of pink at one side. At one time I never thought I'd see that, the things I loved, the things I know, being loved by someone else I love. I loved seeing her ooh and aah over her girly things and I loved even more watching her move to each of her brothers and do the same with them.

I wake up in the morning now and I am no longer surprised to have a girl in my house, but I do give thanks every morning for her. And her brothers too. I cannot even imagine what life wouldn've been like if she'd been a boy. It just seems like Elizabeth was always meant to be with us.

But I still really love shopping on the left side of Carters.


*And because I'm sure someone will wonder, I was happy birthing my other two children, but the first one came eight weeks early and was rushed to the NICU immediately which was very stressful and wondering about him for six hours before anyone told me anything didn't make for a happy morning. When the second one came, I had complications that caused a prolonged postop situation and some crazy drugs that kept me from really knowing what was going on until late that afternoon, so yeah, the third birth, AWESOME.

A Forty-Two Year Tradition....

Christmas Eve photos under the tree...







I'm thinking this is a tradition that needs to end.

A Nice Surprise

I was going to write a long, reflective post about the end of 2009 and the hope that is 2010 this morning, but I was somehow led to check the school calendar yesterday and found that school does not start back until TOMORROW. Good thing I found that out before I dropped my kid off in my pajamas in the 35 degree chill.

So today, I'm taking this unexpected day off and actually spending it with my kids (as soon as Max and Ruby goes off). Trying my darnedest to stick to those resolutions.

Hope you all had a wonderful holiday.

Happy New Year.

Merry Christmas!

Tis the Season for Packages on Your Doorstep

Look what the UPS man brought us me!!

Can it get any better than this? My favorite food. At my door step.

Life is sooo good.



Check it out. Little red crinkly things. LITTLE RED CRINKLY THINGS! With my favorite food. It does get better.



Thank you Miss Tracey. You made my day!



And be sure to check out Tracey's review blog so your kid can get this excited on a regular old weekday too. Who knows? You might even win the cool Squeeballs Nintendo DS game giveaway she's doing right this very minute. You know, if you want to ruin Jacob's day and keep me from winning it.

I Wish I Lived in Iowa Today

So I hear ya'll are having a blizzard....

We had one too. Last Friday. In Houston. It was cold. The Christmas party I'd been looking forward to for months was cancelled. Schools dismissed early. Milk and bread flew off the supermarket shelves. The local networks ran a constant feed of breaking snow news all morning.



If you look very closely, you'll see my boys through the near white-out conditions. This was at it's very worst.

Seriously, though, Houston got some snow last week. Twice I looked out the window and saw huge falling snowflakes, I think you Yankees call them "flurries". Places west and north of us got a little accumulation too. We. Did not. Too close to the coast, I guess. Too warm for anything to stick. We. Were very disappointed.

I used to live up north. I twice missed school the entire month of February due to snow and ice and then some ice and snow. One year I drove home for Christmas across the southern part of Virginia through the Appalachians with the radio announcers telling me if I didn't have anywhere to be not to venture out. My car spun five circles that day. I made it home though. I still don't know how. Dear Mr. Channel 2 Guy, what I witnessed THAT day was a white-out. There was no white out here, but thanks for staying positive.

I chuckle a little when I watch Texas prepare for snow. It's sweet, actually. When I was a northerner I took for granted every year that it would snow. I knew we'd get a day off eventually. Non-sticking flurries were old hat. Accumulation meant shoveling and the thought of driving anywhere in that would evoke grumbles from all around. Here in Texas, EVERYONE gets excited for snow. Any snow. Or even sleet for that matter. It just so rarely happens.

Yes. We were disappointed to have no tiny snowman. No weak snowballs. But we revelled in our ten minutes of flurries. Because that's all we could get.

I'm thinking of all you blizzard survivors today. Been there, done that. Just not in a very long time so I am quite jealous. Be safe. Stay warm. Enjoy your piles of snow for me.

And I'll enjoy my 65 degrees and sunshine for you.

The Santa Saga

*Read quickly because I'll be erasing this soon. My kid knows how to log on and access my blog. And he can read, dammit.*

Before we started a family, Derick and I discussed how we'd do holidays. Basically, all the holidays would be spent with my family since his family doesn't really care and we would not insult the intelligence of our children by introducing them to imaginary figures such as The Easter Bunny and Santa Claus. I mean, what decent parent LIES to their child?

That was before we passed St. Nicholas in the mall with our eight month old baby. That colicky, unhappy baby who lit right up seeing him sitting there all ho, ho, ho jolly and stuff.



So we figured, eh, he's little, we can do it this year.

And then we remembered my sister's kids, well, they also loved Santa so we kept it up, you know, to keep peace and harmony in the family.

And then the second child came and, well, how unfair would that be to let the oldest one enjoy Santa and not the youngest one, I mean, we are all about the fairness.




And the third one came, and although Santa's lap is quite full, we couldn't deny her either so here we are. For a family that wasn't going to do Santa, we sure have done up the Santa. And the Easter Bunny too, but that's an entirely different story.



But. The kids get older. And smarter. And they start to listen more. And then Mommy starts to panic.

So Jacob goes to a Christian school and most of the families there have chosen as we once did not to celebrate the secular themes of the holiday and instead focus on the true meaning of the season. There's a reason for the season? Really? I kid, I kid.

Anyway, these kids are starting to talk. In the past month, my son, my tiny baby son, has come home feeling so very sorry for three different boys who say they do not believe and he fears they will wake up with nothing on Christmas morning. He wants to buy them some Legos so they'll have something under the tree. Isn't that sweet?

While walking through the Wally World last week, one nasty old bitty had the loudest phone conversation about whether or not the person on the other end of the line should tell her child THERE IS NO SANTA. I bumped her a little with my cart. Did I mention I HATE listening to others talking on the phone. Go home. Talk there. Bah.

And now Target has this stupid ass commercial on all day where the dad gets upset at the mom when she unwraps her big screen tv and goes on and on incessantly about Santa not realizing there's a recession and Mom tells him that Santa knows how to shop.

Um, yeah. My kid. He gets innuendo. Who'd a thunk?

I see him standing there watching it. I see the gears moving in his head. I watch him stop what he's doing to catch again fifteen minutes later. The gears....still moving.

Why do that Target? Everytime I see it, the less I like you.

My kid. He doesn't ask any questions. I think he already knows the answers. It's sad really.

Sometimes I regret our decision to just go with it.

Then I see the delight in their faces when they see Santa every year.

And clear a path away from the fireplace.

And leave cookies and reindeer food and, for the past two years, a gift, bought with his own money because Santa needs a present too. FYI: Santa's getting a Lego Santa keychain. For the sleigh keys. Or the workshop. Whichever.

Santa will bring everything my kids have asked for this year. Even the very expensive Lego set he can't really afford. We're going to do it up this year. And we're going to enjoy every minute while we can.

A Helpful Hint

If you find yourself in a salon and you notice your stylist smells a tad bit like stale beer and a funny kind of smoke and if she happens to say "I think I did it right?" when giving what should be the world's easiest hair cut....

Run. Take the hair cover smocky thingie with you if you must.

Trust me.

I am hoping Santa brings me a wig for Christmas.

I Was Just Making Sure They Were Paying Attention

It's been a long afternoon.

After falling asleep watching Toy Story 2 for the five thousandth twentieth time, I woke up just in time to find we needed to get in the car QUICK to pick up Jacob. Thank you Elizabeth for writing on my face with the blue ball point pen or I might still be lying there.

By the time I strapped my two diaper/underwear clad preschoolers into their safety seats, I was already ten minutes late. The light at the middle school up the street put me behind another five. Dang kids wanting to GO HOME by CROSSING THE STREET!

When I pulled into the school I was already late enough to have to wait for every. single. highschooler to cross the driveway or just stand their gabbing while I wait-wait-waited and I swear I never thought about plowing them down inching into them little by little to MAYBE get them to mosey out of the fricking street.

As I finally pulled around the back of the building where my child should have been seething waiting, he wasn't there. I quickly scanned through the eight kids left sitting and he was nowhere to be found. I pulled my car up to see if he was sitting behind a pole. Wasn't there either. The duty teacher came over panic-stricken and asked if Jacob had rode home with a friend by mistake. I proceeded to flip out and wonder out loud, DID YA'LL JUST PUT MY KID IN SOMEONE ELSE'S CAR? And my heart started to pound through my ears and that Frito chili pie I had for lunch started moving on up.

So I parked my car, released my almost naked children, and headed for the building, or the office, or the classroom, or who knows where I was going? My kid was MISSING!

And as I blew past that duty teacher, she just happened to say, "Could he be in a help class?"

And then it dawned on me.

I signed my kid, that one I was so worried about, the one I apparently remember nothing about, up for the after-school algebra (seriously, algebra, in third grade!) help class his teacher offered in a note the night before.

I wasn't late. He was late. And now I was early. So. Very. Early. Standing like a crazy person with two almost-naked children out in the kinda-sorta-you might say it's chilly weather. With blue pen marks on my face.

Ummm....yeah.

And I wonder why some of those mothers make fun of me.

Iowa

On page 57...



I had planned to take pictures of the entire cooking process but my MIL was pretty much all over me the entire time and since she called and told everyone back home how I took photos of my finished meals making me sound like a complete doofus you're all lucky to get this one.

But I really wanted Sherry to see what Tall Corn Pork Chili (a.k.a Iowa Chili) looks like.

I'll post this recipe, and all other chili recipes, on my recipe blog. You can find it here.

This chili was a hit with everyone at the table* except me. I couldn't even finish the bowl. The chili had pork, which I love, but also corn. Lots of corn. While I LOVE corn on the cob and completely separate as a side dish on a plate, I DO NOT like corn in my soups or chilis. I don't know why, I just don't like it that way. Everyone else, though, thought it was awesome and my MIL took the recipe home with her.

Next up, after Thanksgiving: Wisconsin Green Bay Chili for Kelly.



*And by everyone at the table I mean everyone except Adam and Elizabeth who pretty much exist only on yogurt and very rarely eat an offered meal.

It Was Too Funny Not to Share

So my mother-in-law is here.

I am glad to say she no longer smokes which has really, really made her stay a tad more bearable. But. She's my mother-in-law. She doesn't like me. She tolerates the children. And quite honestly, it's a little like living with my grandmother. When she was 90. And sort of senile.

She does things like leave her fifteen or so non-childproof lidded medicines all over the house. She tries to let my INSIDE cat out. She takes Elizabeth outside and then comes in without her. She hovers over me while I cook, tastes my creations without being offered, and then puts the spoon back into the pot. Yum. She takes my wet laundry out of the washer and piles it in a basket so she can push hers through (now I see where her son gets it). She barges in my room when the door is closed demanding things...pencils, soup, toothpaste, and now this very time, rubberbands.

She also uses every. single. bathroom. in our house. Now, I set her all up in the main upstairs bathroom when she arrived and pretty much made it clear that, hey now, this is where YOU do your business. WE. Will use the other THREE bathrooms. Why yes, I am a wonderful hostess for assuring your absolute privacy during your stay.

Um. Yeah.

One day this week she walked in on poor Adam and demanded to know if he was done yet. He now calls her Stinky. The boy does love his privacy.

She walked into our master bath right past me Farkling on the Facebook last night in bed. I'm guessing I should have said something, but she's done this before and I figured my husband would just get mad if I said anything to her, so I let it go. I mean, it's weird, but harmless, right? RIGHT?

This morning my husband was taking a shower in our master bathroom. I was lying in bed twittering and Facebooking and generally hiding out from HER, when she came shuffling right into the bedroom. Our bathroom does not lock as it has two push doors that rate a ten in attractiveness, yet two on functionability. I mean, I have three kids. I WANT my bathroom to lock, but I digress. It will never lock and I want to finish my story.

So, anyway, where was I?

Oh, SHE came shuffling into my bedroom and I knew where she was heading so I kindly told her that, "Um, Derick's in the shower right now. You can't go in there." to which she replied, not even looking at me, "I won't look at him". And I'm guessing at that point I should've gotten up and led her out of the room or something but I was just so completely dumbfounded I just sat there. And then she did it. She opened both doors and waltzed right into that bathroom while my husband was naked and whistling.

And then he was screaming.

But you know what? She didn't leave. She went into the separate toilet room to do her business and then walked right back out completely oblivious to all the four letter words coming out of her son's mouth directed right at her.

And I. I had to pull the covers up over my head because I could not stop laughing. In fact, when I think about it now, four hours later, I laugh some more, because Oh. My. Gawd. It was just that funny.

Ho, Ho, HA!

Awww...What happened to my sweet little baby girl?



She's been overtaken by demons or aliens, that's what has happened.

Elizabeth is two and a half now. She hit them a little late, but the terrible twos, oh my dear Lord, the terrible twos are soooo terrible!

Yesterday I ran into the store to pick up only some sour cream and it was a full out fit from the time I loaded her into the car until she conked out in the pick-up line at Jacob's school. I'm still waiting on the CPS to arrive as the man behind me assured me he'd be calling them because, obviously, he's never had any children.

Today, I so stupidly took my three little devils angels to get their pictures taken. Christmas pictures. In the most beautiful little Christmas outfits. In front of the sweetest little Christmas background just so I can show every one I know just how gorgeous my children are we can spread lots of Christmas cheer this year.

You know it's bad when the nice photographer lady refers to them as hellions.

Oh, the boys were pretty good, I got a couple of nice shots of THEM together. She even asked if maybe I wanted to send a card out with just the boys. *sigh*

Elizabeth = Birth Control

She would not sit, she would not stand, she would not smile.

And then she threw a fit. The holy mother of all fits.

In front of the eye-rolling lady who swooped in and took my 10 a.m. appointment and then still hadn't chosen her pictures during our FORTY-FIVE minute appointment making us stand and wait with our screaming child that. much. longer.

I mean, really, an hour to choose your pictures? How hard can that be.

That was three hours ago. I am still shaking.

But at least I have some lovely Christmas cards of my boys.

And my boys and my MIL. The MIL who so elegantly wore her PAJAMAS to the photo shoot even after we bought her a new outfit to wear for them.

Just drop me an email with your home address if you'd like one in your mailbox this year.

Because, there ain't no way in hell I'm attempting this again.

Stuff

I have so much I want to write and so little time to write it. I considered doing NaBloPoMo, but I KNEW I'd NEVER be able to keep up with it, so I'll just touch on some of it in a condensed post.

*Jacob has really matured this year. We're still dealing with anger issues and that whole meds-wore-off business at the end of the day, but at school he's stellar. Last night was the third grade musical (I made it this time!). It was nice and he did well, but I was more impressed with the new boy who approached me at the end to introduce himself and tell me how glad he was that Jacob was his friend. Last year, his friends hid from him because they didn't want the others to know they were friends. This year, at least five kids made an effort to tell Jacob good-bye or give him a high five and one made plans to meet early today to discuss all things Mario. You know I cried on the ride home. I credit his teacher. She has really boosted his confidence and just boosted him to all those around him. She's making him cool. I love her.

*My MIL arrives on Sunday. Time to get out the Febreeze. I think God has a sense of humor because Hurricane Ida is heading our way also. And don't forget all the swine flu she's bound to come in contact with on her three day train ride. My husband came home with a large bottle of scotch. Enough said. (You can read my past MIL experiences in November 2008 and 2007. Please pray for me)

*My friend is doing okay. She's getting things together and figuring out the next steps. Last night she logged into her husband's computer and found a ton of pictures of him and the boys from a few days before his death and it hit her hard. I want to fly up RIGHT NOW and be there with her, but as she only got three days bereavement leave she had to use the rest of her vacation time and she wants me to wait until she's accrued some more to fly up. I'm just trying to do what I can through the phone and computer. If anyone has any suggestions on what else I can do, pass it my way, because I feel like a useless friend just sitting here.

*I'm having a jewelry party. I hate those things, but my friend is just starting out as a consultant and I wanted to help her out. I am pretty put out, though, at all those "friends" I bought Pampered Chef, Discovery Toys, USborne Books, Stamping Up, Longaberger, Homemade Gourmet, Tastefully Simple, Premier Jewelry, Tupperware, and Creative Memories from who won't even respond to me. So far...no sales whatsoever. Thank you fake party friends.

*This is how Elizabeth entertains herself these days:



I'm just too old and tired to do anything about it. It buys me some floor mopping/bed-making/bathtub scrubbing time. Sure would be nice to win some diapers now.

*Christmas is 49 days away. Any suggestions on a "big" girl gift? I am lost on the whole girly thing. Once I find it, I'll be done with my kid shopping. Of course, my boys changed their lists now, but, oh well. They're just going to have to take what they get.

*We did Halloween without spending a dime. You might recognize the costumes.



And after that picture=taking fiasco, you'll be happy to know that Penneys will be taking our Christmas pictures this year. I give up.

*Next up on my chili tour....Iowa. Tall Corn Pork Chili for Sherry.

Proud

I have cried all day....



Do you know what it's like to have another mother tell your kid he's too weird to play with her kid?

Do you know what it's like to have another mother yell at your kid because he "just won't shut up"?

Do you know what it's like to be asked to leave Gymboree because the other mothers are "scared" of your kid?

Do you know what it's like for your kid to be kicked out of Mother's Day Out because the teachers "just can't handle him"?

Do you know what it's like to lose "friends" because they no longer want their child exposed to your "weird" child?

Do you know what it's like to have adults laugh at your kid?

Well, I do. And it's not fun.

But today was full of the fun. I turned around and looked at some of those mothers while doing a little dance when my son was called up to accept his award for second-highest average in his class this grading period. After missing it by a point the past two years, he finally made it.

I've always known Jacob was smart. Now the rest of them know it too.