Dentists....Bill Cosby had it right

Went to the dentist today. And I have a question. Why do dentists insist on having a conversation with you while their hand is stuffed in your mouth?! Am I supposed to answer back? Because the whole awkwardness of the situation only grows with this one sided conversation going on. Does the man really care how my kids are doing in school at that moment? Cause I would prefer if the man would shush up and just concentrate on what he is doing with that rather sharp instrument he is jabbing my teeth with. Jeez. But, all went well and I got my bi-yearly lecture on how " Flossing is important and I should be a good example for my kids". I always try real hard not too laugh at how life threatening they make it all sound. No cavities so I don't know why I got the lecture in the first place anyhow. Oh well. I got 6 months free of awkward-dentist-conversations to look forward too!

And I 'm BACK!!!

Wow, people actually read this thing?! I had several unnamed people track me down this holiday season and demanded to know why the heck I never write on this blog anymore. I was just shocked anybody actually followed it! (Which was why I stopped in the first place. I assumed no one was reading this and figured I could just talk to myself at home and accomplish the same end) Sorry folks--I appreciate that anyone WANTS to listen to my ramblings and "adventures".

Today's adventure: new pet. Ya know, I am a sucker for pets. Petsmart has a poster of me hidden in their drawer that alerts them when I walk in that "Yes! This woman will buy anything pet oriented you put in front of her!" I actually have a monthly budget for pets. Not kidding. Anyway, Kyri randomly asked today in the car if she could have a hermit crab someday. "Sure!" I said, "-lets go get one right now! " And TADA! we now have three of the ugly little things crawling around. (Petsmart saw me coming) The girls are tickled, I am unsure at my hastiness and Doug doesn't know yet. Maybe I just won't tell him. But I doubt the girls can keep mum about it; they have yet to keep any of my...um..projects secret.

"Ya wanna a chick with that...(hiccup)"

Chicks, chicks everywhere. You know, I should be part of some group for addiction to buying animals. Maybe AA...Animals Anyomonous. Back in Januray, I talked Doug into agreeing to redo our chickens. Selling the old and getting new ones...better ones. I researched lots of breeds and found just what I wanted---all of the ones I looked at. So, I ordered a little here a little there and POOF! I ended up with too many. Twice this week, I have had 6 am phone calls from grumpy postal workers (never a good thing) who want me to pick a box of ear-piercing cheeping chicks RIGHT NOW. 15 minutes later, I am home, with the box open looking down at over 75 little fur balls and thinking "Oh boy, I'm in trouble". Twice. No--I do not have 150 chicks now because most I sold to others. I only have 40. That sounds much better than 150..right? (This is the tactic I tried with Doug. Didn't work). 40 is a lot. They sounded a lot less on paper. My computer room turned brooder for baby chicks smells and keeps us up at night with the noise. I am constantly checking chicks for bum problems (we won't go into detail here..just trust me), refilling feed containers and making sure Adreana is not throttling one of the little buggers. One week to go until they are all out in the shed until it's warm. Unfortunately, I have 25 more coming Monday. Yikes. Maybe I should just turn myself in to rehab or something.

Sweet and Sour

As many know, one of our 5 year old twins was back in the hospital this week. Not the truck hit one, but the other, Elora. She had the bad luck of having the Strep Virus attack her lungs with pneumonia before deciding to add more chaos in our lives by going after her kidneys . Doug and I noticed something was wrong when the twins suddenly became easy to tell apart. DING! DING! DING! alarms bells went off when we no longer had to ask "Who are you now?" one morning because Elora's face was swelled up like a bee had stung her and her skin was turning a pale yellow. It got more troublesome when she kept throwing up everyday, including a memorable scene in Brick Oven Restaurant in front of a crowd of disgusted teenage waiters. (they spent ten minutes moaning about who had to clean it up. Wimps) We really became panicked when she started to pee colors like cranberry and root beer. But, no worries, after last September, we knew the way to Primary Children's Hospital blindfolded. Three days later, and about 10 thousand dollars, we got to go home again with Elora still peeing colors but no longer feeling sick. Her kidneys would mend. We had dodged another bullet. But I truly knew all was well when I went to tuck the girls in and found Tahlia and Elora curled up side by side in Elora's bed fast asleep. And I couldn't tell who was who once again.

Trauma Side Effects

You know, when trauma occurs in your family, it affects things later that you never thought it would affect. Tahlia was nearly killed in September after being hit by a car. She survived and has recovered almost fully here in February. And we thought we HAD completely recovered as a family. But, little things are still different. Elora has been seriously sick this week with pneumonia (she is still at home). Yet, it has mostly seemed such a minor issue to me. Why? Because, compared to near death experiences of a few months ago, pneumonia is nothing. She is throwing up constantly and her face has swelled up like a ballon and I am taking it in stride. I hand her some Benedrayl, scrub the new colored spot on the carpet while humming a merry little tune. A year ago, if she had been this sick, I would be reacting differently: freaking out. Now, it like "Oh well, it is too bad you have to miss your field trip. Here is a bowl to throw up in again." Don't get me wrong; I don't want her to be sick and I feel bad for her. But, little crises (and even medium crises) are all weighed, filed and placed in comparison to September's tragedy. And they don't even register "LEVEL ORANGE" on my stressed out scale. Am I numbed by what happened? Is this a bad thing? And how long will it last?

An Arrested Developement: Turtles

One day I woke up and thought , "It would be fun to get a turtle" and TADA! we now own a turtle (this is what usually happens with my acquiring of animals: random, spontaneous impulses) . But it was a struggle to get the little green thing. I found a guy on the internet who was selling baby turtles. He was a college student with a hectic schedule and it took over 30 text messages (doesn't anyone pick UP a phone anymore?) to find a time to pick up the said turtle ! He refused to use the phone other than to text so most of the messages were as follows "What time should I come by?" (me) "?" (him) , "The turtle, when is a good time?" (me) " I'da no--ltr 2morrow" (him), "Can you give me a time?" (me), -whn I'm hme" (him) , This would go on for DAYS! I finally got the baby turtle after staking out his apartment twice until someone came home. Ah.. college days: oblivious freedom. Well, it turns out this turtle has a problem. It is illegal. Any turtle, by Federal Law, cannot be sold if under 4 inches. He is about the size of a large quarter. Apparently, kids tend to swallow small reptiles until they reach 4 inches then decide it may not be a good idea to eat them anymore. And the government made the law after getting sick and tired of paying for all these kids' hospital bills to remove the dead turtles from their stomachs (And I am NOT making any of this up). So, you can't buy them unless you are a certified teacher . Where would you find kids? in a classroom with their teacher and her turtle but that's okay as long as they DON"T EAT IT. This proves once and again our government is being run by a bunch of idiots. So, if the FBI shows up at my door looking for me, my only hope may be to conceal the evidence...by swallowing it.

World Peace Should Be Left Up to Kids

There is a reason Jesus said that to enter the kingdom of God one must be as "a little child". I truly saw the meaning of this statement this week. Kyri has heard about Haiti (who hasn't?) from TV and school. And for the first time, a tragic event elsewhere became real to her. The news is no longer some vague story that Mommy and Daddy are talking about. She is growing up. I have watched as she struggles to understand why the earthquake happened, why are people dying and why did it all happen there and not here. She faithfully pleads with God every night to help "the Haiti people". She spends three hours reading books in her school Read-A-Thon to earn pledge money. I too feel for the people there, but treat it with a "oh well, part of life" attitude while I hesitantly find some money in the budget to send to the Red Cross. But Kyri digs into her piggy bank with ENTHUSIASM to take out half of 3 months of savings and gives it to Haiti. She freely gives and is so convinced that 3 dollars and 26 cents will salve their suffering. There is joy and peace in her efforts; she is happy with the fact she did something to help.. The amount doesn't matter, just the act of willing sacrifice. Why do we adults complicate it all?

Got Milk?

Sometimes, good intentions don't mean good results. We got a goat back in October to try the experience of both goats and goat's milk. Good intention: self reliance. Result: Nada. Yes, we now got a goat named Smores who has been fun in a smelly, loud NAAAA (goat bleating) way. She had twins (Graham and Oreo) that have been fun too. But the milk? Forget it. When Doug and I went to the State Fair last September, we watched a lady milk a goat in 2 minutes flat. Boom! -a gallon of fresh milk and a happy goat. We thought--"we could do that!" and got the goat. She is happy but we are missing that gallon. The problem? I can't get anything to come out! I squeeze and pull and get a trickle. I buy a milking machine and get an even smaller drip. 5 minutes of work...a half a cup of milk. That is not much to do anything with. And the whole time, Smores is looking at me with a "What's your problem down there?" After a month of frustrated yanking on the poor girl, I am about to give up. But, I'll just give up the "Jolynn way"--and buy ANOTHER goat. Then, we'll get to have a cup of milk a day! I can make stuff with a cup...

Missing: Tooth Fairy. Reward if found

Ah... the binds us parents put ourselves in just to create the illusion of magic in our kids' lives. Santa, leprachauns, the boogeyman, even snipes are stories told by us to give an extra thrill to their daily existence. Unfortunately at times, it can be difficult to maintain the illusion. Take the Tooth Fairy for example. Kyri has lost 5 or 6 teeth now, and I struggle to remember to exchange the money for the tooth in time! The last tooth falling out, Kyri came up the next morning and mournfully told me "The Tooth Fairy forgot me again". My heart sunk as I remembered what I had forgot. So, to MAINTAIN that magic, I had to come up with a quick story..."Um, kiddo, I am sure the Tooth Fairy just got backed up with all the extra teeth that come out this time a year and she will get to you as soon as possible." Kinda like those awful phone calls we adults make to customer service people where we are on hold forever while they keep telling us in a nasal voice that "your phone call is very important to is" But Kyri buys this hook, line and sinker and immediantly becomes happy again (kids are so schizophrenic). And I, over the next hour, desperately try and slip the tooth out from under her pillow without her knowing. This is difficult because now she is puppy guarding it to try and catch a glimpse of the tooth fairy (probably to beg her for more money). The whole time, I wonder "Why don't I just tell her the truth? I could just hand her the cash then and be done with it" But I don't say a word. Why? Because I am a Mom and I treasure that look of wonder that comes into her eyes Christmas Eve with Santa or when she bursts through the front door to tell me she saw real fairies hiding in the neighbors flower garden. That is what childhood is; the delights of magic seeping into the humdrum of their lives.

Santa Devotion

One of the most memorable experiences of this last holiday came from my twins, Elora and Tahlia. It was their last day of school before Christmas Break so, of course, their backpacks came home stuffed with every sticky, very carefully politically correct creation they had created in the last month in the public school system. Elora dug out her Christmas card for me first. There were random scribbles (she claimed they were "reindeer") mixed with glitter and stickers all across the folded red construction paper front. I opened it to find a skittery "I Love my Mom" surrounded by more glitter and crayon scribbles. Immediantly, my heart gave a burst of warmth and that crude card became a treasured heirloom. Oh, Motherhood became a wonderful, rewarding life choice! All that lack of sleep, baby weight gainage, doing laundry until midnight was finally worth i!. Life was sweet! I then turned towards Tahlia and her card. Same front, just with the crayon in different spots. I opened it with anticipation and then read... "I Love Santa". And reality came crashing back down again.

Highschool: Do I Know You?

My husband, Doug, unburied our old yearbooks from high school yesterday (we went to the same high school, same year, never met). I decided--on a whim--to look myself up and revisit my whimsical, naive days of youth when I truly knew nothing yet was convinced I knew everything. And to laugh at the weird hairstyles. As I flipped through the pages and read all the comments from friends, I quickly realized I didn't recognize more than a third of the names of my "friends". Even their photos only brought back fuzzy memories. These were kids who sweated through AP classes with me, slaved through late nighters in theater set building and mocked teachers behind their backs with me. Yet, their names meant little. Boy, when we all meet in heaven someday, God better give me perfect recall back because it is going to be mighty embarrassing to have some long lost pal run up to me, shouting my name, to give me a big hug and all I got is "Hi..um who are you again?" That would definitely make Heaven...not.

Sleep Deprieved Dynasty

My toddler, Adreana, controls our lives right now. And she is bound and determined to make it a dictatorship. Her way to power? Sleep. Yes, we don't get to sleep. It is a luxury we crave and she knows it. Occasionally, she will lure us into a false sense of peace with one or two nights of us getting a full night of it. Then, BOOM! she will spring her trap. Adreana will wake up around 2 am (usually in the middle of a great dream) and begin her torture. We will calm her, she will pretend to sleep for about ten minutes. This all part of the plan, you see because it allows us to fall back to sleep. Then, she will scream again and we jerk awake. This process goes on for HOURS. By the next day, we are so zombied she has total control. The CIA could learn from her. Waterboarding? Pansy stuff. Sleep is the key, my friends...slee..(yawn)