Jumping Ship

Go. Visit my new blog.

I will keep this one here up and running, but all new posts will happen over there. It's been a good ride, but it's time for a change. Hope to see you there!

The week after

I'm still here. I didn't get smothered in the mountain of wrapping paper strewn across my house. I survived the in-laws' (6-day!) visit, but barely. I did almost get punched out yesterday, though, when I tried to referee a fight between Cal and Evan, over this toy.

It was a last-minute whatever kind of purchase, just to give Cal something else under the tree, but it has definitely been the hit (pun intended) of the holiday. All three boys are fighting over it, sometimes coming to blows. I've had to put it away a few times, as punishment.

Another big hit was the Stomp Rockets. Big fun for the whole family, indoors and out.

The big bust? That damn Plasma Car. The one that (very late on Christmas Eve when your husband is about to assemble it, when you read the fine, fine print on the tag that you might have otherwise just thrown in the trash) can't be ridden on hardwood floors without causing damage. To the floors, not the car. What the hell??? That's the whole reason I bought the thing...indoor transportation! So it's still in the box in the spare bedroom, awaiting a fate yet to be determined. I can't decide if I want to deal with the hassle of sending it back, or add yet another ride-on toy to our outdoor fleet. Grrr.

Anyway, we're now home in our jammies this week, nursing our Christmas-gift-opening hangovers. That whole production was exhausting, it really was. Fun and nice and full of family, but really exhausting. And the week after is always such a bummer. Dad's back at work and we're all sick to death of the damn Christmas decorations. Plus, all the cookies are gone.

In other news, we took the boys out shopping for new shoes...Eli's still the same size but Evan's up a half-size to a 6.5! His pants are also getting shorter (and by getting shorter, I mean I only have to roll them up once now instead of twice!) He's growing after all. Still skinny as a rail, but definitely growing. I'm going to stop worrying about that for now and find something else to obsess about. Any suggestions?

The stockings are hung...

The boys are all napping. At the same time! The shopping is (mostly) done. The groceries for Christmas dinner are in the fridge. We have 3 of our holiday gatherings under our belt already. The house is clean (but don't go upstairs or look in any closets, please.) And, most importantly, the in-laws are northbound on the highway, ready to spread their version of Christmas cheer all around our house. I'm counting the minutes, let me tell you. I couldn't BE more excited. Ahem.

I should be wrapping gifts or cleaning up from lunch, but what I really want to do is take a nap. Instead, I'm on the internet. Just wanted to grab a minute just for myself and wish you all a happy holiday, whatever you celebrate: Christmas, Hanukkah, Solstice, or whatever. We're still trying to get that figured out ourselves. And this Santa business? I can't decide if it's an essential childhood fantasy or a cruel joke imparted on those who don't know any better. I don't want to deprive my kids of the magic of Christmas or anything but somehow I feel like a big fat liar perpetuating a lie for lack of any real conviction or religious beliefs. So what do you think about the jolly fat man? I better make up my mind before next year, when Eli will REALLY be smarter than me. He's almost there now. He told me earlier that Santa better bring his screwdriver with him so that he can get the cap off the chimney to get into our house.

Peace and joy and happiness all around. Even if you're teething.

The Great Granola Caper of 2008 or Why I Hate Wal-mart With Every Fiber of My Being

I was feeling pretty impressed with myself for getting approximately 16 tons of granola made before 2 PM yesterday. All I had left to do was pick up a box of mason jars and package it all up. No big deal, right?

There's a Wal-mart very close to our house. I rarely go there for many reasons, including their shoddy merchandise, heinous business practices and generally sketchy clientele, but sometimes a situation may warrant it. I went there last night after the boys were in bed to get the jars, because it's close and it's open late. And I just knew I'd walk right in, get those jars, and be home within 30 minutes.

An hour-and-a-half later, I'm still doing laps around that place, exhausted and close to tears, searching in vain for one effing box of stupid jars or one Wal-mart drone employee, preferably one who isn't completely clueless. I finally find one girl and ask wherever are they hiding the mason jars, and do you know what her reply was? "What's a mason jar?"

Holy shit.

I manage to knock some sense into her explain what I'm looking for, and she says, "Try Housewares. Look for Mark. That's his department."

Well, thanks for the A-1 customer service, redneck.

After more weeping and searching, I run into Mark. I ask him to direct me to the jars, hoping against hope he knows what I'm talking about, and he says "Sorry, we're out. Why don't you try our website?"

Are you freaking kidding me? Do you think I'm going to order mason jars from the Wal-mart website? Do you think I'm staggering around here at 9:30 PM because I need those jars at some vague point in the future? I need them now, jerk! NOW!

He suggests I try Dollar General. Um, no. I'm already in the pit of hell; I don't plan to descend any further.

I call David on the way to the car, hoping for some bright ideas and/or sympathy. He informs me that we have mason jars in the basement. Um, no. I am NOT going to scrounge around in our basement for some dusty old jars that probably are cracked or have dead spricket carcasses in them and also won't have any matching lids. I drive like a bat out of hell to Publix, walk right in, get the jars which are stocked exactly where they should be in a logical place, get myself a cappucino cheesecake from the bakery because I deserve something for my pain and suffering and all we've got at home is a bunch of damn granola. (And let me just say, I love Publix. I will always do my shopping there. I don't care if it is more expensive than Wal-mart. It's the pleasurable shopping experience and lack of mental anguish I'm paying for, and I'm alright with that.)

So in the end, it all worked out. I made it home in one piece with the jars and without murdering anybody, the gifts got finished with help from my dear husband who redeemed himself for the dirty used jar suggestion, and I demolished a quarter of a cheesecake, all by 11 PM.

Next on the Christmas list: a holiday lunch with my excellent former coworkers, and some shopping downtown for a few more gifts.

Seriously. I know I've asked this before, but is it January yet?

Crunchy

Today I am up to my eyeballs in homemade granola. I've made a gigantic batch and am going to package it up in mason jars with a cute label with photos of Eli or Evan to give to their teachers and therapists.

It's really good granola. Here's the recipe if you feel like whipping up a batch:

2 cups rolled oats (not instant)
1 cup peanuts or toasted almonds
1/4 cup sesame seeds
1/2 cup toasted sunflower seeds
1/2 cup coconut (sweetened or unsweetened)
1/4 cup raisins
1/2 cup dried fruit (apricots, cranberries, apple, etc.)
scant 1/4 cup cooking oil (not olive)
1/2 cup honey

1. Mix oats, nuts, grains and coconut in large bowl.
2. Measure oil + swirl around in cup, then pour over mixture.
3. Measure honey in same, unwashed cup and pour over mixture (oil helps the honey exit cup easily).
4. Toss together until evenly coated then spread in pan (roasting pan or cookie sheet).
5. Bake at 300 for 30 minutes, turning with spatula every 10 minutes. Granola should be an even golden brown.
6. When done cooking, put granola mixture back in bowl and toss with dried fruit and raisins. Stir gently several times to keep from clumping.

I made this exactly as the recipe says. I used sweetened coconut because I couldn't find unsweetened. I used almonds and dried cranberries. And I had to cook it for an extra 10 minutes, but I think that's just my oven. I always have to cook things longer.

EDITED TO ADD: I neglected to mention that I made 6 times the amount that this recipe makes. I'm hoping to get at least 12 3-cup portions out of it, but I haven't packaged it up yet.

This has officially worn me out, but I'm glad I did it. Now I have to go in there and clean the kitchen, and figure out something for dinner. I think I see some takeout pizza in our future.

Christmas Comes Early

Message on our machine last Friday:

"Hi, this is Dr. Pierce calling with great news. I got the results from Callum's ultrasound, and I see that while the fluid is still present, it's much less than last time, and it's well within normal limits. Let's just repeat in a year, but other than that, I don't see the need to do anything else. I hope you all have a very merry Christmas."

And then, in our mailbox on Saturday, a big fat refund check from the hospital. Overpayment for services back in March, which is when Cal was in for RSV.

I am living in some alternate universe. One where things actually go our way. (and clearly, that ultrasound tech was a complete fool. i'd be pissed if i wasn't in the holiday spirit.)

Okay. Now I'm off to frantically buy whatever gifts I can find that will ship in time for Christmas. And figure out gifts for 12 different teachers/therapists. For this Thursday. Shit. Why do I always do this to myself?

Hydro

I am in a very bad mood.

Remember all that business about Cal having hydronephrosis (that's fluid on the kidneys) since he was in utero, and how we've gone for several follow-up ultrasounds at the hospital, one of which resulted in a slam-bang case of RSV in my ONE-WEEK-OLD baby? And how the fluid is totally gone in one kidney and diminished in the other? And how no one can tell us what it really means and he's not sick or anything and doesn't have any symptoms? And how it's not really a big deal, but it is, now, because in his left kidney, it's not going away.

He had another ultrasound this morning. No change since last time.

I expect our pediatrician will be calling soon, saying "get thee to the nephrologist." Damn.

It's pouring rain out, and I hate hospitals. I couldn't find a parking spot. Every sketchy person and deadbeat in town is sitting in the registration office with us, popping open their Dr. Peppers and reeking of cigarette smoke, clutching crumpled up bags from McDonald's. A lady came out and put a hospital bracelet around my baby's ankle, cooing at him and telling him he shouldn't be here; he should be home in his warm jammies, which about made me lose it right there in front of all the deadbeats. We went to three different germ-filled waiting rooms. I had to practically sit on Cal to hold him down on the ultrasound table, and he's screaming his head off, and the tech just won't hurry up. All the way home, I played through a different scenario in my head, one in which the tech says "I don't see any fluid. It's all gone. You can go."

And when I got home, the damn dogs had escaped from the laundry room, and stood hyperventilating at the front door, and I could see the smashed-down parts of that stupid shag rug, where they had stretched their filthy selves right out. The skylight is leaking right onto our new floors next to the Christmas tree. Cal is hungry and upset and tired, and I nursed him even though it wasn't really time because that's the only thing I have to give him. And I sat there in the chair with him, and listened to the rain dripping in the bucket and bawled my eyes out.

I have been busting my ass trying to finish up the semester, and finally got everything done last night, but my chest still feels tight and anxious. I am so tired and we all seem to be passing around some little stomach virus, one that's not bad enough to keep you on the sidelines but is just enough to make you feel like crap.

I am having a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day.

And then I feel guilty about it, because we have a nice warm house that's mostly dry, and food to eat, and Christmas presents under the tree. My husband still has a job and my kids go to good schools and have new beds to sleep in. No one's in the hospital. Yes, Cal has this thing, and we'll go to the specialist, and they'll tell us what to do. It's not a brain tumor or open-heart surgery. I've had a child go through much worse than this. So why am I being such a baby about it?