Dude, why is your mom wearing lipstick?

(not that lipstick)

As I retrieved Gav from school today, it was just starting to drizzle, Gab was slumped over and drooling on herself in the backseat, and I needed some time away from the house for a while.  So, instead of returning home like we usually do (often after milkshakes or ice cream because this piggie is not plump enough), I decided to head to the mall.  I'm not a fan of shopping, browsing, sifting through racks of reduced nylon crap, but I figured the mall would be a doable trip with the entire kid gang in tow.  Gab could trot alongside while the twins got in their visual stimulation for the day.  And, Gav?  Well, he could bitch and gripe about the time we were wasting in the mall.  (i am so not diggin' on this entry into teendom...does someone with a baby or toddler want to do a kid swap?)

Pulling into the mall parking lot, lots of huffing and "GAH!"s coming from Gav, "Why.are.we.at.the.mall?  I.hate.the.mall.  The.mall.sucks.  This.is.torture.  The world is ending today, here at the mall.**  Gah!"

Right on cue with the delightful demeanor.  Thanks, Gav.

In efforts of convincing Gav we were making a needed trip and not just piddling time away, I told him I needed some make-up.

Since when do you care about looks?  You don't wear make-up.  Who are you?  Are you turning into a faker?

Oooh, the faker comment.  Gav is very anti-faker.  He also dislikes richies, jocks, preppies, and the goth/emo crowd.  Did I leave anyone out?

Yeh, I don't wear a full face of make-up but do occasionally smear on a light powder and eye paint.  I save the lipstick for a really special occasion like - wow, I can't come up with a special occasion off the top of my head.  I kind of wish I was one of those people who always says things like, "I never leave the house without my lipstick."  Or, "I never leave the house without my mascara."  I can't even say, "I never leave the house without my bra," or "I never leave the house without my shoes."

The powder.  I know I'll have to make a few public appearances at Gav's school with some band performances coming up.  Time is not being very nice to me lately, so a tiny bit of concealing and evening out and whatever other magic that $30 compact has up her sleeve (lanc0me's dual finish matte buff II if you're curious...i know, i know...you're never curious) can only help.

And, yippee yahooey, since I was willing to pay out the nose for my teensy compact of powder, I earned a free gift of assorted face paints and two hideous shimmery bags (gab has already filled those with rocks and poker chips).  Included was a tube of lipstick.

Driving home, I whipped out the lipstick (can i tell you that i never call lipstick by its proper name?  oh, i'm telling you anyway b/c i'm both hideous and foul.  i call it lipd!ck.  i know, you and i can never hang out in public together.  that's fine.) while waiting out a red light and gave it a go.  Too pink.  But, I smeared it on good and thick anyway.  My lips could use the moisturizing.

Then, we pull in the driveway and up pops one of Gav's neighborhood friends who actually flinched when I turned toward him, asking Gav the above lipstick query before I could escape earshot distance.

You can put lipstick on a frazzled mom.  But, she's still a frazzled mom.

**Gav is obsessed with this recreation of the Big Bang.  It's great that he's stretching his mind and turning the ideas of smashing particles over, around, and upside down in his head.  But, he's getting a bit panicky over this black hole business.  He sat here earlier this evening, jaw agape, watching several videos detailing the experimental process.  All the kids at school were in a flurry today, worried this would be the end of the world as we know it.  I'm sure he'll have some doozy dreams tonight.

Fortunately, our Destin holiday wasn't solely centered around clogged food tubes. The kids enjoyed the sun, sand, and surf immensely. You know it's been a successful day at the beach when the nightly baths/showers clog the drain with piles and piles of sand, and you, the adult, must wait 'till morning to shower. Ahhh, sweet gritty sheets.

As I've mentioned, Gav has made multiple trips to Florida beaches starting the summer prior to his kindergarten year. He will hit the beach at the crack of dawn and not want to leave until the sun goes down, paddling around in the waves, suction-cupping his goggles to his face to ogle the living creatures in the water, and busying himself with various sand something creations. (i don't think he's ever constructed an actual sand castle...he's more into abstract sand art) The beach has always been the perfect babysitter for Gav.

Gab made her first beach trip around the same age as the twins, 8 months. And, she did much the same as the twins - passed out from the glaring sun and its cancerous death rays lulling sound of the crashing waves. The next year, age 1.5 years, she refused to have absof*ckinglutely anything to do with the beach. Refused to put her feet in the sand, cried at the lulling sound of the crashing waves, and refused to even look at the ocean, spending any and all time on the beach with her head buried in my sweaty, sandy tits, whimpering. I can say with confidence that was not our best year at the beach.

Thank the gods of Atlantis, Gab got a new attitude and was diggin' on the beach this year. (how many times can i write beach in this post? wagers, anyone?) No hesitation on her part whatsoever. Once the ocean was in sight (we had to cross a road to get to the beach...i'm pretty sure that's also the reason the chicken crossed the road - to get to the beach...beach, there it is again), she was off and becoming one with the billions of grains of sand wedging their way in her hair, bathing suit, eyelashes, you name it. Let me ask any beach professionals out there...how in the heeeeell do you get your umbrella to stay upright in the sand without fashioning your own homage to the great Egyptian pyramids around it? We were the only dorks I saw with the mega ant hill built up around our umbrella pole.

The dynamic duo comported themselves amazingly well, never kicking up a fuss, content to nap, chew on ice cubes (enclosed in one of those handy dandy mesh thingies...alani will also go ballistic on frozen mango chunks in the mesh thingie), occasionally exposing my monstrous milk jugs to the beach world breastfeeding, and just chillin'. Fingers crossed they don't go through the age 1.5 beach freak out, le freak, c'est chic.

Our last minute trip to Destin, Florida last weekend. Being a creature of spontaneity and little planning, I decided late Thursday afternoon we would drive to the beach the following morning. I scored a decently priced room, loaded every baby thing known to mankind in the minivan, and boarded the dog.

I make it a point to shuttle Gav down to the beach once a summer, vowing to myself to always provide him with at least one pleasant experience from his summer vacation. I never went on any sort of "family vacations" growing up. School would start in Fall and all the kids would be raving about their trips to the beach or the mountains or what have you. Me? I rode my yellow banana seat Schwinn bicycle up and down the alleys all summer. And, teachers ALWAYS had you write a story about summer vacation on the first day of school. And, I ALWAYS dreaded that very thing about the first day back.

So, Gav...he can get creative with tales of the ocean on his first day.

This year he can add 'Near death experience' to his summer story.

Saturday late morning, we headed out for breakfast at the Barrel of Crackers. As always, the place was packed to the gills, the babies weren't enjoying the stimulation overload, and Gab made it her business to wiggle out of her seat every 5 minutes and get under the heels of every waiter/waitress in the joint. We quickly established ourselves as That Annoying Table.

I guess I've finally saturated the part of my brain that gives a sh!t about how obnoxious others may find my squirmy, babbling, sometimes crying army of kids. We rarely go out anywhere anyway; I figured the Barrel groupies could just stomach us for an hour that one time.

Now, Mr. Gav. Let me tell you the number one thing at the dinner table Gav is notorious for doing - stuffing his mouth so full he creates stretch marks on his cheeks. I don't know if it's a boy thing or Gav needling his way under my skin or Gav awakening some silent recessive hamster gene. But, the kid packs.it.in. And, infinity is the number of times I've told him not to pack.it.in. (i thought this was something he only does with me, but his dad informed me that he pulls the same stuffed turkey routine with him)

So, there we are at the Barrel and its Crackers. The food has just arrived, both babies are crying at this point, Gab won't stay in her seat, and I figure we're only minutes away from E throwing down his napkin and saying, "F*ck it all."

Gav ordered the french toast and is diligently cutting up all 4 slices, properly holding his fork and knife. I remember thinking how neat it is to see him all grown up and cutting his own food. I know...he's 12-years old, turning 13 this winter. But, still.

I remember crumbling a biscuit in a pile of gravy on my plate and thinking we should eat fast. I was already bouncing an unpleasant Ethan on my left knee and eyeing Alani in E's lap on the verge of The Next Great Caterwaul of 2008. Bacon had come to Gab's rescue and was temporarily keeping her seated with all its greasy hogified glory.

Gav made a comment about some man across the room giving him the stink-eye. I had already spotted the same man earlier and had decided that's just how he face is shaped...big jowls and cheeks protruding up into his eyes, making him appear all squinty and stink-eyed. "No, no, Gav. He's not giving you the stink-eye. That's just his face."

Then, I must have looked down at my blubbery gravy/biscuit mix, getting lost in thought of which thigh those calories would end up on, because I missed the first bite of perfectly sliced french toast that made its way into Gav's maw. First bite.

Gav sprang up from the table, grabbed his throat, and turned to me all bulgy eyed (definitely not squinty or stink-eyed), "MOM, I'M CHOKING! I'M GOING TO DIE!" Well, that's what his eyes were screaming.

Now, I took CPR as a teacher in 1997. I took another course while pregnant with Gab in 2005. Let me tell you - I definitely won't be hopping aboard any ambulances to save lives anytime soon.

First, I started whacking him on the back. ??? WHACK. WHACK. WHACK. No good. Obviously, I am an idiot. I know that's not going to help (the whacking nor being an idiot).

He kept trying to swallow sweet tea (we're southern), but it was all spewing its way back out, down his chin, and onto his plate.

I put a screaming Ethan in the stroller and jump up,

"Ohmygod, I don't know how to do the Heimlich!"

And, I start trying to perform the Heimlich on Gav as I repeatedly yell with each upward thrust,

"Ohmygod, I don't know how to do the Heimlich!

And, nothing. Still bulgy eyed, still spewing sweet tea. Babies screaming. Gab, oddly enough, peacefully seated and eating her entire breakfast. (???)

Gav is able to breath, so I decide he's not going to die. He'll just be a messy diner who gurgles his food and drink back onto his plate from here on out.

Gav has calmed a tad and wants to go throw up. So, E, still holding Alani, shuffled Gav away to the restroom, I retrieved Ethan from the stroller and sat down, watching Gab eat. (this kid never eats...dinner and a show is definitely her thing) Only then did I start looking around the room. Everyone had their head down, talking amongst themselves like nothing ever happened. The waitress brought more napkins, asked if I wanted another order of french toast, "No, thanks. Never again." The busboy came and carted away Gav's french toast marinated in sweet tea, then returned to mop up the mess we had created. He was a petite Mexican guy who kept looking up at me while mopping and giggling. I was so wishing he would say something, not realizing that I spoke Spanish. But, no, he just giggled.

The waitress kept returning and asking if I'd like to order some hot tea for Gav or a bowl of warm grits or some hot chocolate. No, no, and no, thanks. I boxed up our breakfasts and eventually E returned to tell me Gav was waiting in the car. He had gagged himself a few times and thrown up but was still a bit rattled.

So, farewell Cracker and Your Barrel of Destin, Florida. Gav rested for an hour or so back at the hotel and was back to his normal self on the beach by mid-afternoon. I went into zombie autopilot mode the rest of the day, not wanting to mentally relive the choking event.

You know, I bet there was a slew of doctors and trained medical types, retired and currently practicing, in that joint and NO ONE even made a motion to help. You figure it will be like what you see in the movies, someone rushing to the rescue, out flies a mound of french toast, we forever stay in touch with one another, and Gav names his first born after the saint who saved him. Nah. Either people are too worried about getting sued or they don't want the attention associated with That Annoying Table or they really don't give a sh!t. Whatever the reason, this was a smack in the face to properly train myself to better handle the next (please, don't let there be a next) situation.

Yay! The beach! :-) (fun beach memories coming up next)

]]> http://onthecurb.wordpress.com/?p=414 Tue, 29 Jul 2008 19:42:38 +0000 onthecurb http://onthecurb.wordpress.com/2008/07/29/sticks-and-yard-debris-may-break-your-bonesor-give-you-a-heart-attack/ How Gav Killed Our Neighbor

by: a mom who can't take much more excitement

I Twittered (tweeted, twitted, twit, twat, twut) the following yesterday morning:

Just said to my neighbor, "Sorry I locked the door in your face. I wasn't wearing any pants." Doubt she'll ever come by again. 11:49 AM July 28, 2008 from web.

This is our neighbor to right of us. A nice enough elderly woman, Miss Ruth, who lives alone and will be turning 81 this year. She recently asked Gav if he would pick up sticks/debris from her yard after any wily storms blow through the area. That's when she divulged her age; I wouldn't have placed her day over 62 years.

Gav surprised me with his jaw-dropping gentlemanly acceptance of her stick-picking-up proposal and refusal of the money she was offering him. "No, ma'am. I cannot accept your money. It will be my pleasure to pick up your sticks free of charge." (who is this kid? and, who, just 15 minutes earlier, was the kid dressed in his skin refusing to read and gnashing his teeth at me?)

So, remember the a$$kicker storm that turned our Coco into a superdog able to leap chain link fences in a single bound? Yeh, it also left sticks/debris in Miss Ruth's yard.

When Gav asked Miss Ruth the morning after the storm if she had seen the dog, she said no but pointed out the yard full of sticks. Gav said he would get on it as soon as he found the dog.

Then, Gav did as Gav is famous for doing...he forgot all about it. And, took off for his grandparents' house over the weekend. Miss Ruth spotted me in the yard yesterday and asked again if he could come by. I promised her, "First thing in the morning."

First thing in the morning...Gav takes the trash out, pulls the trash to the curb, dumps the recycling, walks the dog, brushes the dog, feeds the fish, feeds the dog. (if only i could get him to change diapers, i'd be laid back reading lengthy novels and eating bon-bons all the time)

What does Gav not do first thing this morning? Of course. He doesn't go next door for stick fetching.

"GAV!" I warn him. "I promised Miss Ruth you would go over there first thing this morning. The sticks in her yard are probably stressing her out. She's 81. You don't want sticks in her yard giving her a heart attack."

Stay tuned for Hitchcock's follow-up to The Birds...The Sticks.

Thirty-minutes after my stick warning, I'm in the bathroom (maybe brushing my teeth, maybe not) when I hear sirens getting louder and louder and LOUDER. "Oooh, that sounds like it's in our neighborhood."

Rush out of the bathroom, throw open the living room curtains (remember, i don't wear pants, so the curtains are always closed), and ohshit!ohshit!ohshit!, a full fleet of fire truck, rescue squad, and ambulance roll up to our neighbor to right of us. A nice enough elderly woman, Miss Ruth, who lives alone and will be turning 81 this year. Who has a shitload of sticks in her yard.

"GAAAAAV! I TOOOOOOLD YOOOUUUUU!"

Poor Gav turned ghostly white and tripped his way into the a$$ end room of the house, whimpering, "Oooooh, noooooooooooooooooooooooooo."

I could see through the shutters in the a$$ end room that the paramedics were heading around to the back of the house. "Oh shit," I lamented. "She started picking up sticks in her back yard first."

Gav's racing towards the back door but sees through the shutters that Miss Ruth is standing there in her back yard looking well and alive.

"Miss Ruth is standing there in her back yard looking well and alive!" exclaims Gav.

In the millisecond meantime, I've thrown on a pair of pants and met him at the back door.

Sure enough, there's Miss Ruth looking down at a middle-aged sweaty satellite repair guy seated on the ground, leaning against her house, looking like the heat got the best of him.

Lesson learned. Gav marched over after the emergency crew departed and let Miss Ruth know he was going to pick up her sticks now. She told him to come back in the evening when it's not so hot; she'd hate for those sticks to kill him.

Now, on to other news that doesn't involve my a$$ seating arrangement.

I attended my dad's "family" reunion the other weekend...no, not that weekend...the other one...yeh, that weekend. I "air quote" because I had no clue who most of the people were. Most everyone had some affiliation with a Lurlene or Lorraine..."Hi, there. I'm Lurlene/Lorraine's niece/daughter/2nd cousin in-law." Okay.

Dad had to jet 20 minutes after I arrived (specifically, 20 minutes after I'd driven the 2+ hour journey...at least the twins slept and the two G's zoned out with the dvd player the entire ride...gab even insisted on wearing the headphones out of the car and amidst the family reunioners...each person approached her slowly, commenting to me, "Oh, she's...." -long pause- "cute"). One of my uncles had exhausted his last Percocet was not feeling well and was using my Dad's car as the shiny red nose to guide his sleigh back to familiar territory.

So, once Dad had vacated the premises, I was left with the Lurlene/Lorraine contingency. I signed the guest book for me and my kid posse which is always an eyebrow-raiser. We have three different last names among us. Signing up for anything is a circus.

Gav Blahblahblah.

And, your daughter is Gab Blahblahblah.

No, she's Gab Yaddayaddayadda.

So, you're Mrs. Blahblahblah? Or, Mrs. Yaddayaddayadda?

Neither. I'm Janet. Miss Jackson if you're nasty.

Paperwork squared away, I figured it was still too soon to hop back in the car. The kids needed to burn some energy. So, we took a leisurely stroll around the lake. Well, not all the way around the lake. Maybe a few hundred feet as I had Alani strapped to me (we've been using the baby björn lately as she sweats her bajeebers, whatever those are, off all mummified wrapped in the moby wrap...i, obviously, need to attend a baby wearing meeting for some wrap and sling lessons...i have a padded maya sling that's never been taken out of the package and nylonthread relays that's a sweaty deal, too...oh, and poor ethan...he's so heavy, his hefty legs turn all purple and splotchy in either björn or moby...so, he usually calls shotgun for the stroller...oh, and while i'm rambling off topic here, i've only taken the baby limo out once...right now, it's easier to wear alani, push ethan, and have gab run alongside...but, eventually, i'll regularly don my limo driver hat...for now, i'm a pack mule).

Where the hell am I? Oh, the few hundred feet nature trek.

Yeh, so Alani assuming the bullet-proof vest position, Ethan in the stroller, and Gav wrangling Gab to stay on the path and away from the tempting turtles and ducks in the water.

And, here is where I illustrate my multiple personalities. Candy candy with the babies, average Joe with Gab, and an O.C.D. grouch with Gav. I should lighten up, eh? As long as you don't press anything...because it's recording.

I give you Pink Blanket Takes a Stroll...

Let's start with the weest of wee ones...los twins. I never gave you the skinny on the fat of their 4-month check-up (now that they're almost 5-months...timeliness is not my strong suit).

• Alani had reached 13 pounds, steadily creeping up her own growth curve. She looks so small just eyeballing her, but girth-wise she and Ethan are wearing the same size onesies (i love onesies btw...that's basically the only attire each of my baby kids has worn, even gav back in his day...why aren't we as adults snapping our clothes 3 times in the crotch?)
• Ethan, the whopper with cheese no onions (that's how my whopper rolls), was over 17 pounds at 4 months. He's resting at the top of his growth curve, but the doctor did make sure to inform us that he's just big, nothing pathological. He's so large, people have started asking how far apart in age he and Alani are. They think she's a newborn and he's already reached his first birthday.
• Lengths/heights: Both were hitting the 26 inch mark with Alani just a half inch longer/taller.
• Both are jabberwackies with their constant squealing, babbling, goo-gooing and baa-baaing. It really is adorable to watch. They don't necessarily communicate with each other at this point (although alani gave ethan a major hicky on his heel yesterday...what she was trying to communicate other than, 'hey bro, pass the hot sauce,' i'm not sure...those chubby feet make ideal teething toys). Their babble is mostly self-centered, just testing and perfecting the all mighty voice box.
• Alani has calmed a bit on the caterwauling frontier. Her key to calm is to nap on a regular basis. I know, I know. That's the key to everyone's calm, especially babies. But, Little Miss Nap Nazi Gab makes it her business to keep all eyelids open at all times around here. "No nap for you!"
  • I at least get Alani snoozing in a swing in her room at regular intervals while entertaining Gab on the opposite end of the house. (yes, i've cloned myself...my clone is quite an efficient little b!tch) Ethan, he who can sleep through dynamite blasts, is easy...I can plop him down quite literally anywhere and he'll sooth himself off to la-la land.

Let's skip over Gab for now (as she's occupying the bottom rung of my totem pole of happiness at the moment) and chat about Gav for a bit.

Gav came barreling in the house last Friday, sweating and gasping for breath. What follows is a string of words you never want to hear spewing from your child's lips...

THE COPS ARE ON THEIR WAY! I'M GONNA BE ARRESTED! HIDE ME!

Keep in mind, Gav's 12 years old, an all-A honor student (which, yeh, i know in this day and age doesn't mean he's incapable of creating some havoc...the last week of school he landed in school suspension for telling a girl, "If you don't stop making that farting noise with your book, I'm going to bury you six feet under"...according to school rules, that was an indirect threat, although he kept harping, "But, Mom, it was sarcasm! I was being sarcastic!"...oh dear, my sarcasm needled its way in the poor guy's genes). Gav thinks a glass of wine makes you an alcoholic, and also thinks people who curse are toothless, crapping in the woods rednecks (i am sometimes toothless and occasionally relieve myself behind some nearby shrubbery while consuming wine from a box ::yeehaw hiccup:: all to say, sometimes i speaketh with forked tongue).

Back to Gav.

So, wild-eyed Gav starts pacing the length of the house, I'm juggling two babies, he's peering outside through closed curtains, and rambling at supersonic speeds. All I can catch are "Cat" "Old lady" "Ditch" "this kid" "that kid" "that girl" "that old lady" "BB gun"

::screech:: goes the needle across the record

Did he just say BB gun? And cat? And old lady? Aww, shit.

Turns out the cat phase of the story did not coincide with the BB gun. Thank my lucky charms.

Gav "found" a cat, picked it up, and carried it to this and that boys' house. Their house is in direct line of sight with this snooty old unfriendly redneck bitch woman who lives across the street (e and i have tried on multiple occasions to speak to her...she will not even look in our direction). I guess she sent her daughter (or granddaughter? i really i have no idea their relation aside from the fact that they smoke together in their driveway...her smoking buddy) to fetch the cat who was already off licking its butt in someone else's yard by that point.

Gav went on to add how this or that boy asked him to hold the BB gun (he says this and that boy were shooting cans and he did nothing but hold the 'shoot your eye out' apparatus that one time...who knows) about the same time this bitch woman decided to yell across the yards, "I'm calling the cops on you, boy." (i had not realized i was living in cootsville until this point)

I figured it was all just a bunch of silly drama and tried getting Gav to unwind. But, sure enough, up cruised a cop car in front of the house. I hadn't showered, wasn't wearing a bra, doubt I'd even brushed my teeth, Alani was now screaming, Ethan's puked all over my shirt, Gab's dressed only in a soggy diaper,..."Hi, Jerry Springer? Yes, I'm booked and ready to appear on your Thursday episode of Who Dat Baby's Daddy. Do I have to wear shoes? What about pants? Are those optional as well?"

The black-and-white was talking to the old hag woman across the street.

I braced myself for our turn, but 10 minutes later he cruised up the street and hung a left towards this and that boys' house. Whew.

This and that boys' mom later came to our house explaining the "mishap" and how old hag woman across the street has it out for her kids because her 4-year old mooned the woman a year ago. Go figure.

Hey, are you still here? ::nudge nudge:: Wake up. That was my rambling way to say Gav is out of school for summer vacation. Yippee.

I'll try not to be so blabber mouthy with Gab's update. (who is presently being adorable roaming around the house in Gav's scream mask...my definition of adorable might vary slightly from yours...deranged, adorable...they're much the same around here)

Hey, if you're learning the alphabet through my April blog entries, come back tomorrow for the next letter. I don't want to ruin it for you, so I'll leave it a surprise.

Since there are more than 26 days in April, I can afford to pop in between letters here and blab about more nonsense non-letter related.

I'm home with the 3 babes sans E this weekend as he's off being eaten by sharks doing whatever a bunch of guys do alone together in Florida. I told him to at least ask if whichever guy with whom he shares a bed has been tested and pick up some gas station lube along the way. His friends love me. ahem.

Gav was spurred up to be my assistant in weekend baby wrangling, but plopped in the car after school yesterday, "My throat feels scratchy. Like it did on my birthday. When I threw up on my birthday." ::screech::goes the needle across the record

"Do you feel like you need to throw up?"

"No, my throat just feels scratchy. Like it did on my birthday. When I threw up on my birthday."

"But, you don't feel like you need to throw up?"

"No, my throat just feels scratchy. Like it did on my birthday. When I threw up on my birthday."

(the boy's consistent)

So, we drive home, I assign him baby duty from afar (i.e. rock the carseat in which alani is still seated with his foot while he sits on the couch). Meanwhile, I'm trying to dismantle the Jenga-dirty dish pile at the sink without it collapsing.

Then, I hear it. "BLUUUUUUUCK. BLUUUUUUUCK."

Great. He barfed directly by the carseat.

Luckily, his grandparents live nearby, so a quick phone call and there went my weekend help.

So, it's 10:55 PM at this very moment and all's quiet on the battlefront. Life is quite peaceful with just the wee kids. However, I may be howling another tune come morning and I haven't slept a wink.

(the above photo was taken the day before "My throat feels scratchy. Like it did on my birthday. When I threw up on my birthday." when gav was most likely oozing with viral germs. fingers crossed no one else succumbs to itchy, pukey throat this weekend. regarding the photo, gav lost another tooth; i don't remember still having baby teeth to lose at 12 years old...ethan's ear is all jacked up there on the pillow; i forget to properly position his ears before snapping a photo...alani is disgruntled about health care in america...ME, TOO, alani, ME, TOO)

(Letter de Leo Reynolds)

• Double G, Gav and Gab, in the hizzouse

Can I mention here how impossible it is to get both kids smiling at the same time, both looking at the camera at the same time, and both with eyes wide open? Let's not get into the hair. Did Gav get experimental with a curling iron? Nonetheless, those are my number 1 G's.

• Genealogy - I'm fascinated with learning all I can about my roots. Actually, awesome brother P is doing all the legwork on my mom's side of the family while an uncle has pulled as much together as he can from my dad's side. The trail runs cold on each side probably around the time the families entered the United States coming from Germany, England, maybe Scotland and/or Ireland. As I'm a fan of puzzles (which you'll see on 'J' or 'P' day), tracing the family tree is the ultimate puzzle.

**UPDATE**  Saving the best for last... ;-)

• Grandy - How did I forget everyone's favorite blogger?

This is how.  See, I typically write out a post in the evening (thinking i'll get help from e so i can write...aha, silly fool that i am) while breastfeeding Ethan as he's Mr. Independent and can handle the b00b on his own without my assistance.  Alani, being the delicate, petite orange flower that she is, requires a bit more attention at the titty trough.  So, I'm yoga-sprawled across the chair sideways, balancing Ethan on one leg as he nurses, and pecking out a post with my right hand.  Meanwhile, as E has the patience of gnat jacked up on espresso, he's hovering around me with a fussy Alani in tow, "TAKE HER! TAKE HER!" the entire time I'm writing.  Also, factor in Gab who's not missing a minute of the evening circus house action.  Oh, and I'm somehow trying to be creative in what I write during all of this.  Yeh, right.

Grandy is my classmate in blogging.  We each cranked up our blogs around the same time.  Although I still can't remember who found who and how.  I did give her a little shove into the NaBloPoMo madness.  Yeh, she's her own comedic headliner and has a bit of Lucille Ball's lifeforce within her being.  But, she and the D.C. gals were there in the beginning (ha, i'm waxing on like i've been doing this for centuries...melodramatic anyone?), so they are extra special to me. :-)  (crackers with your cheeseball?)

My deepest apologies, dear sweet and sassy Grandy.  You know I want to run away with you.  ;-)

]]> http://onthecurb.wordpress.com/2008/03/24/say-cheese-and-crackers/ Tue, 25 Mar 2008 03:50:08 +0000 onthecurb http://onthecurb.wordpress.com/2008/03/24/say-cheese-and-crackers/ It's time for your weekly kid trio (not kid creole) photo.

 Why I'm Posting a Photo As a Post Today

Here...these three characters express my feelings regarding tax time.

She's really into airplanes, so I found one with lights and a bump-and-go mechanism and a spinning wheel. I remember thinking when I first powered it up, "Oooh, spinning wheel + long hair = recipe for hairsaster."

But, Gab mostly ignored the plane and I forgot all about the spinning wheel.

Until today.

Constantly in search of a Gab diversion, I whipped up this plane plus another and turned them both ON full power. Thus, buying myself 5 minutes free of a toddler.

And, she was loving it until Gav yells from the living room, "MOOOMMMMM, IT'S GOT HER HAIR AND WON'T LET GO!!!" It? Oh sh!t, sh!t, sh!t.

Fortunately, Gav had the sense to turn off the airplane immediately. But, not before the spinning wheel had mangled itself in Gab's hair.

(notice i was at the computer when all this went down...5 minutes...is that so much to ask?)

(please excuse the poor quality of Gab's photo...the digital camera is starting to crap out; it generates these dang lines across the screen at irregular intervals...argh argh argh is all i have to say about that)

I feebly tried to reverse the direction of spinning to unleash her hair but to no avail. In the better interest of not freaking her out any further and saving myself further frustration, I gave Gab her first teensy haircut.

You might want to think twice before flying U.S. Airways as there is quite a wad of hair in their landing gear.

***I would like to thank toys made in China for making today's post possible.***

I was reminded of her talents this past weekend as the twins' "fever reducing medication" disappeared completely.  Since they had a slew of shots on Friday, I opted for doping them up staving off the potential of fever with some yummy fruity Rx.  However, after giving Alani a dose, Gab eyed her window of opportunity when she caught me carelessly placing the goods on the coffee table as I needed both hands free to sop up the entire dose of Rx now drooling its way into Alani's neck folds.  I thought little of her get-away as I'm hip to her secret hiding places.  (or so i thought...the Rx is still missing)

The cabinet area beneath the stove is her hot spot for hot goods.  Most often, I find benign items such as puzzle pieces.  Notice the crocodile ready to be fried in his entirety.  And, then there is the strainer filled with unstrainable goods...one of Gab's dirty t-shirts, a frog bath toy, and an entire sweater of Gab's.  That gal can pack it, can't she?

Gab stepped it up a notch last week when she made off with a freshly pumped bottle of breast milk.  Again, I sat it down for just a second on the coffee table as I turned to unplug the pump.  (yes, unplugged i.e. i'm finally using the $300 electric pump i bought way back when to use for pumping gab's milk while i worked...the free hand pump that came with the fancy pants electric pump suited me just fine, so i never even bothered with fancy pants pumper...until gab made the handle to the hand pump disappear recently...it's still m.i.a.)

One guess where the breast milk wound up.

Middle Alabama received a light crop dusting of snow today, and, holy hades, you'd think the world had reversed rotation. I'm embarrassed to say that all those rumors you hear of southerners freaking out over the tiniest bit of snow? It's all true.

All day yesterday and last night, the local news stations were constantly interrupting each and every t.v. show with flash bulletins on the Winter Storm Alert. Snow barely covered the ground and had disappeared entirely within an hour of the sun rising this morning. But, yes, that is cause for breaking out the snow tires and stock piling bread here.

What embarrassed me most this time was seeing a local traffic gal give tips on how to drive in the snow. Elaborate graphics were created for each and every tip as she slowly and with grave concern went through them one by one. I wish I had written all of them down, but I was too busy being dumbfounded and mouthing off at the television, "Are you f**king kidding me?" I exaggerate not with the few I remember...

• Do not drive fast.
• Drive with caution.
• Do not follow too closely the car in front of you. Keep at least a car's length between you and the car in front of you.
• Do not slam on your brakes.
• ...

Did the news station have an eight-year old intern for the day? Where was the tip on not licking an icy pole? Your tongue might stick. That's very dangerous. And, don't swallow your gum. It might get stuck in your butt.

I so wish I was joking. And, the deadly serious nature with which the news gal spoke as she emphasized each tip. Come on, people.

The photo of Gab was taken during the previous Winter Snow Storm a couple of months ago. It was Gab's first time to see snow and she loved it! She proved to me that she's ready to move up North where all the cool folks hang.

Here is an accurate representation of how Ethan looks most of the day. Very serious. Don't even try to make me laugh. I will only give you more serious. Because I am so busy thinking about serious things. Seriously.

He broke down and smiled for the first time on my birthday (feb 12th for those of you not keeping notes). Now, can you think of a better present? Man, his smile melts your heart into a slippery little puddle. Trust me.

They're still very rare, hence I haven't captured the elusive Bigfoot Loch Ness monster whereabouts of Jimmy Hoffa smile on camera yet. But, soon. And, when I do, you will become addicted and beg for more. Because his smile is primo quality. It will get all weird between us. I'll have to start avoiding you. Then, there you'll be, seated in your little computer chair all strung out, slapping at the computer screen, begging me, "dee, gimme my sh!t! I need my sh!t! I can't live like this! I neeeeed it! Just one little smile. Please."

Trust me. That's how I feel everyday. Ethan, just one. Please.

We've been individually battling the flu/cold virus storm here at La Casa de los Mezclados. It started with Gav three weeks ago when he slayed a nasty multi-day fever but is still mucking through the trenches with the leftover cough and congestion.

E (who is prone to some hypochondriatic tendencies) has claimed to be sick the past two weeks. "I can't hold the baby. Remember, I'm sick." Here's a mask, some gloves, and a hazmat suit...now get in there and hold that baby! He did take a sick day from work last week only to lay in bed all day here and yell for me to bring this or that and then throw a sh!t fit because he couldn't get any peace and quiet. Sorry, not a winner this time. Thanks for playing.

And, now Gab has been brought to her knees with the snot and watery eyes and general blaahhhh. Thankfully, she only ran a fever one day. She has spent the last two days in her snotty, watery, blaahhh-ful existence hanging out most of the day in her stroller in the end room. (our house is basically a 'T'...the end room is there at the a$$ end of the 'T'...and it smells much like an a$$ due to sweaty boys playing Xbox and good ole Gab abandoning bits of chicken and other rot worthy food in secret hiding spots...yep, i shall now refer to that room as the a$$ of the house) So, yes, Gab has been spending her days in the a$$ of the house. Which is great by me for the twins have been privileged to nap in peace sans banging drums and prodding fingers and viruses.

However, as the sun goes down, Gab's energy level goes up as do her desires to share every little bit of herself with each baby. And, I'm sweatin' bullets here waiting on the flu/cold to hit the twins. I don't want to give the gal a complex and, thus, try to stop myself from quickly snapping, "Ohmygod,Gab!Don'ttouchthebaby!" Okay. That lightening speed jibberish has slipped out a few times. I try to curb myself and instead pop off, "Not the face! Not the face!" So, there. I haven't given my daughter a general 'Don't touch the babies' complex. I have given my daughter a complex about faces...never.touch.the.face. Ever.

Me? Knock on wood, I seem to have avoided the bugs so far. It must be the prenatal/breastfeeding vitamins because we all know it's not the abundance of sleep nor the fit hot smokin' body. I've previously mentioned here that E's nickname for me is The Mutant. (he can be so sweet, eh?) My only wish is that the twins escape this nasty bug. If I do get sick, it's a sure bet the twins are next.

Eeks.

So, how is everyone out there? Out there where people drive cars and go to stores and talk to other adults and shower daily. If you're talking to other adults in the shower daily, then go, you, go! Way to conserve water.

I try to make my way around the blogosphere daily with a twin in tow but find it hard to peck out a comment. Occasionally, I'll get both hands free and fire off something...that is if I can form a complete, cohesive thought (which is hard to come by these days). Thanks for your comments here. The nurse? Man, she was a real beeyotch, eh? Grandy, I immediately thought of you when she barked about my BLACK hair. I knew you'd have the killer come-back. The tween in me could only mentally come up with, "Oh yeh, well, your face is so...so...UGLY." I would then roll my eyes, turn, and march off in a huff, mumbling obscenities under my breath.

The sleep thing. Thanks for your well wishing sleep vibes! I think I'm getting a bit more sleep but at the cost of establishing some hellacious sleeping habits for the twins. I'll get more into that matter later, but I will tell you the nightly ritual involves two bouncy seats on vibrate mode, the couch, the loveseat, many pillows and rolled up baby blankets, very rarely the vast vacant brand spankin' new king size bed, and NEVER EVER EVER as long as the sun rises in the East and sets in the West NEVER the crib.

What else before I whip one or the other out? NaBloPoMo on a month-by-month basis...anybody doing that? I'm thinking of giving March a go. Why, yes, I have lost my mind completely! If you find it, please drop it in the mailbox.

Oh, and a big howdy hello to Gringo over there in the comments. I once grabbed her breasts in an elevator. I frequently made her spew Diet Coke from her nostrils. And, she liked my sweater. Oh, and we went to grad school together. She's purty smart with all that brain stuff. :-)

Until next time...

Ethan and Alani are growing in a visible fast forward fashion. I have watched Alani's cheeks plump right before my eyes. Ethan's waist grows another inch with every feeding. These kids love what I'm serving and it shows. They agree with Rufus; it's sweeter than the wine. See how plump and juicy they both are.

Not that I need to point this out, but see for yourself how completely opposite they are. No one will ever believe they are siblings, far less twins. This is what I believe occurred...two of E's sperms buddied together to make Alani while my two eggs made a love connection to conceive Ethan. Clearly, that's what happened, yes?

Ethan does have eyeballs behind those snoozing eyelids. I'd say, so far, he is the easier of the duo. He's more patient to hang out and soak in his surroundings until I can get to him. "Take your time, Mom. I'll be right here digesting the kegger I just downed."

They are six weeks old and Ethan's already wearing 3 mo. clothes. He'll soon be sharing clothes with Dad.

This is what I see when I am afforded a moment at the computer. It's also the same vision I have during mad dashes to the bathroom, quick trips to the kitchen to shove cheese down my gullet, rousing games of chase the toddler in hopes she'll succumb to an afternoon nap, and, if I'm feeling especially daring, the risk of a brief shower because Whoa! I have discovered an entirely new level of stinkdom I am capable of emitting...it'll wake the unconscious and raise the dead.

For the number and detail savvy, each twin had gained 2 pounds by their one-month check-up. Alani's a tad over 8 pounds, and Ethan, well, look at him. He was tipping the scales right at 11 pounds. However, Alani is kicking his butt with length; she's already ~an inch longer/taller.

Okay. Due to my irritating desire for accuracy, I just went so far as to don pants and go outside to retrieve the exact weight and height numbers from the tourbus minivan. Let's recap the digits. Alani was born weighing 5lb 15oz, then dropped to 5lb 11oz at four days old, and is now up to 8lb 3oz. She is reaching for the treetops at 21 3/4 inches high. Ethan's numbers tell a similar story...8lb 10oz at birth, then falling to 7lb 12.5oz on day four, and back up to 10lb 15oz. He's a tad shorter at 21 1/4 inches. All of that numerical rambling to say they are growing. :-)

I'll leave you now with Gab's latest discovery...my long since retired fun drawers. Buried in a box I brought in from the shed hoping to find big momma clothes, Gab unleashed this rainbow of nylon scraps yesterday. You know you're in trouble when a child is suspiciously quiet for an extended length of time. Well, Gab had one of those silent spells to then emerge and proudly march through the house wearing, draped around her neck, every pair of th0ng underwear I've ever owned .

Last night, as her grandfather was leaving, Gab disappeared just before his departure to reappear, yes, with a select few of the party panties around her neck. Needless to say, he declined on his usual goodbye hug and kiss to her. Even after E's insistance, "But, Dad, they're clean!"

Shortstuff is currently hoarding her kinky treasure in the lower basket of the stroller. Let's see if I remember to remove and hide them before our next outing. Can you imagine?

See what happened there? Overjoyed to finally open the remainder of her birthday gifts (further proof that i suuuuuck...yes, her birthday was January 24th on which day e, gav, and i gave her one of her gifts, planning on giving her the remainder at her party the following sunday...today i remembered those gifts were still buried in the closet...man), she disassembled this farm animal puzzle as she doesn't care so much about assembling puzzles as she does playing with the individual pieces.

I get a brief reprieve from baby-on-boob to grab a quick bite in the kitchen. Gab's in the floor with her farm animals and insists on a piece of the fabulous American cheese I'm wolfing down. (i know, sucky quick bite, eh? no lies here...quick bite=unwrapping cheese slices to shove in my mouth en route back to babies with insatiable appetites for boob) I know she doesn't like this cheese, but hey, whatever. Go for it, babe.

As I'm guzzling orange juice from the carton (i am a total uncivilized pig), I look down and see the above spectacle. Gab has 'glued' her farm animals together with cheese.

I have no idea what was going on in her cute little head. She finished up the cheese glue fest with a small pile of queso on the horse's head. ???

I say this is genetics in full effect as I once used ketchup to glue a series of Mickey Mouse cards all over my mother's dining room wall. I don't remember my age at the time, but I can recall initially having tape in my possession which Mom snatched away and dutifully told me 'not to tape those damn cards on the wall.' Don't tape them to wall? She didn't mention anything about gluing them to the wall. Gluing them with ketchup.

I think next holiday season when wrapping presents, I'll use ketchup and cheese.

If you may recall, I had a dilemma with the neighbor's names in that I did not know their names. Thanks for your name revealing tips, Nylon and mightiadd. Nylon, you actually might want to think about the CIA as you're quite a clever lil cookie. We were planning on mightiadd's suggestion of nametags but wussed out at the last minute. My brazilian friend (who deserves an island named in her honor after all the hard work she did in preparing the party...she did the decorating and hors d'oeuvres...ALL of the decorating and finger foods...Gav's grandmother made the cake...my role occurred two years ago during which time I birthed the birthday girl, ahem...oh, I did provide the drinks for the twins who don't know when to say when) was given the task of hurriedly making her way to the door and introducing herself when the neighbors came 'a knockin'. However, as I was having the life forces sucked from my chest by Ethan when they arrived, I wasn't available to prod her to the door.

E came back to the bedroom mouthing 3 variations of the man's name and had already forgotten the woman's name. Fortunately, with the wide variety of names in the room, there was a lot of name repeating and I managed to get the man's name by the end of the party. All I know about the woman's name is that it is a "very pretty name" according to E.

Gifts ranged from a latina Barbie to a stuffed cat that looks like it's asleep and breathing (creepy, but Gab likes it). Gab oohed and ahhed over each gift. She even oohed over a birthday card. ??? See what I was talking about with all the cuteness and working of the room. I don't know where she picked up her party etiquette. But, each person wanted to put her in their pocket and take her home.

The twins either made out with my chest in the bedroom or snoozed amidst the chaos throughout the party. So, that's the trick. If I want to get any sleep at night, I simply need to turn the house into a disco club with a surplus of boobie juice jello shooters at the bar. Baby One and Baby Two, we out, G-money. (gab now refers to the twins as Baby 1 and Baby 2...i forget which is which)

My dad was unable to make the festivities. So, I had to represent Alabama of the U.S. of A. on my own. Other countries represented were Honduras, Argentina (a couple both born in Argentina, but the husband is Italian and the wife is half Spanish/half German), Brazil, Egypt, and Pakistan. Everyone, aside from myself and my spawn, spoke English as their second language. The accents were flowing and it was awesome.

Gab was so wiped out, as people slowly started making their exits, she disappeared. We found her here, at the computer where I had a slideshow looping for wandering guests. She didn't even make it all the way on the chair before passing out. I would call that a successful birthday party. :-)

Nice. I incorporated the mention of feces into Gab's birthday wishes. I am just that type of mom.

Ok. Let's get it together. Gab turns two years old today! Hooray!

Thus far, she has celebrated the occasion with many burnt strips of bacon, some tooth rotting juice, and multiple attempts at suffocating her twin siblings with too much Gab lovin'. Just another typical day.

While we'll have a few cupcakes and open a present or two this afternoon, the big shindig will be this Sunday with a houseful of elderly couples and our own kids. See, we don't know anyone 'round these here parts with young 'uns. So, same as last year, Gab will once again celebrate her birthday in the company of the over 65 crowd. They are a wild, rockin' bunch, I must say. I'll be sure and post some pics for you so you'll know I'm not lying nor exaggerating. We are an odd bunch, I admit. I commented to E last night (I say this a lot..."I commented to E last night"..."I was commenting to E last night"...I think that should be the title of my daily useless opinion column...and, of course, Grandy, my autobiography will be entitled Are You Sh!tting Me?...dang, there I go again getting off track). Yeh, so he was lamenting over how we don't have friends with kids for such occasions. I reminded him, "Hey, who needs other people's kids when we can make plenty of our own?!"

Oh, and a slight problem we need to solve before Sunday. Along with Gav's paternal grandparents, my dad and stepmom, E's parents, we've also invited the elderly Pakistani couple from across the street. They're the only friendly people on our whole damn block. The man (hmm, see where i'm going with this yet?) brought me some beautiful pink roses last week to welcome the twins. They are always bringing over yummy dishes to eat. The man (the man...any closer to figuring out my dilemma?) dabbles in photography and has taken some great photos of Gab. He's bringing his camera to get some birthday party shots and hopefully score some good pix of the twins. Our dilemma (and this shows how much we suck)...we don't know their names. And, I'm all stressed over introducing everyone and not looking like a jacka$$, "And, these are our very friendly Pakistani across the street neighbors. We like them so much, why bother with names?" We've even gotten their mail for them when they're on extended trips out of the country. But, I can't, for the life of me, come up with either of their names. In the same vein though, I'm sure they don't know/remember our names either. We're just "Hey!" and "Hi there!" to each other.

Pulling this train back in the station, Happy Birthday, Sweet Gab!!! :-)

I guess I got so accustomed to donning my sandals even in below freezing weather, it slipped my mind that my uterus is now vacant and Hey, I can bend over now! So, yeh, big excitement today...I put on some shoes.

Here, here. An "ooh" worthy pic from the hospital the day after ye grand twins entered the world. Because I love and respect you, I spared your retinas by covering my b00bies. The gift of sight is too precious to waste on my eyeball-scorching chest.

Again, the difference between boy and girl is illustrated well here. Some of you commented that it's a good thing Ethan got the big, bulky genes while Alani dabbled in the size small features. Yep, I agree 100%.

I find these caps hilarious. Ethan's gives him a clown-like quality while Alani looks ready to toss fish on the Seattle docks.

Oh, loving my sexy gown there, aren't you? I don't know why I wasted money on a nightgown for the hospital. Maybe some people like to dress and look nice for the audience, but not me. You hang around my hospital room long enough and you're gonna see my a$$. I changed in and out of these sexy blue buttless gowns Saturday through Tuesday.

Lastly, perched around my swollen gut there is a twin's nursing pillow. Every lactation consultant that came to visit (and there were many...i'm not sure if i made them nervous with my endeavor to breastfeed twins or there just weren't many breastfeeding moms to visit...i just weaned gab off the boob a few months ago and both kiddos took very well to the yummy goods, so there wasn't much work for the consultants...but, i did get quite a stash of breastfeeding paraphernalia from them) squinted her eyes at my nursing pillow and deftly tossed it aside, "You won't find much need for that." Seriously, every.single.one. If it turns out to be a bust, at least Gab enjoys using it as a mini-recliner.

This is what I'll try to do to keep both you and me happy. I will at least try to slap up a photo for you each day. Some cute and fuzzy pics, some not so much. You'll get an internet's photo eye view of my adventurous foray into parenting fresh, hot off the press twins, a rambunctious toddler who thanks me daily for the "Baby Two" gift I brought home for her, and the 'growing up too fast and proving what a kicka$$ loving, attentive father he'll be someday' 12-year old gentleman. Damn, am I insane in the membrane? Going insane, got no brain. I like a good challenge, and I think I've created the perfect one, don't you agree? :-)

As the sun is out and Gab's banging on drums and xylophones, the twins are sleeping soundly in the living room amidst the chaos. I had heard of this unpleasant phenomenon wherein a baby may be born with their days and nights reversed. ::scratching head, me confused, me no understand role of sun and moon:: Hooboy, the twins are living la vida loca throughout the night and resting peacefully from their all night partying throughout the day. The louder and sunnier it is, the better they snooze. So, yeh, days and nights...all in a clusterf*ck. Hey, and know what that means? My Brain? And, its good buddy, Energy? They've taken sabbatical from my body. I have no idea even what area of the world to begin searching for their sorry a$$es.

Naturally, with it being daylight and all, I'm able to sit down and say howdy hello to you guys. I think I've mentioned how the twins, Ethan and Alani, are completely opposite in appearance. COMPLETELY. It boggles my brain how random the genetic roulette wheel can be. Here, take a gander. See how big and brawny Ethan is there on the left. And, Alani to the right is all things tiny. Actually, she is the size she should be for her age, keeping in mind that were they singletons, they would each still be swimming in mom juices for another 2 weeks (they would be 38 week lil fetuses).

The boy, I'm not sure if he stumbled upon a steroid factory in there or what. But, he's got a big ole head (15 inches in circumference on hoohaa departure...umm yeh baby, take that...are you squirming, gals?...god bless the epidural is all i have to say), basketball palming hands, a rather large Mr. Magoo nose (the ultrasounds, they do not lie), broad neck and shoulders that will have him shopping at the Baby Boy's Big and Tall Shop.

The girl, she is teensy tiny in all features. Wee little facial features, tiny little head (that, yes, almost fell out on the floor after the Big Boy stretch...I could have birthed a full dozen of Alani gals...yeah, more than you ever wanted to know about my crotch...you thought i had run out of crotch related material...no ma'am, no sir, i have only just begun...i still have the whole birth story to share...stay tuned for what is sure to involve multiple mentions of my hoohaa and hoohaa related sundries). Actually, we're thinking she may be the female version of E. Which I find totally hilarious and life giving him a big wallop across the cheek. After meeting my dad for the first time, E couldn't even bear to look at me much less approach me in any sort of physical way as he claimed I am the carbon female copy of my dad. Put a suit on me and have me tell some really bad jokes over and over, and you've got my dad. Well, I guess a haircut would be in order, but you get the picture. Anyway, E goes on and on about how freaky the similarity between the two of us is. And, now, he may have his little female carbon copy. It will be interesting to see how she develops over the next few years.

Oh, and notice what I do? I still find myself referring to the twins as The Boy and The Girl instead of Ethan and Alani. (I actually went back and corrected myself in those previous paragraphs changing out some 'boy's and 'girl's for Ethan and Alani.) I know, it's a horrible thing but so convenient as they are, indeed, a boy and a girl. If they were the same sex, I'm sure I'd be more apt to use their names. Or, maybe it was the late agreement upon a name...maybe the names haven't yet stuck with me? I'm not sure. But, if you catch me doing it, just smack me and go on. Smack.

Here is a poor quality photo from this morning. I would like to point out several issues in this photo. First, notice the wildly maniacal smile on Gab's face in the background. Guess what she likes to do? You are so smart and exactly correct...she likes to reach through the slats of the port-a-crib and pat their head, rub their head, and sometimes smack their head. Oh, and identifying facial features on babies is a stimulating pastime for Gab. I cringe when I admit that she has slipped in a few eye pokes on the babes thus far..."EYE!!!" poke. Cheek, forehead, eyebrow (yes, she correctly identifies foreheads and eyebrows thanks to Gav's most excellent facial feature teaching skills), ear, hair. Those, I can tolerate, but the eye! The eye! It's a baby Hitchcock film in the making. (oh, Ethan somewhat resembles Alfred Hitchcock...I'll get up some better photos and tell me what you think...I can see Mr. Magoo with a healthy heap of Hitchcock...whose kid is this???)

Also, notice the hot blankets from the hospital. Are we supposed to steal those? Because I do. Anything in, on, or around the baby cart on leaving day is fair game to me.

I don't position the twins in the crib like this normally. Her all piled up on the suffocating hazard and pissing off her brother with her slight body weight, the blankets piled and thrown about the entire area. No, I had been holding them both and just plopped them there momentarily for repositioning. And, then thought, "Picture time."

Notice Alani is going for some sweet booby juice from big brother. And, he's not having it. As I try to raise my kids to not be prejudice and to never judge a person by their skin color, accent, religious affiliation, socioeconomic status, I may have to at least have them exercise some discrepancy over whose breast they seek out for milking. Nursing from your own brother? Alani, come on.

Lastly, you can vaguely make out a hobo's bed in the background. That would be where poor, pitiful me spends my up-and-down nights. Our house was designed to hear a mouse's fart from one end of the house to the other. So as not to disturb Gav and Gab's nights, I've positioned the twins and myself in the living room, thinking they would sleep most of the night in their crib and I would continue to call the couch home. Yeh, whatever. But, that's my general location through the night. I have a recliner in an adjacent room where I'll sometimes rock them to sleep, but then I lose all sensation in every limb of mine as I have achieved Twister gold level status in making myself the most comfortable for twin's sleep. Masochist, I am.

Okay. Break over.

Wish me sleep! Peace out.

You'll soon get tired of these quick snip-it posts, those of you that are so used to my long and winding rants. I just wanted to get up at least one photo really quick. (the negative in-law brigade is here, so i can escape very briefly)

The end result of a day long process of forcing a stubborn body that was not yet ready to give birth to Hey, let's give birth today, you lazy body!! (my uterus was at one point referred to as a "tired, old uterus"...i joked with e and the nurses for the next hour about how i personally may be 35 years old but my uterus? well, it gets special parking privileges and discounts at the movie theater as it is 67 years old...but me and my uterus showed them all...we're just a sneaky lot)

Big Boy Ethan is on the left and my petite orange flower Alani is on right. (from your viewing angles) I may not looked excited, but trust me I was/am. :-)

I'll catch you cool cats later as I hear grunting in the next room. Oh, some quick weights...Ethan 8 pounds 10 ounces...uh huh, you read that right, too. Alani 5 pounds 15 ounces. Both the cutest lil things you ever laid eyes upon. I promise photos soon!

Thanks to you all again for your well wishes and good groovy vibes! Trust me when I say I drew from your energy in the 8 pm hour when things were looking very dour. Full story to come.

Stay tuned. :-) I have so many babies!!!! ;-)

I was all proud of myself for finding a Wii for Gav early in October for a kicka$$ price. He had not asked for one, thinking they were way beyond our price range (he's good like that...not asking for much nor complaining about it either...of course, i'll sell my plasma if need be to get him what i secretly know he wants). For some reason, he thinks they cost $1000. Probably some little snit at school bragging about his $1000 Wii.

Anyway, I hooked the Wii and a game. His dad set him up with three more games and an additional controller. (we're usually good about working in conjunction for christmas and birthday gifts if for no other reason than we don't get the same presents for the gavster...except for the year his dad showed up with a miniature pinscher puppy without any forewarning...gav was only 2 years old at the time and had an instant hate-hate relationship with this tiny black creature that kept biting the shit out of his chubby little toddler fingers and face...i also loathed the thing early on as i was missing the crotch in all my panties after leaving the dog alone one day in the house...dog lovers, start cursing me because i sold the lil shiznit and bought a most excellent washing machine with the money...i heard she was living the good life, though, with a fellow pinscher, making sweet dog love and momming multiple litters of pups...win-win for everyone) So, yeh, the Wii was Gav's big Christmas gift.

He finally came home last night, so I set up the gaming system this morning for him (on an lcd tv his father bought for his room last christmas...ok, maybe we don't communicate so well on the gav gifting...no way was i going to have a satellite box installed in gav's room so i could have an even more difficult time getting him out the door on time or completing homework or studying for exams...yes, i realize i've now created an equally tortuous problem with the gaming in his room...we'll see how the fresh nine weeks at school plays out...i'm thinking the wii will be excellent wagering goods for doing what he needs to do).

I haven't seen my son since 10 a.m. this morning. I have heard all sorts of banging and yelling all day emanating from his room. I hoped maybe he was knocking out a wall and extending his room into a sweet master bedroom with a deck leading out to the backyard where he was installing a hot tub. I just went in a few minutes ago to see if he had indeed turned to a life of construction. No. I found him in a heated "boxing" match against some Wii skank named Emma. Yes, my son was boxing a cybergirl. Great.

He had stripped down to his shorts and was sweating like he had been running endless trips up and down the Sears Tower. I'm not kidding. I saw one huge splatter of sweat fall from his chin right when I walked in the room. As if his room didn't wreak enough already.

Now, I'm back to the whining and groaning if I ask him to unload the dryer or get a drink for his sister. (she likes a screwdriver, heavy on the vodka, like mom...joking)

Next year, I'm getting him a broom, dustpan, mop, mop bucket, and maybe an apron with his name embroidered across the chest. Yeh, now we're talking, baby.

Oh yeh, I'm still pregnant.

"Hey, where are Gab and E?" you might also ask. They've driven the 30 minute bumpy ride to E's parents which I refused to even mentally entertain. Pulling out of my driveway sends sensations of placentas ripping from my uterine walls. I'll pass on the extended car ride at this point. Hence, the Billie Holiday "Solitude" mood music.

I guess I should enjoy these last few moments of silence. But, I'm one of those rare freaks of nature who actually enjoys the 24-7 company of her kids. Gav called from Hotlanta this morning to wish me a Merry Christmas and kept prodding, "Are you ok? You sound sad." Well, now I am, thanks. There's nothing worse than your kid seeing straight through your thinly veiled emotion mask.

Well, this sucks, eh? I'm not being very funny today. Let me dig deep here. Oh, I don't know how funny or just plain absurd this is...I was lamenting to E last night about how I'll miss Gab the few days I'll be at the hospital. I've told you I'm a dirty hippie co-sleeper with the little missy. And, I've worried how she'll get through a couple or few nights without me (honestly, I think she'll do just fine, depending on who is home with her...if it's E's parents, I expect a full-out nightmare scenario worthy of any evening telenovela episode...but, if I can hold out and land these babies after the New Year, my Brazilian friend will be a much better candidate for calm nights at home...Gab sleeps through the night usually anyway; it's just that initial drifting off I worry about...maybe my friend can wear one of my stinky yellowed bras to calm Gab...nothing says home and comfort like a rank stained Mom bra).

Where was I? Oh, so I express my woes to E who looks at me all perplexed, "Huh? I thought she'd be sleeping with you at the hospital?" Whuwhowhat? Ok, a) I don't think they allow your kids to shack up in the hospital room with you, b) if I remember correctly, hospital beds are made for one, and barely one at that, c) I flaunt my independent-I can do it all- conquer the world attitude, but damn, is this some kind of test? I honestly think that might be pushing it just a hair.

I've tried to get him to sleep with her (remember, he and I don't even sleep in the same room...so much love in the air, hack). The one middle of the night he came to bed and attempted sleeping beside her, I moseyed off to the couch where I can "sleep" elevated to ward off dragon heartburn, numb limbs aplenty, and not wake anyone the bazillion times I heave myself to the restroom. Out of habit, I brought the baby monitor with me. An hour or so into the sleeping game, I hear Gab, "Waaaaa. Maaaamaaaaa! Waaaa. Mama. Waaa. Is anybody f*cking listening to me? Waa, I said." And, I'm thinking, "Isn't he right beside her? Why am I hearing this waaaa-waaaa marathon?" I heave myself down the hall and into the room where there she sits upright in the bed "Mama!" and E is facing the wall with his back to her. Scoop my jaw off the floor and scoop my child from the bed and off we go to "sleep" together on the recliner.

I asked him later than morning when he decided to bless us with his presence, "Did you not hear her wailing last night right beside you?" His blunt answer, "Yes." My increased confusion, "Okay, why didn't you do anything?" His stellar answer, "I was tired." Well, that's nice.

So, you see. I have a sleeping quandary here. I just get scoffs from E and his parents because, "What kind of animal sleeps with her kids in the first place when any smart person knows they should be in a crib?" Yes, that would be the same animal who feeds her child with her evil boobies well past their first birthday because I am insane, I tell you. Where you put your kids to sleep is your business; I don't judge anyone for their choice. We all do what works for us. And, I tell you, I've got the happiest carefree gal in the world. Whether it's from sleeping up in my stinky tits or she's just lucky with that awesome innate personality, I'm not sure.

But, you know, I really don't think Hotel Sore Girly Bits will accommodate yet another baby in my room.

*This post brought to you by the Grinch who has temporarily taken up house in dee's vast body.*