Happy Halloween

Do you know what scared me today?  That I realized I forgot to fax in my forms for BlogHer Ads.  (Hi! If you are reading this, I am sending them today. Please don't burn then in effigy to my stupidity. Thanks!)

Yes, I will hopefully be adding a little adverts column over there <--- or perhaps over there --->

Moving right along...

Here is what you came here for.  I know you don't want to hear from me right now, because even I don't want to hear from me. (Except to share that the pediatrician confirmed Jack's ear infection this morning.  FUN! Games! Excitement! PUS!) Excuse my sarcasm, apparently someone forgot to put the magic happy dust in my coffee this morning.  I'll try to find it by tonight, otherwise my happy clown costume will have to be a sad clown instead.... and nobody likes the sad clown, do they?

Here are the photos from Jack's school carnival last week.  I'll try to take more costume photos of the kids at trick-or-treats tonight, but I make no promises because I am still coughing up green fraggles.  I might need to go to the doctor myself, but I'm running on Dr. Allie's "you are only sick if you acknowledge you are sick" theory, which only works if you are someone who should totally know better. 

This public service message brought to you by the number Q.  Also, I might need to go lay down now.  But first, here's one more photo of Milo... because I can't help myself.

The Roof Is On Fire.

Hello, Internets. Have you missed me?  

I'd go into detail about where I've been, but that would involve a detailed description of the things I have been coughing up and nobody needs to read about that.

Between being sick, taking care of sick kids, and - you know - not sleeping (what with having a newborn in the house and all) we are trying to refinance the mortgage and going along with Toby's plans to slowly potty train himself.  Oh, and the mountain of laundry threatens to consume us all.  Remind me, please: in case of an avalanche, you're supposed to put your arms up over your head to make a hole so you can breathe, right?  I'm assuming that works as well with dirty sweat pants as with snow.

Which is to say "HALP! I am losing my mind! Please send a nanny, a case of mallomars, and a check for 1 million dollars!"

Yesterday was a really special day.  Allow me to share it with you.

The appraiser was due at 2pm to scope out the house and determine if we can refinance to a low, 30 year fixed rate.  The alternative would be sucking it up with the ARM adjusts next fall and waving bye-bye to any hopes of funding the kids' collective college educations.  So, yeah, we really need the house to appraise.

In front of our house sits a huge Bradford Pear tree. 

There are two things you should know.  First, Bradford Bears are notoriously weak trees. Builders love them because they grow fast and give the illusion that a new neighborhood has some foliage, but they are infamous for toppling in strong weather.  Second, our neighborhood and all of the streets in it are named for some variation of the word "Wind".  

You can see where this is going.

So yesterday I'm minding my own business, getting ready to run the steam cleaner over a few spots on the carpet to prepare for the appraiser (because every little bit helps, right...?) when the power goes out.  Since we only have a cordless phone I had to rely on my cell phone.  That's when I noticed the batteries were almost dead, and realized that this would probably be the day that Jack fell and re-broke his collar bone and of course the school wouldn't be able to reach me. (which didn't happen, but have I mentioned that the day he broke it to begin was the first time I had gone more than 10 minutes from home in months?  And I had to turn around and come back without even getting inside the kids museum we had driven almost an hour to get to? Yeah.)

So Toby, Milo and I trekked to our local MegaSuperCrazyMart to get me a car charger because, really? I don't already own one of those? But no, I didn't. So we got one.

We pulled back up to the house and I immediately thought "Hey! Where'd that huge hedge in the middle of my yard come from?"  And then I realized that it was actually one third of the tree.  I would have taken a photo of that sight for you, but by the time I got the car unloaded and got the kids in the house and got lunch started... well, here:

Yeah, see. Now 2 parts are down.

And that last part? It's pointed right at my living room.

So there was a dilemma, the solving of which involved me, my pregnant neighbor, a hacksaw, and reluctant assistance from my (skeptical, bordering on terrified) home appraiser (who arrived minuts after I did).  Also, as the last portion of tree began to fall its controlled fall and veered horrifically towards the house... well, let's just not say anything to my mother or my OB/GYN about me leaping into the air and swinging from a branch in order to lure the hunk of bludgeoning death to fall onto the driveway instead of my roof.

So now our front yard looks like this:

And a tree-removal guy is coming this afternoon to haul away the carnage.  

In addition to drastically reducing the curb appeal of the property, the loss of our tree means that we now have to be much more careful about ensuring the blinds are closed before parading around the house in various stages of undress.

Also the appraiser was sure the tree was coming down on either the house or my head and he was obviously terrified at the prospect of his involvement in this catastrophe.  The moment the tree was safely felled the man tore out of here like zombies were after him. (The slow-moving sort of zombies; ones which would require you to move quickly and efficiently but not so fast as to break into an outright run.)

So that's the short version of what has happened to me the past week. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go finish coughing up this lung.  Perhaps later I will post cute baby pictures to cheer us all up.

Waxing Quickly Political...

Because I likes a little politics with my breakfast... (which, this morning, consists of the kids' leftover scrambled eggs and an english muffin plus a liter of coffee, if anyone's interested.)

... here is what Peggy Noonan (of all people) had to say about Sarah Palin in her column Friday: (excerpted):

She doesn’t think aloud. She just … says things.

Her supporters accuse her critics of snobbery: Maybe she’s not a big “egghead” but she has brilliant instincts and inner toughness. But what instincts? “I’m Joe Six-Pack”? She does not speak seriously but attempts to excite sensation — “palling around with terrorists.” If the Ayers case is a serious issue, treat it seriously. She is not as thoughtful or persuasive as Joe the Plumber, who in an extended cable interview Thursday made a better case for the Republican ticket than the Republican ticket has made. In the past two weeks she has spent her time throwing out tinny lines to crowds she doesn’t, really, understand. This is not a leader, this is a follower, and she follows what she imagines is the base, which is in fact a vast and broken-hearted thing whose pain she cannot, actually, imagine. She could reinspire and reinspirit; she chooses merely to excite. She doesn’t seem to understand the implications of her own thoughts.

So, uh, yeah.  Let's just leave it at that.  

10 Days New

Milo, My Love: A Story in Pictures.

"Before"

Pay no attention to the chins.  It's water weight, I swear. I don't really have 3 chins.

Labor is hard work.

Being born is hard work, too.

"Hello, world.  Please to be turning down the lights."

And baby makes... uh... five.  HOLY COW. 

Also, pitocin makes you swell.  A LOT.  I don't really have six chins.  

Enough about the chins.  This is the reason you're really here.  

Yes, he really is JUST. THAT. AWESOME.

Enough to justify all those capital letters. And more.

Milo & Me

Milo Duran

9/29/08  5:34pm EST

9 lbs 14 oz,  20.5"

Yes, those cheeks DO taste like heaven.

So on the way to the hospital our camera fell out of the bag.

Thankfully, Big Daddy's Mama came to the rescue with hers, so we were able to get great photos of Milo as soon as he came into the world.

Unfortunately, we haven't been able to get the photos downloaded from the camera because of cable issues.

Fortunately, this hospital (the chi-chi one I mentioned before?) now has WiFi in the patient rooms.  And I have my trusty macbook, with the built-in camera.  

Long story made somewhat shorter, that explains the fuzzy photo.  Better photos will be forthcoming, but for now - how can you complain? LOOKIT MAH BABY!

One Last Look Before I Go.

I woke up this morning with a strange sense of peace. 

Also with the realization that I really, really had to pee.  

And so it is that this, the final day of this pregnancy, begins.

The boys and I are celebrating with toasted-coconut donettes while Daddy has one final opportunity to sleep in before he has "big kid" duty for the next 2 weeks.  Me? I'll be the one passed out with a baby attached to one nipple.  (I'm suddenly imagining the google searches that last sentence will no doubt invite, and it would be funny if it wasn't so sad.  *insert Jedi Mind Trick wave here* "This is not the porn you are looking for".)

I'm going to go ahead and recommend that nobody expects to see anything in this space for the next few days - unless of course Big Daddy is feeling ambitious and decides to post some photos while I'm in the hospital.

Thanks for all the love and well-wishes through this pregnancy - especially this last month.  My sanity has been kept just barely in check some days, and it's always nice to have the emails and comments cheering us on.  Even better than a caramel latte - and if you know how I love my coffee then you will appreciate the profoundness of that statement.

And so, dear internets, for the moment I will bid you adieu as I head out on this next leg of our Adventures in Baby Making.  

See you on the flip side, my peoples.

Or "Why I Obviously Need More Therapy".

See, I've developed an obsession with Facebook.  Which goes well with my addiction to Bloglines and Twitter, especially since the internet is the only thing that induces me to actually talk to other humans on many a day. 

And if you didn't already know I tend towards the reclusive, HELLO and welcome late to the party.

So the ADS on Facebook.  They have, so far, been wickedly in tune to my brain.  I think they're using some sort of advertisement brain ray to suck keywords from my brain.  Remind me to start wearing a tinfoil hat when sitting in front of the computer.

Today I was minding my own business, absently perusing the status updates while I waited for my cnn.com video to load, when I started seeing ads for birth announcements.

Well Crap.

This is the part where I confess that I have not once, not even for second, given any proper thought to what I am going to do about birth announcements.  

With the first two babies I was ambitious and creative and made my own.  I am, after all, supposed to be a photographer.  Linen paper and a good printer was all it took to come up with something I could distribute with abandon.

That was then, y'all.  

Now? Now I am desperately trying to live up to the expectation I set that I would not be one of those moms who lets the third kid get lost in the shuffle.  And the internet is making it so very easy to create fabulous birth announcements in a range of lovely designs, and at the cost of only about half the kid's college education.

So you see, Uncle Sam... before you go giving a huge check to these silly failing banks, PLEASE understand that the $2200 cost per citizen?  I already have that earmarked for printed paper products.  Because I am a good consumer, and also because I am high on estrogen and popsicles... and spending unholy amounts of money on something pretty trivial seems like a preferable alternative to actually, you know, making something myself.

Thank you for your attention to this vitally important PSA.  We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.  At our house, this means Noggin.

Are we there yet?

So after the doctor's appointment on Monday wherein I still had no cervical progress, my OB took pity on me and said "Okay, let's schedule that induction".

I heard the words "Tuesday night check-in and Wednesday induction" and nearly wept with joy.

Then the chi-chi hospital Birthing Center (where I had Toby and determined to have this baby, too, even though it's almost an hour away because it is just that posh, people) broke my fragile little heart by not having any openings.

No openings until Sunday night.

Which means that I will be induced Monday morning.  Which is also a full 2 days past my due date, which makes me want to weep again.

BUT.  But at least we have a date, peeps.  Monday! I'm having a baby on Monday!  And hopefully he won't be so huge by then that he won't fit through my delicate pink parts.  (And to the Lady Who Did Not Know Me at Walmart who decided to tell me I was "for sure having at least a 12 pounder! - you can suck it, Lady.  Keep your opinions to yourself. Unless you want to tell me I look fabulous and, by the way, did I know that I also smell really nice? Because THAT is all you are allowed to say to a pregnant woman you do not know unless you want her to get medieval on you.  If she could actually do that, anyway, but I'm too pregnant to lift this economy-size pack of toilet paper and swing it over my head to bash you with so JUST GO AWAY ALREADY!)

Phew.  Okay, so I feel a little better now.  Thanks for letting me get that off my chest.

Now I just have to figure out how to fill some hours between now and Sunday night.  You know, some stuff that's more fun than the laundry and vacuuming that I need to do anyway.  So far? I have decided to work on neglected crochet projects and maybe bake some cookies.  Yes, my own ambition impresses me as much as it does you.  (*cough*)

Yep. Still Pregnant.

39 weeks.  One week to go before we start blaring Black Sabbath at the belly in hopes of torturing the baby out.  

Doctor's appointment later today.  I'm not getting my hopes up.  Still looking for the services of a good cervix whisperer, y'all, because we need that 1cm so induction can begin.

Seriously, that is all.  I am now spent.  I think it's time for a cookie and a nap.

Doom and Gloom - Courtesy Guest Poster: Big Daddy.

Oh how I love you Uncle Sam!

No sooner had I read of AIG possibly being toast...it did, in fact, happen.  Feds are going to gobble it up.  80% ownership for the feds and an 85 billion dollar loan.  How kind. 

So not that I want to shake the tree of oddities and doom but when does one throw their arms up and say, "Welp, it's been great but this whole FREE MARKET ECONOMY thing is done."  Not that I BELIEVE that but the past year, especially these past few days, have certainly been a signal that it's not all it's cracked up to be.  

And to make a turn for "are we really having this conversation?" territory..  What American companies actually still remain?  GM?  Rumor is they're asking for a 50 billion dollar government-backed loan since their stock is in junk status.  Not that there is enough liquidity out there for them anyways.  So what then?  America's one and only company that can break the addiction to oil goes the way of the dodo?  I mean, what are we talking about here?  Will this country become a nation with a state-controlled economy?  By the time this is all cleared I'd wager that more than a good bit of America's private financing institutions will be gov-owned, gov-funded, or in some obligated stance with the government.  

So to follow my slippery logic to it's dubious end: Could we be seeing a situation where the US Government owns US Companies and fills these companies not with regular hard-working Americans but overpaid contractors (ZING!) and outsourced talent?  Will there be large swaths of the population working to pay taxes on takeover costs of companies the Government now directs - to become profit engines who lay off Americans and hire full working divisions overseas?   All the while continuing to squeeze the middle class and profitable tax base until we're left with a depleted middle class, further disillusioned with a government who runs all the financial institutions, has GM on the dole, and spends over 30% of its money on the military industrial complex instead of health care, education, and infrastructure projects?  

.... oh wait...  that's already happening.

I hate being chicken little but if you asked me 8 years ago... 4 years ago... hell... even TWO years ago if we'd be where we are today (hell, even 10 miles from where we are today) I'd not have believed you.  WHY would I?  Oh well... I heard McCain invented the Blackberry so there's clearly important debates now to be had.  Toodles!

Have You Ever Seen The (Frog) Rain?

We could talk about how Jack woke up at 2am this morning, wide awake and ready to party.  

We could talk about how Jack fell asleep this afternoon and took his first nap in about 4 years.

We could talk about how Jack woke up from his nap in order to vomit copiously.

We could talk about the lovely surprise baby shower the neighborhood gals threw for me this afternoon, wherein I was showered with kindness and presents galore.  Milo finally has some BRAND! NEW! STUFF!  Because, this being my third pregnancy, the sum total of what I had procured for him consisted of a couple of onesies from the local consignment shop.  No more! He now has a plethora of items that will be his and only his.  One of these items is a flannel set of bib, burp cloth, and satin-edged blanket lovingly hand-crafted by my friend's 85-year-old Grandmother - whom I have never met.  My own Gram passed away last Thanksgiving weekend, and my other Grandma just moved into a care center at the age of 90.  There aren't great-grandmas around to make blankies for Milo, and so he gets to be the lucky beneficiary of a woman with enough love to spare for a third little baby boy.  So, yeah, that's the point at which I nearly cried.

We could talk about how I finally broke down and got the Twilight series, and swore never to admit it... and how I got so wrapped up in the vampire world Stephanie Meyer created that I read the whole series in a week.  Twice.

But no.  Instead? Instead let's talk about how I finally screwed my courage (or stubbornness, depending on your perspective) to the sticking place and determined to shave my legs after six weeks pregnant neglect.  Let's talk about how I squeezed myself into a warm bath and determinedly wielded my pink Lady Bic until my wookie-like gams were finally smooth.  

Then we can talk about how I used my foot to open the drain and let the water out, then reached back to lift myself up and discovered several inches of standing water remaining in the tub behind me.  Because? Because my ginormous ass had made a watertight seal with the bath tub.  

We can talk about how this discovery was quickly followed by the realization that I was firmly wedged into the tub.  I was completely and undeniably stuck.  

And so I pondered my predicament for a few moments, then sighed and turned on the hot shower.  I sat like that, wedged into the tiny tub with the hot water running over me, for a few minutes before Big Daddy wandered into the bathroom after mowing the lawn.

"Are you okay?" he wondered.

"Yeah... not so much.  I'm stuck."

"Were you planning to call for help?"

"Definitely No."

"Can I help you get up?"

"I think you're going to have to."

On second thought... let's not talk about that either.  

Let's talk about you.  How are you doing?

Ground Control To Major Tom...

Where have I been, you say?
Well, nothing like interrupting the second week of Kindergarten for this:

"This" being a fractured left clavicle.  On the playground at school.

So there was that, which was obviously awesome.  We'll be spending one afternoon a week at the Orthopedic Surgeon for the next few weeks so the injury can be x-rayed and monitored.  The good news is it should heal up in about a month.  Or so they tell me.  

Then there's the contractions, which come frequently but without sufficient strength or regularity to actually count as "Labor".  They do, however, have enough strength and regularity to leave me exhausted.  Yesterday they also seemed to be indicative of labor, but after an hour or so on monitors at the hospital the nice nurse assured us that, no, this baby is not quite ready to make his appearance and all that uncomfortable squeezing? That's just baby warming my body up for the real thing. Which could be tomorrow! Or, you know, a month from now.  Because the baby wants Mama to lose her mind.

And then Toby, poor Toby, has suddenly forgot how to sleep through the night.  This morning found him climbing into our bed at 4am, and by 5 he and I were downstairs watching Oswald episodes off the DVR.

So pretty much that's where I've been.  Aren't you thrilled that you asked?

On Experience.

Good to know even Karl Rove agrees with me on the experience issue.

I'd like nothing better than to elect a woman (and, bonus, a mother!) to either of the high offices of this country. A qualified, reasoned, experienced woman. One who understands foreign policy, one with credentials of impact beyond "Raging Social Conservative", who doesn't claim to want to cut pork after securing over $20 million in federal earmarks for her town as mayor of Wasilla - a town of less than ten thousand people.

I look forward to the day I can vote for a woman - when the label "woman" is meaningless, because she will be simply the most qualified and well-suited person for the job. This is not that woman. To be fair, her social views would keep me from voting for the ticket regardless of her qualifications, but at least if she was suited for the position I could understand and support the desire for people I respect to see her in office. As it stands, I am at a loss.

And I think that's all I have to say on Sarah Palin.

Or "Words I Never Expected To Utter..."

Thank you, Bill O'Reilly.  

Thank you for the laugh. I really needed it today.

The Frump is Catching.

Redsy posted about feeling the frumps.  Apparently it's catching, or at least a symptom of Fall, because here is the view of your hostess this morning:

Pregnant, frumped to the gills, and also appearing to sport a lady combover? I swear that's just an illusion caused by flat hair.  

There's so much going on right now I could write about, that I should want to write about... I mean there's a hurricane run on the gulf coast, McCain picked a VP running mate, we just got through a bought of baby stomach bug (poor Toby. He's all better now, though!) and, hallo, Obama speech at the DNC!  

But the sad truth is that I am tired.  No, I am exhausted.  I am ready to have this baby and regain the ability to see my feet, let alone put on shoes without assistance.  I am ready to sleep on my stomach again, to stand up without the aid of a crane, and to go more than an hour without the necessity of stopping for a pee break. 

There's also a distinct possibility that I am slowly tipping down the other side of the peak and heading back into depressed territory.  I recognize it, I'm discussing it with my doctor, and I'm preparing to take appropriate measures to head off the meltdown.  

In the mean time, though, I'm trying to regroup.  I'm working on writing a few letters and touching base with a few friends before the baby gets here.  I'm trying to get the house in order and figure out the logistics of life between now and the holidays so that I don't get totally overwhelmed in the crush of it all.  We're trying to get a babysitter so the hubs and I can get a night out alone together before the baby gets here.  (We haven't had a real date since.. umm... hrm.  Yeah, it's been a while.)

So forgive me if I'm not on top of things for the next while.  Finding the Zen in our particular Zoo requires that immediate reality take precedence over reality of the virtual kind even more than usual. And if you wander away, just check back from time to time.  I promise I'll be back to form eventually.  

Welcome To Our Sitcom

So we're engaged in our usual Saturday-night pastime of channel surfing when we happen across the "Transformers" movie and a shot of the bod-licious Megan Fox.  We both spend a moment in quiet contemplation/appreciation of her hotness.

I casually mention to Big Daddy that I recently read an interview wherein Miss Fox admitted to being something of a nymphomaniac.

BD: "Huh? ...Really."

Me: "I wish you could see your face right now."

BD: "What?!  I mean. Um. That's just... uh.. interesting, that's all."

Me: "Mmm-hmm..."

(a moment passes)

Me: "Are you sweating?!"

BD: "Uh. No! I mean.. no." (wipes a hand across his brow)

Jack: "Daddy, are you pouring your drink on your head?"

BD: (pause) "Yes, Son.  Yes I am."

Yep, just another typical Saturday night in the Casa De Aum.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go hose down my husband.  I believe he may have spontaneously caught fire in the next room.

Friday Foto Feature

Hello, internets.  

This week has been one of those weeks.  Jack went off to college Kindergarten.

I do not recall giving him permission to grow up.

Toby was understandably confused by this whole idea.  His brother? Going somewhere? WITHOUT him?!  He apparently missed that memo, and posed for one good photo before the whole situation started to dawn on him and he became increasingly nonplussed by the whole deal.

2 illegally cute children and one empty can.

It's somebody else's can. I didn't notice it until after I took the photo.

Then, I VERY RESPONSIBLY kicked it to the side and took 2 more photos.

Tobin refused to smile in either of them.  Hence? Great photo which includes random litter.

It is probably coincidence that Toby woke up the next morning with a fever and proceeded to puke his way through the day.  The fever is finally controlled, and the puking appears to have ceased - and thank the Buddha for that, because I don't think I could have handled being puked on at 2am two nights in a row.  I mean, it's no picnic on a regular night, but in case you somehow missed it - I am incredibly freaking pregnant.  HOW pregnant, you ask?

WELL. Since you asked.

I was reading Amalah today, who happens to be one of my favorite reads and who also happens to be pregnant.  She posted her 33 weeks belly photos, lamenting her hugeness.

I laughed until I cried.... and then? Then I just cried.

Allow me to introduce to you the Belly of Aum at 35 weeks plus some days.

Actual unretouched photo.  

Because obviously if I was going to doctor it, I would have first removed all those Freddy Kreuger-esque stretch mark scars.

Clearly this baby is intent on setting some sort of weight record and perhaps getting his own reality show.  Me? I'm just hoping he can be pushed out without the aid of a backhoe.

Enjoy the Silence.

This face? This is the face of a 5-year-old.  One who will start Kindergarten tomorrow.  And, not to get all sappy on y'all, but I'm not exactly sure how I'm feeling about that.  At least tomorrow is "Orientation Day" and we'll just be popping in for half an hour to meet his teacher.

Wednesday, though, he gets on the big yellow school bus bright and early... and doesn't come home until just before dinner.  

Adding to my general sense of malaise today is the fact that I got up about 8 times to pee last night - after Tobin finally went to sleep at 11.  And then? And then there's the fact that I have 5 weeks left in this pregnancy and I am sooo ready for this baby to vacate my premises.  

SO let's just say I'm having a petite blue period.  Let's leave it at that.

Really Good Excuses...

Here are two of the very good reasons why, even when the internet decided to work (thanks dude whose spotty but entirely unsecured wireless allowed a few quick interludes with the internets) I didn't manage to communicate with the outside world from the beach.

Tobin ponders life's imponderables.  

Like is it really gross to pee in the ocean? I mean, the fish do it...

Jack... providing a very clear example of why I find myself frequently replying

"No, he's not of mixed race.  Unless you count German and Scots as mixed..."

I did manage to participate in 2 rousing games of scrabulous online.  I was tired and needed a distraction besides the 5 awesomely trashy romance novels someone kindly left behind at the beach house.  Yes, 5.  My brain is so full of a jumble of slutty lifeguards and sexily earnest cowboys it's a wonder I haven't made Big Daddy do some dress-up role play with me.  I call dibs on the role of jaded-but-secretly-romantic executive with the hots for his secretary.  Honey, prepare to take some dictation -- if you know what I mean.  And you know you do.