I've been tagged

OK, here are seven things you may or may not know about me (who am I kidding, my BFF is the only person who reads it and I'm sure she probably knows most, if not all of it.)

1. I'm a huge procrastinator. If it's not due within 24 hours, it's still in the back of my mind. I must say, however, that I usually manage to make the finished product look as though I'd been slaving for weeks.

2. I chew on my cuticles and have done so since early childhood. My mother use to tell me that if a doctor saw my fingers, he would say I had psychological problems. She also use to call me a cannibal since I was "eating my own flesh."

3. I'm extremely stubborn. This applies to every area of my life. It drives my husband (and probably my BF, at times {although she is, too}) crazy.

4. I obsess over things such as, what would happen to my kids if I die? What would happen if my 8-year-old daughter watched a PG-13 movie? What would happen if my 10-month-old ate wheat before I decided it was time, etc. Usually I have myself worked up to panic-attack mode by the time the day-dream is over (Maybe my mother was right about me in #2)

5. I love pictures. I am obsessed with taking them and displaying them. I must have a photo from each year of each child's life displayed somewhere in my house. If I don't, the memory will surely fade and their childhoods will be lost (See #4 above).

6. My mother is crazy. Thank God I'm totally sane.

7. As the years progress, I'm finding myself becoming more and more right-winged in my political views. A gift from my father, I suppose.

I'm afraid the tagging process will have to end here as my only Blogger friend is the one who tagged me in the first place.

Goodbye

I met Bill, my husband's step-father, the same day I met my husband. It was the summer of 2001 and my co-worker (and future sister-in-law), Melissa, invited me to her mother Julie's 50th birthday party (I knew Julie from work as well). Melissa was always talking about setting me up with her brother (who looked cute in pictures), so I decided to go. It was a pool party and I hadn't brought my suit. Bill was quite the character and was trying to coax me into the pool anyway. He was part of my life from then on. I did start dating his son and the whole clan embraced me as a member of the family. When Jamey and I broke up for a few months, the rest of his family was still there for me. Bill took me to get my first Christmas tree that year (it was my first Christmas not living at home with my parents). When I got sick, Bill and Julie brought over food and helped with transportation.

Soon, Jamey and I were together again and the next year we got married. On my wedding day Bill told me I was the most beautiful bride he'd seen in over 20 years.

The next year Jamey and I bought our first home. Being an old house, it needed a lot of work. Bill put in countless hours working on our house before we moved in and has always been there to help out with all the little things (and big things!) that would go wrong.

Several years ago, my sister-in-law moved out to Washington but comes home to visit once or twice a year. They stay with Bill and Julie when they're in town. They'd been in town for a week this past Wednesday when Melissa asked if I could watch her three kids while she and her husband ran some errands.

I'd had the kids for several hours when Melissa called. Her voice thick with emotion, she told me to go in a room alone. I immediately knew someone was gone. Their grandmother is in her late 80's and isn't doing great. I expected her to say something had happened to her. I wasn't prepared for her to say through her tears, "When Henry and I got back from Wal-Mart, we found Bill in his chair, and he's dead."

Henry, a cop, had attempted CPR, but he was already gone. They'd had to go to Julie's work and tell her that her 58-year-old husband was gone. When my husband got home from work an hour later, I had to tell him that the man who'd raised him since he was four years old was gone.

The whole thing still doesn't seem real. Bill was a simple man and he wanted to be cremated and he didn't want any kind of funeral services. This has been hard for me because I don't feel there was an opportunity to say goodbye and grieve with family and friends. Yes, my husband, sister and brother-in-law, and mother-in-law have been spending time together, but there's been no time for us all to just cry and celebrate Bill and see extended family and mutual friends. Immediate family members were able to go to the funeral home for a private viewing before the cremation, but I was at home watching my kids and my niece and nephews, so never really got to say goodbye.

Last night, we were all over at Julie's, and sitting there on the kitchen counter, in a clear plastic bag, was Bill. It was a little much for me to handle. You picture ashes, but they really aren't. It was basically a bag of bone fragments. It was awful. I just saw the man last Friday, and now a week later, his bones are visibly sitting on his kitchen counter. I can't quite wrap my mind around it. I know this sounds morbid, but this is my reality.

There was no autopsy, Julie didn't want one, so I guess we all just have to assume it was his heart.

I feel so bad for Julie. Her life has basically shattered around her. They had so many plans. They'd already bought a home in Washington where they planned to retire. Now, once Melissa goes home, she will have to come home to an empty house every day, a 57-year-old widow.

He was an amazing man who would do anything for anyone. I am thankful his daughter and grandkids were in town and got to spend that week with him before he died. I'm thankful my kids had been spending a lot of time at their house to visit Melissa and Henry and were able to see him in his final days. I'm thankful I was able to know the man.
Bill and Julie at our wedding

A new twist on Toll-House

So, everyone knows that classic home-made Toll-House chocolate-chip cookie dough is like, the best thing EVER! Close your eyes and imagine the taste - thick, gooey dough, cool and smooth from the butter with just a hint of granulated texture from the sugar, full of firm, rich, semi-sweet chocolate chips. Now imagine a little something extra thrown in - 1/3 cup cocoa powder. This addition turns ordinary chocolate chip cookies into chocolate chocolate chip cookies...just imagine what it does to the dough! Taylor and I made a batch of this new phenomenon tonight and the results were nothing short of delicious!

Ugh...

Today was one of those days when everyone was on my nerves. I've been mad at my husband all day for just one thing after the other, yet nothing in particular. Some days I just feel like I'm just not sure what I'm doing here. I feel bad when I act this way, but I'm too stubborn to give in. I don't really have a lot to say about it, I just hope tomorrow is a better day. We're taking all four kids to King's Island, so hopefully we'll have a good time. Hopefully Noelle does OK; she's been unusually cranky lately.

Two moms, four girls, one "photographer"

The day started out calmly enough. Caitlin was still at her dad's finishing up a long weekend with him, so the house was peaceful, absent of the never-ending drama that takes place between the two oldest girls. I had managed to bathe Noelle, Taylor, and myself before my friend M and her baby, R, arrived. Somehow, I was actually running right on time.

M and I had picked out coordinating dresses for our girls months before in anticipation of this day. We had been waiting years to have babies at the same time, and through adoption, M finally had her first child, a little girl only a month older than Noelle. We though it would be adorable to get all four girls photographed together in the aforementioned dresses.

After picking Caitlin up and getting her ready in the public bathroom where the only electrical outlet available to plug in the curling iron was behind the entrance door, M and I checked into our appointment right on time. At this point, we were informed that there would be about a 15 or 20 min wait. We headed to the waiting room with the girls in tow. Now, in an establishment that seems to specialize in children's photography, one might expect to see a waiting room well-stocked with toys. At the very least, you might expect to see one of those big wooden blocks with the moving beads that you often see in doctors' offices. But no, this waiting room was just that - simply a room in which to wait. It held about 20 plastic chairs, a TV that didn't work, and walls plastered with photo advertisements featuring children and families, perfectly poised, smiling beautifully for the camera. Since none of them were sporting bug-bites that had been clawed bloody on their faces, as in the fashion of my oldest daughter, I could assume that our photo experience would not mirror theirs. I was right.

Finally, our "photographer," obviously a high school girl on summer break, was ready for us. M and I desired a variety of group and individual shots of our children and the first set of photos was to include all four girls. I knew things were not going to go well as soon as the photographer suggested Taylor sit on Caitlin's back (this is a routine position for sisterly assault at home). Taylor happily flopped on to Caitlin's back and sprawled out as Caitlin gave an exaggerated moan of pain. Once those two were properly arranged, it was time to bring in the babies. Noelle, who at this point in her life, seems to have no interest in becoming mobile, sat obediently where placed. R, on the other hand, has recently mastered the art of crawling, and is always anxious to show off her new trick. Every time R was placed into position, she promptly lunged forward and attempted to escape the set, anxious to examine the cords dangling from the camera a few feet away. Noelle on the other hand, was being a little too laid back. Void of any emotion, she sat there with her tongue hanging out, eyes drooped lazily. No amount of cooing and clicking would make her smile. Due to the babies' issues, the two older girls were required to stay posed, smiles frozen on their faces so they would be ready on the off chance that both babies would be caught smiling. Caitlin could hold her pose fairly well but Taylor was hunched over with an expression of sheer pain on her face. I urged her to smile but she appeared frightened by the concept. Usually the child will freeze and flash a huge grin at the mere sight of a camera. As the agony continued, I suggested giving the babies some flowers to hold in an attempt to get R to stay still. At this, Noelle sprung to life, attempting to shove hand fulls of flowers into her mouth at once.

The session progressed and we attempted some shots of the two babies together. There was a classic photo opp of the two after Noelle reached out and took R's hand. For whatever reason, the photographer chose not to capture this precious moment on film. The girl's lack of skills became even more evident when it was Noelle's turn to be photographed alone. I wanted to get some shots of her on her back grabbing her feet, as this was one of her new favorite things to do. As soon as she was laid on her back, she turned into the jolly little thing I know her to be. She couldn't stop smiling and grabbing her feet. The "photographer," of course, captured none of this. She fumbled with her cords and by the time she got around to taking pictures, Noelle was into checking out her surroundings. The girl decided it would be a god idea to squeak a rubber duckie in her face repeatedly. Every time Noelle grabbed her feet, rather than taking a picture, the girl squeaked the duck in her face. This continuously resulted Noelle getting excited and kicking her legs down, obviously letting go of her feet. After about 10 times of the girl not making the connection, I said, "Um, she's never going to do it if you keep squeaking that duck in her face." Though we did get some cute shots, she never did capture any of Noelle's abundant smiles on film in an individual photo. R, of course, smiled and posed like a seasoned model for her individual shots.

Finally, after about an hour and a half, we were finished. Next, of course, we had to view and select the photos. A few minutes after the viewing began, Taylor, in classic three-year-old style, announced that she had to go to the bathroom. I asked Caitlin to take her, knowing deep down that this was a horrible mistake. A few min later, I heard what sounded like a baby crying loudly nearby. Behind that, however, I could hear something else. Taylor was screaming in absolute hysterics in the bathroom. After about 10 seconds, I could ignore it no more. I went to check out the situation. Upon opening the bathroom door, I was practically knocked over by the overwhelming sound of screaming echoing off the bathroom walls. I opened my children's stall to find Taylor standing there, her underwear around her ankles, sobbing inaudibly. Caitlin seemed at a loss as to what was wrong with her sister. Finally, I was able to discern that the automatic flushing toilet had been repeatedly going off, terrifying her. I got her cleaned up and calmed down and we returned to the viewing area. By this time, R had suddenly decided she was starving. While M attempted to simultaneously make a bottle and hold a squirming baby, R could wait no longer and reached out and batted at the open bottle, splashing half-mixed formula all over the counter and some paper-work that was lying there. Eventually, we selected photos, spending way more than anticipated on this adventure. Almost three hours after we arrived, we finally exited the booming metropolis that is the Piqua Mall.

If I could turn back time...

Today I looked at some video footage I hadn't looked at in years - I'm horrible, I hadn't video taped anything in about 2 1/2 years, since Taylor was about 16 months! I've missed so much, including Noelle's birth and first 6 months. What I do have though, are the hours before and after Caitlin's birth (no actual birth shots!), and a lot of footage from her first year. It's was so weird to watch it and see my eight-year-old girl as a newborn and see myself as such a young mom. Watching the video was almost painfully nostalgic. I wish I could go back and relive it all and stop myself from making all the mistakes I've made. In some ways, I feel like I was a better mom in those early days than I am now. Seeing those videos...it was such an innocent time. My life was all about Caitlin. There was no boyfriend or husband, no other kids, no school, just Caitlin, my job, my parents, and my friends. I know that it all started to change when her father and I started dating again...I really threw myself into that...I wanted to make it work for her and for me, but it didn't. I put up with so much crap from him. I let him walk all over me and I missed out on so much, and for what? It's funny, because I definitely "wear the pants" in my marriage and find it hard to believe I would have ever let any guy walk all over me. I wish I could go back and call him on all his crap and then walk away instead of always sticking around for him to dump me again.

Well, eventually I did quit taking him back, but I then moved on to the man who would eventually become my husband. Jamey never walked all over me - I had found my voice. However, I feel as though I did jump into the relationship with both feet. We married a little less than two years after we met, but we were ALWAYS together when we were dating. I just wish I had given Caitlin and I a little more "us" time during my single years because we can never get that back. Don't get me wrong, she was still always with me, but I think I perhaps neglected some of her emotional needs in my quest to find us a family.

This is still secondary to what I think my biggest mistake with her was...and still is. I think I've always been too hard on her, from the time she was a toddler. Caitlin did everything early, rolling, crawling, walking. She has also always been very smart and advanced for her age, not to mention big for her age. For these reasons, I think I've perhaps always expected a bit too much of her. I've always expected her to be more mature and understand more than a child of her age should have to. Early childhood is my specialty so I should and do know better, but for some reason, I can't seem to apply this to Caitlin. Now that she has two younger sisters, it seems I expect even more of her. I have a hard time just letting her be little. I lose my patience with her all the time and so does my hubby. I fear that as she gets older, she will really start to resent this treatment, and every day I make a conscious decision that "today will be different," but it never is. It breaks my heart to think back to when she was little and remember how hard I often was on her. I've managed to learn from my mistakes enough that I haven't repeated the pattern with Taylor and as I've watched Taylor grow I've often thought back about things I yelled at Caitlin for when she was the same age and thought, "Wow, she really was so little," and it really makes me want to cry. I know it's too late to change the past and I shouldn't spend too much time dwelling on it, but I know I must make a change for her future, but I don't know how, we're just stuck in this rut. She really is a good girl and I know she just wants to please me so much. I worry about her self-esteem, I worry she will feel she is treated differently than the other girls, especially since my husband is her step-father, I worry about so many things every day, but I honestly don't know what to do. I just can't take it when she throws her fits or says rude things because I think she should be past that stuff by now, but maybe she shouldn't. I try to tell myself to just ignore it if it's not a big deal, but I have a hard time doing it. My biggest fear ever is turning into my mother, and sometimes I feel I could be headed down that road with her. The whole situation is tearing me apart inside.

Putting Febreze to the true test

The germs continue to spread in our household. I didn't mention it in yesterday's blog about Noelle, but the day before, Caitlin had a horrible belly ache all afternoon and then ended up throwing up all over the inside of the van on the way home from the grocery store (Thank goodness for my hubby and his shop-vac!). She continued to feel bad for the rest of the evening. Fortunately, she woke up yesterday morning feeling fine.

Well, last night when I was putting Taylor to bed, I noticed she felt warm. I took her temp and sure enough she had a fever. She claimed to feel fine, though. She had mentioned feeling bad during supper and she didn't eat much, but that is pretty much a nightly occurrence with her, so I had thought nothing of it. I wasn't sure what to expect because she hadn't had a cold, so it didn't seem like an ear problem. Caitlin hadn't had a fever with her illness, so it didn't look to be heading in that direction. Well, I was wrong. She came downstairs about 3 a.m. and threw up all over the floor. This morning, she woke up with a fever over 104, the highest any of my kids have ever had. She drank some juice but didn't keep it down. I was worried about such a high fever so I called the doc. They assured me it was OK and gave me the usual run-down about keeping her hydrated, etc. After getting sick, she laid back down and now at 11:00 a.m., she is still sleeping. She still feels quite hot, not surprising since I'm sure the Tylenol came back up, too. Poor little thing, I can only think of one other time when she's ever thrown up. Caitlin's always been my puker. Obviously, we didn't make it to Bile Camp, where I am in charge of the Bible Stories station for the week.

Considering buying stock in The Pediatric Group...

Well, I have the feeling my Baby Noelle is going to follow in her big sisters' footsteps. Today, at not quite six months of age, she was diagnosed with her second ear infection. Some may not think this is too big of a deal, but in our family, ear infections are somewhat of an epidemic. Plagued by them in childhood myself, I seem to have passed on some sort of mutated gene. My oldest daughter has had more ear infections in her eight years than I could ever begin to keep track of. When she was about six months old, she went from perfectly healthy to a chronic mess. She's had tubes three times. Her first set were inserted at 13 months. My second daughter's problems also began when she was six or seven months and she earned her tubes at 12 months.

Noelle beat her sisters and got her first ear infection, a double one at that, at only two months of age. After that cleared up, she remained healthy for the next 3 1/2 months until she came down with a bad cold about two weeks ago. She finally seemed to be getting over it when she went on a nursing strike and developed a low fever a couple of days ago. Though she hasn't grabbed at her ears in pain (none of my babies ever have), I was sure the curse had fallen over our household once again. A cold followed by a fever always means infection around here. The pediatrician confirmed suspicions this afternoon. Here we go again. I'm starting to recall that my children's baby and toddler years are practically defined by weekly visits to the pediatrician, occasional emergency room visits, terrifying bouts of croup, breathing treatments, pneumonia, and of course, ear surgery. I wish I could say they outgrow it, but it only becomes a little less frequent. Caitlin got her tonsils out at age 6 due to chronic strep throat and still gets the occasional ear infection or episode of pneumonia. Taylor is on medication for reactive airway disease. Let the good times roll....

The pressure to clean

My husband's company pays employees and their spouses $100 each to simply go through a 30 min health screening once a year. My appointment is tomorrow morning. The problem? Hubby will be busy helping my dad move, meaning my mother-in-law will be coming over to watch the girls. This means I will be up half the night cleaning my house just so she can come over for an hour. Don't get me wrong, my house isn't a complete sty, but it's hardly spotless either. One of the main issues is the perpetual pile of dishes in the sink. Yes, part of it is the fact that I have three, sometimes four, young children living here, but let's face it, there is also a little laziness thrown in there. I simply hate cleaning. So why am I worried about doing it tonight? The mother-in-law factor. She's one of those people who's idea of dressing up is putting on a T-shirt that doesn't contain foul language. She's one of those women who mows lawns and seems to enjoy vacuuming and stripping wall-paper. She doesn't understand just wanting to relax for a little while when you get the chance. She doesn't say any thing, but you just KNOW she's judging you. My husband's also not afraid to let me know that his mom always had their house spotless, even when he and his sisters were little. So, whenever she babysits, I spend hours cleaning...maybe this is why hubby and I only go out a couple times a year! The irony is, as spotless as the rest of her house is, she has ferret crap all over the place...literally. She lets them run loose in her house and has "poopy pads" laid down in every room. Yes, at any given moment, there are visible piles of crap in every room of her house. Maybe I shouldn't agonize about the cleaning quite so much....

Well, I used to keep a journal religiously in my younger days, but haven't done any over the last eight years since I've had my first child. All my childhood crushes and dramas are well documented, but ironically, of the things that really matter now, I have no written record...plenty of photos though! Maybe now in this technology era, I can use this computer, my favorite free time toy, to catch back up with my journaling and hopefully entertain a few people along the way!