Well, we did. Whether to have another child or not has often come up in conversation and we’ve mostly been on the path of whatever happens, happens.
Well Mother Nature is an interesting mistress and she and God got together and decided we weren’t done…
YES!! I AM PREGNANT!!!
WOO HOO!
I’m due March 10, 2011.
No drugs. No crazy charts. Just wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am.
My daughter turned two on Friday.
Over the last few weeks we’ve been having a bit of fun round these parts. Firstly, I took my darling girl to a speech therapist to have a speech evaluation.
By the time they are two, children should know between 25 and 50 words and should be beginning two word sentences. SM knows about 20 and uses about 10 consistently.
We had her hearing evaluated first and she passed with flying colors.
So the next week, we got her speech evaluated.
Her receptive language – or the language she understands and responds to, follows directions and commands, etc – is on the level of a 20 month old or within “average” guidelines.
Her expressive language – or the speech she can say – is on the level of a 13 month old – well UNDER “average” guidelines.
She is a “late talker” rather than being diagnosed as “speech delayed” and so far, insurance will pay for the evaluation but not the weekly recommended therapy priced at $330 an hour.
And while she’s a late talker, that doesn’t mean she’s quiet. Anything but. She “talks” constantly. Some words you will probably understand and some you definitely won’t.
We go for her 2 year wellness trip on Monday and I am eager to see how tall she is now. Last time, she was 35 inches tall and I know she’s taller than 3 feet now.
She is altogether delightful. She is a ball of energy and wants to RUN RUN RUN all the time. Keeping up with her sometimes is absolutely exhausting. But she is wonderful.
She’s started her own version of dancing in the last few days. It involves wiggling her backside and jumping up and down.
She runs and runs and then comes over to me and wants a hug. She wraps her little arms around my neck and pats my back when she hugs. Then it’s down for more running.
I turned 40 a couple of weeks ago. I would have written before now, but there’s been so much going on. Truthfully, I should do a better job. But I digress…
When I was 20, I thought about what life would be like when I was 40 and I have to say that as I look around me, it’s nothing like what I imagined. But I am happy. I have a wonderful husband and a beautiful daughter. We have a cute little house with a new roof and we’re mostly debt free.
There are things I’d like to change and some things I will change myself. Other things will change on their own and I believe the rest will stay pretty much the same. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, just reality.
At 40, I am more convinced than ever that things can and will get better. I am still convinced that people are good at heart. But I always watch my back. I call it pragmatic optimism.
There’s always more to do; more places to go; more people to meet. I find myself busier these days. I’ve got a couple of irons in the fire right now that will affect the future that will make me busier still. I’ll be telling you more about that as they come to fruition…
So to sum up: happy, busy, loved and loving. Yep, that’s me at 40.
When I was a kid, Sonny and Cher were on Sunday night. After I had my bath and blew dryed my hair (it was really long then too), I’d watch Sonny and Cher and then it was time to go to bed. Except for a long time, I’d get sick to my stomach by the end of the show.
It wasn’t the fault of Sonny nor of Cher, but because I had to go to school the next day and I really hated my teacher.
This lady had a serious vendetta against me. I never understood exactly why. I knew I added work to her schedule because I was reading 3 grades beyond most of the class so I had to have my own reading group. At the start of the year, I was also a vivacious talkative little girl. By the end of the year, I was reserved to the point of shyness. Any infraction meant being called in front of the class for rebuking and ridicule. Other children were encouraged to rebuke me as well and would refuse to play with me on the playground because I was a “troublemaker”.
My mother had more than one conference with this teacher and the principal. All my mother could really get out of me was that she was “mean” to me.
The next year, we moved to another area and I switched schools. There I found the best teacher I had until high school who looked at my super achievement at reading as something of a challenge and kept me busy and happy. Although I never have quite recovered from the shy part… but that’s another blog post.
The point is, I have a long hatred of Sunday evenings. All the stores shut down around here about 6 pm and in the summer time, there’s still 2-3 hours of daylight.
I liken it to what Douglas Adams describes in Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Universe when he talks about the Wowbagger The Infinitely Prolonged:
In the end, it was Sunday afternoons he couldn't cope with, and that terrible listlessness that starts to set in at about 2:55 when you know you've taken all the baths you can usefully take that day, that however hard you stare at any given paragraph in the newspaper you will never actually read it, or use the revolutionary new pruning technique it describes, and that as you stare at the clock the hands will move relentlessly on to four o'clock, and you will enter the Long Dark Teatime of the Soul.
Except my teatime starts about 7:30. Whether its because I just dread Mondays or don’t want the weekend to end, I don’t know.
I just hate Sunday evenings.
As mentioned previously, a couple of weeks ago, I took my 2003 Honda Odyssey to the dealership. I needed an oil change and I had an engine light on.
Now for a little back-story: Here in metro Atlanta, we have to have yearly emission tests because of the smog. Your car will NOT pass the inspection if your engine light is on.
Now enter the light itself. A few weeks ago, I was having trouble with one of the tires. I kept having to put air in it. One afternoon, the traction control light came on and stayed on and then the engine light came on. So I went over to the Sears where I bought the tire and they found a 6 inch spike in the sidewall. And of course, it was in exactly the spot that the tire could not be patched so I needed a new tire.
After getting the new tire, the traction control light went out but the engine light stayed on. I did a little research and found out the problem was probably that traction control light. So I relaxed and didn’t worry about it until it was time for another oil change.
I take the car to the dealership and after about an hour the service manager comes over and sits down with me. The problem is NOT the traction control light. It’s a warning about the transmission and the news is not good. The fix for this is to replace the transmission (!!!) and the computer (!!!!!!!!) and the cost is in the thousands. Yes, THOUSANDS. As in SIX THOUSAND.
Six thousand dollars to fix a 7 year old Honda Odyssey with 120,000 miles on it. Six thousand dollars we don’t have. Six thousand dollars that will not make me feel better about my car. I will worry about spending six thousand dollars on a vehicle that is only worth 12 thousand if the transmission were whole and working properly.
With the exception of this light, this vehicle drives like a dream. And my car is well loved. My mother bought it new in 2003 right before she got sick. We took it to Mississippi to gamble a couple of times and we all really loved how smooth it was over Alabama’s terrible roads. We also really loved how comfortable the captain’s chairs were.
When mom got sick and passed away, I inherited both of her cars: the aforementioned van and a 1998 Ford Escort I’d been driving since my own car was stolen from in front of our apartment complex. I immediately sold the Escort but kept the van.
I had told myself years ago that I would never, never, NEVER drive a mini-van. But then I drove this one and loved it. And I’ve loved it ever since I inherited it. I have driven to DisneyWorld in it several times; I brought my baby daughter home from the hospital in it. When Moo and I went crazy and sold his car a couple of years ago, we knew the van would take care of us.
So here we were. With a van that needed major repairs and no money to do it. I knew I’d never fully trust the van again. So we traded it in and bought a new vehicle.
I miss my van like crazy and I’m already plotting ways to get another one.
Yesterday didn't go at all as I planned it. 
The only plan was to take the mom-mobile to the dealership to fix the check engine light.
Turns out that it was a major probably requiring a new transmission and computer. So, I didn't plan for the repair to be $6000.
We decided to buy a new car, but I didn’t plan on to turning my house upside down looking for the car title for the van. We never found it and I’ve got to go and order a new one.
We didn’t plan on buying a new car. But we bought a Honda Element. We didn’t get another Odyssey because Moo has never been comfortable driving my van and we both liked the look of the Element.
But I'm glad it all happened and feel confident we did the right thing. I am also happy and grateful we had the cash for a down payment. It's funny how these little miracles happen and how God makes things work out.
So I’ve been hiding from all of you.
Because of the shame I feel.
Yep.
I’ve got warts.
On my feet.
YUCK YUCK
YUCK YUCK
YUCK YUCK
YUCK YUCK
YUCK YUCK
YUCK YUCK
I noticed when I was pregnant that my feet REALLY hurt. I even told the midwives about it. They all agreed that pregnancy was torture on your feet and that was the end.
But I knew something else was going on. I had these two … spots. Spots that were flesh colored and didn’t particularly hurt except if I walked a lot.
They bothered me a little last Spring when we went to DisneyWorld, but for the most part, they haven’t bothered me. Then around Christmas, my other foot started to really hurt and I had a large SPOT on that foot. It REALLY hurt to walk on. But I still procrastinated and finally ended up going to my podiatrist a couple of weeks ago.
Now as you know, the history of my feet are widely discussed on this blog. Feet are near and dear to my heart.
I helped take care of my father’s feet when he had an injury. He was a diabetic and had a really deep cut on his feet. That injury progressed until he finally had to have the foot amputated. So I’ve seen some pretty gnarly feet and some pretty gross stuff having to do with feet. For the most part, I am immune because come on, when you see someone with gangrene on their feet and you don’t puke, you pretty well have a strong stomach.
So I finally decided that maybe I should have my own feet looked at and lo and behold, I have WARTS!!! Plantar WARTS!!! OMG!! OMG!! OMG!! OMG!! OMG!! OMG!! OMG!! OMG!! OMG!! OMG!! OMG!!
I was totally freaking out.
Anyway, the podiatrist, who is just adorable and is totally my type except I’m married and my husband would completely kill him, says: “we have a couple of different treatment options. We can reserve an OR suite, put you out and zap these things with a laser or I can put this bug juice on your feet and then peel off the resulting blister in two weeks. The bug juice fix will take a couple of treatments to completely get rid of the warts.”
Y’all, I chose the bug juice.
Really, it’s a medicine created from the Green Blister Beetle which is also known as Spanish Fly. And dude. Ain’t nobody getting horny from this crap. When applied to the skin, it causes a blister.
I thought, “How bad could it be?” Man, sometimes I am stupid.
By the time we settled in and had dinner, my feet (YES, I had BOTH feet treated AT THE SAME TIME!) were killing me. I had bandages on my feet that I was supposed to leave on for 24 hours so I couldn’t see what was going on but OMG they HURT!
So it’s a week later and 2 of the 3 areas are much better. Were in fact better within 48 hours. 1 of the areas however was still killing me LAST NIGHT.
I go back next week to have the skin peeled off the blisters and another application of the bug juice. YAY!
Sleep Regression (Noun) Several points in an infant's early development, usually around 4, 8, and 18 months of age, in which the child develops sleeping difficulties, wakes frequently and sleeps fitfully, often in erratic spurts.It also seems to be the time that everyone loses their ever-lovin' mind. Or maybe that's just me.
Dear God,
Please untie the knots
that are in my mind,
my heart and my life.
Remove the have nots,
the can nots and the do nots
that I have in my mind.
Erase the will nots,
may nots, and
might nots that find
a home in my heart.
Release me from the could nots,
would nots and should nots
that obstruct my life.
And most of all, dear God,
I ask that you remove from my mind
my heart and my life all of the am nots
that I have allowed to hold me back,
especially the thought
that I am not good enough.
Amen.
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