Brag and Blog Friday!

It's that time again, folks! I had intended to include a real post today, too, but my new computer is taking up a lot more of my time than I intended. I'll have to introduce you to him sometime; he's a fun little timewaster.

Anyhow, on to Brag and Blog!

My brag this week is for my youngest sister who was recently featured in a magazine article (which I don't have a link to) and a video (which I do have a link to). She and her friends made a tremendous effort to reach out and touch the community, and they succeeded!

What fabulousity has gone on in your life this week?

Oh, the possibilities...

It's amazing how life has a way of both giving and taking away at the same time.

This week, for example, I finally got up the guts to commit to a daily schedule for my work time (AKA the girls' nap time). I hemmed and hawed a long time before making myself the promise, because I knew if I made it and didn't keep it, I'd have to despise myself. And really, who needs more of that in their lives? I want this commitment to be strong, steady, passionate--and I want it to last longer than a week. Oh work schedule, I love you! I promise to cherish you for always, to not fritter my time away eating my Valentine's chocolate and playing Facebook games. In return, I hope you'll always remind me that I DO have something specific to do, and thus stave off all nap attacks and attempts at laziness.

You will?!

Ah, bliss.

Unfortunately, the family laptop heard of this new commitment and apparently took offense. In protest, it went to its room and pouted, refusing to come out.

In other words, it died.

We've sent the laptop off to a behavioral specialist, but he tells us it might be cheaper to just get a whole new laptop than correct this one. We're waiting with bated breath to hear the final diagnosis in the next few days. Until then, I'm in computer limbo. Dear Boy must have access to the computer in order to take his 4 online classes, so I (with heavy heart) allowed him to take my beautiful iMac down into the basement den for schoolwork. The den is a fortress of manhood; I rarely breach its precincts. I'm there now, and it smells vaguely like musty cologne--a mix of wet towels (thanks, laundry room) and recently-showered man beast.

Dear Boy will be back in 5 minutes to resume his homework. Ah yes, the crux! I get 30 minutes a day (my own decision) to accomplish everything I usually spend several hours lallygagging around on the computer to finish.

Did I mention that my new work schedule is terribly computer-heavy? Well, if I didn't, I am now.

Dang.

That probably means that until further notice, all of my blog posts will be whipped out in ten minutes just like this one, with no editing and only a cursory spell check (spelling--pefect; usage? Maybe not so much.). However painful the roadblocks, you can't bail on a potentially perfect relationship after only 24 hours. So, my dear Schedule, fear not, for I shall not abandon thee! Come rain or sleet or snow...

Oh, wrong vow.

Point being, I will make this work. And my 30 minutes just ended. So until next time--

A Mom's Day... Off?

So apparently I made a mistake a little while ago. I was slightly sick, but still pushing through watching the kids, cleaning the house, pulling out leftovers for dinner, and all those other good things that just won't wait. Dear Boy tried to help, but since he's a full-time student I really feel like I shouldn't accept his help too much--he needs to study.

Anyhow, I remember complaining (mildly, I like to think) about not getting a day off to be sick. Dear Boy looked appropriately apologetic and continued with his school work, and so I mused out loud, "The only way a mom can get a real day off is if she's in the hospital, huh?"

I was joking. I swear I was. But apparently, someone took me seriously.

That's right--I'm in the hospital. And frankly, after the last 14 hours, I'll take screaming kids over a day off any day!

Dear Boy brought me into the ER last night because I was having severe difficulties breathing. My vitals all checked out fine, I just couldn't seem to catch my breath. Never have I received such prompt treatment at a hospital! Turns out, they suspected a pulmonary emoblism. I had just assumed it was pneumonia.

It was neither.

In fact, we still don't know what the problem is. It started Monday and just got worse until last night (although I feel much better now--ready to go home, in fact, if they'd just finish their tests and let me out!). They have me up on the cardiac floor, which seems ludicrous both at my age and with my vital signs and CAT scan results. And no, I'm not upset at the precautions; I really get it. Chest pain + shortness of breath + no answers = assume it's a heart problem. Kind of like innocent until proven guilty. I really appreciate the nurses and doctors and what they're trying to do for me. Everyone is being so kind.

But I miss my babies.

And I'm tired of needles.

In fact, I'm just tired period. I always figured hospitals would be a great place to rest and recuperate; not even close, as it turns out. They came up to offer me food at 1 a.m. (because I wouldn't be allowed to eat after 4, so it was quite thoughtful) and, thinking I was finished for the night, I tried to go to sleep. Apparently, "finished for the night" doesn't exist in the hospital. My night went thus:
1:30: Blood draw.
2:00: Guy from pulmonary in to listen to my lungs.
4:30: Nurse's aid in to check vital signs.
5:30: Nurse in to check on me.
6:30: Nutritionist in to give me the menu of food I'm not allowed to eat until later.
7:30: Another blood draw.
And that doesn't include checks on my roommate. Sigh.

Point being, I learned my lesson. No more hospital vacations for this Mama! Let my kids mow me into the ground on their worst days: At least when they wake me up at night, it's not with needle in hand.

She did it!

I am so proud at this moment, I could burst my buttons (assuming, of course, I had buttons and was capable of a deep breath; more on that later)! Miss StrawBee, the infant light of my life, has made huge leap forward. She crawled!

And she did it all. on. her. own.

After weeks of trying to "help" her crawl (which included some pretty ingenious schemes if I do say so myself--thanks to my family, particularly, for working with her), the child finally decided to take things into her own hands.

And just like that, she had it.

One moment she was scooting across the floor, the next, I thought I saw her crawling. Might've been a trick of the light. I hauled myself up off the couch so I could spy on her as she made her way into the kitchen. My eyes were not deceiving me.

My little StrawBee. She crawled.

I should've known it would be like this; that it would come all at once. Her birth was that way. Her rolling was that way. Her scooting was that way. Her new syllables were that way (oh, yes that was fun too. One day we were discussing with her occupational therapist the concern that she only had one consonant sound--mmmm--and she should have around three. We were considering physical therapy. Two days later, after dinner, I was trying to scoop her up off the floor and she took off, screeching "DA BA BA DA DA DA BA!" Three consonants: Check.). And now, her crawling.

I think it's (almost perfectly) safe to say that StrawBee is no longer behind her age group. She decided to crawl, and she decided it before the 9 month mark. (Gotta love those milemarshmellows, huh?)

I'm so proud, it's making my eyes water.

My baby.

Brag and Blog Friday!

Yay for Brag and Blog!! What do you have to brag about this week?

I'd like to brag on Ladybug, who has been extremely well-behaved this week despite (as it turns out) having an extremely nasty ear infection. For a two year old, that's quite an accomplishment. Good job, baby.

Share!

Freak Out

All right, I'm coming clean.

Again.

I'm a control freak.

Seems like every few months I have to make this cathartic little announcement in order to function in a life that absolutely does NOT allow for controlling everything.

I've long been known as "The Plotter" amongst my friends. There's nothing I like better than planning some huge things and having it come off perfectly (i.e. surprise parties, dinners for 50+, etc). This is a good use of my controlling-type skills because while I might go a little crazy in the planning phases, things do tend to com off beautifully. And if they don't, I have no one to blame but myself.

There's also nothing I like better than planning out every minute of every day with my two beautiful girls and my Dear Boy.

I think you can guess how good a use of my skills that is.

Just this morning, I had plans to sleep in after a very disrupted night's rest before calling the doctor's office, taking the girls in, bringing them home for lunch, and spending naptime doing something important like hanging my last few pictures in the new house. When the phone rang at 6 a.m., however, I knew it had to be the bus barn calling Dear Boy to come in and drive that morning and that if it was, all my plans would be ruined. As DB jumped out of bed to get the phone before it woke the (finally sleeping) kiddies, I prayed I was wrong. I told God quite plainly that He had no right to do this to me, I WAS sleeping in, and that had BETTER not be the bus barn because, gosh darn it, I wouldn't stand for it!

It was. And I did.

But not until after I moaned and pouted and guilted DB into calling back to see if anyone else could come. They couldn't.

Thank goodness.

See, I needed this kick in the pants. After I dragged myself out of bed and started moving, I realized how childish I was being. DB deserved some extra sleep, too. The kids were sick--it's not like they were plotting against me (though it did feel like it). I realized that, frankly, if I wanted to insist on being a sour puss about this whole thing I could and then everyone would be miserable.

I've been behaving this way for a week or two now: Trying to force everything to go my way. Suddenly, though, I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my chest. I can't control it; it's not in my hands. The best I can do is adapt to the cards I'm given and, let's face it, it's a lot easier to do that than it is to be in charge, once you humble yourself.

So I thank God today for crying babies and early morning phone calls. One of these days I'll learn to separate useful controlling with useless controlling. Until then He, at least, has enough patience to put up with me and wait.

Thank God.