Bloggity Blog

Bad Blogger! Bad! (I have a dear friend who used to keep me on my toes, and whenever my behavior would start to push the edge of perfect mormonism, he'd scold me: "Bad Mormon!', so I'm scolding my blogger self and thinking of him. GRAZIE PRINCIPE! AHHHHH!! . . . but enough of the shout outs.)

Forgive me Blogger, I have sinned. It has been nearly two weeks since my last half-hearted blog entry and a good month or two before that. My sin? Oh yes, I am a big fat liar. I said I was allergic to lake-water, and I no longer believe that to be true. I think I'm allergic to some sort of airborne something or other and, yes, it was probably in the lakewater I inhaled, so there may be some truth to the preceding post, but nonetheless, please, please, please somebody make me stop sneezing!!!

Last night's conversation:

Ethan: Mom, why do you have kleenex stuffed up your nose?

Me: Because I've been attempting to do the dishes for the past three hours and can't make any progress because I either start sneezing uncontrollably, or snot runs down my face every 10 seconds to the point that I must stop the dishes and blow my nose, or go insane.

Ethan: Oh, that's weird.

I get allergies like every 7 years for some odd reason. So it's always unexpected when it happens. In an ironic twist of fate, the last time I thought I had allergies, I didn't. But I did spend a small fortune on every allergy medicine known to man in the process of determining I didn't have allergies. And fortunately, I saved them all. So today I'm doing much better thanks. It's either due to the heat that caused me to close my windows and turn on the AC, or the pricey nasal spray or one of the several fancy allergy medicines I've ingested recently. Regardless, I think I'll keep it up. Except I'm sort of out of energy and depressed, which could be because of the medicines, or just PMS. Hard to tell.

So back to the random blog post.

I signed Elliot up for preschool. I'm not sure how I feel about that yet. Ask me in a couple of weeks. He's excited. Tonight I started filling out a questionnaire for it. It instructed me to ask Elliot the questions and write down his answers. Well, they asked for it. My favorite one?

Who do you live with?

Dad, Jen, Jesus, Heavenly Father, Ethan, Daisy.

I wrote it down because I thought the response was cute. Then went back and thought it might just make the teacher think we're some sort of religious nut-case of a family. But then again, maybe we are.

They also asked for picture of Elliot. So we got out the camera and started taking some shots. People tell me Elliot looks like me. I'm not always convinced. But when I pulled up these pictures that to me, don't really look a lot like him, they reminded me of a serious of pictures I took last year of me that didn't really look too much like me, or so I thought. So, maybe in those moments that we don't look like I think we look, we look alike. Did that make sense? See for yourselves:

And yes, I suck at picture placement, but I have other, more interesting skills.

Sneezy and Sleepy (and Dopey too)

I think my head is in the process of exploding. I mean, literally exploding. This morning I started sneezing and haven't stopped yet. It's the middle of august, there's nothing to be allergic to except humidity. And that would suck. It's bad enough suffering through it without an allergy.

So the radio said the ozone was bad (whatever that means) and to not breathe when you're outside or something. So I figured I must be allergic to ozone. Or at least that my sneezing is somehow related to ozone.

Then I started thinking that the last time I was sneezing in a somewhat similar fashion was a little over a week ago. I began to wonder if I was getting sick, or allergies, or what. But then it stopped. Until today.

sssssnnnnnnnnnnnn . . . . .

oh, sorry. Benadryl kicking in. Where was I?

Yes, today, and the week before last. hmmmm. The week before last, the boys and I swam in the lake nearly every day. But not last week. Just last evening, I ran down to the lake to do a few laps. I was momentarily distracted at the moment I jumped in and forgot to plug my nose and received a sinus-full of lakewater in return. Yum.

A plus B equals I think I'm allergic to lakewater. At least if it is in my sinuses. The sneezing the week before last wasn't quite as bad, but I don't recall a full on lakewater sinus wash. Just some serious splashing of mom by my children. Which likely put some lakewater into the nasal cavity at one point or another.

There was a girl at church the other week, face swollen up, sniffing, can't-hardly-breathing for the stuffiness. We all backed away from the sneeze-zone. But she swore up and down it was because she swam in the lake the day before. That she's allergice to lakewater. Um, sure, whatever.

But now I'm not so sure she's a big fat liar anymore. And I've watched people all day back away from my sneeze zone.

Allergies suck. Karma sucks too.

Ah-ah-ah-CHOOO!!!

snnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn . . . . . .

Leeches Suck

Ahhhh summer. Lazy days of biking and playing and swimming in the lake . . . and pulling off little leeches.

Fortunately they are generally little around here. But they seem to really like my boys. Tonight I found Elliot bleeding from the ankles twice. The first time I didn't find a leech, but when I pulled the second leech off his other ankle, I clued into what caused the first bloody mess.

At home we cleaned and re-applied bandages. Ethan went potty while we were in the bandaging process in the bathroom. Elliot, who is not disposed to averting his eyes when someone else is doing their business, promptly pointed out the small black spot on Ethan's penis.

You guessed it. A tiny leech trying to go in the out door. Yuck.

And no, removing a leech from that area is not pleasant for anyone involved. Fortunately, Elliot remembered Ethan in our family prayer this evening.

Please bless Ethan's penis . . .

Afterwards my boys sat around listing the parts of God's creations they would be content to do without: mosquitoes, ticks, leeches . . .

Ethan, who feels the world is always unfairly skewed, and not in his favor, asked me once why God created mosquitoes, and why they all bite him. And this evening, why he was the one who the leech chose to get so friendly with and I was reminded of a lesson from the scriptures. How could their be the sweet without the bitter? How could we know joy with out sorrow? Maybe if the world is stacked against us, it's because God has great things in store.

I'm sure that's why I taste soooo good to mosquitoes. And why my boys are making friends with leeches.

Ahhh summer.

Lephrechauns

Ethan is at camp. He's growing up.

Elliot is jealous. He thinks he should be old enough to go to camp.

As a consolation prize, I took Elliot to the zoo today. When asked what he most wanted to see at the zoo he listed peacocks and giraffes and leprechauns.

I felt compelled to warn him.

You know, Leprechauns aren't real.

Yes they are. They're also called leopards.

Oh, so Leprechauns are leopards?

Yes. That's just another name.

So now my favorite thing is to listen to him list his favorite animals he saw at the zoo:

Zebras. Prarie Dogs. Snow Leprechauns.

Awesome.

P.S. I think I decided again today that I don't really like zoos. But that is a post for another day.

Blame

Unsolicited Advice to the Peri-menopausal: If you run out of your hormones unexpectedly (as in you forgot to send in the new prescription), it is ill-advised to fly solo for a couple of weeks, as you may not realize the extent to which, unbeknown to you, the menopause symptoms have taken over your life.

Seriously. The hot flashes, night sweats, the insomnia.

Then again, maybe it's just the warm summer nights.

Or my cold. I got my first cold sore. Are cold sores a sign of out of whack hormones?

But then again, why have my children suddenly gone off the tantrum deep end?

Or is that due to my limited patience? Or maybe my irritability colors my perception.

Can I blame their father?

Haleluja, my happy pills have arrived in the mail.


P.S. I have to say that thanks to a great parenting book I'm actively reading (active as in I've been known to lock myself in the bathroom mid-tantrum with the book to talk myself down and brush up on tantrum coping skills before exiting and calmly dealing with the situation), I did manage, despite the multi-hour physically and verbally abusive tantrum, not to loose my cool. We have arrived this evening at bedtime, with no blood or bruises and with a mutually agreed upon set of consequences, and a 7-year-old trying his best to make up for his poor behavior with a happy and cooperative demeanor. I'd say it's a successful, if trying day of parenting.

P.S.S. I purposely did not mention the 4-year-old sobbing himself to sleep in the guest room.

P.P.S.S. But that is his own doing. I didn't lose it with him either.

P.P.P.S.S. I promise. I just denied him a popsicle. It doesn't take much.

War of the Rodents, Part Next

Dear Bats,

I don't even know if you qualify as rodents, but it doesn't really matter. Perhaps I should have been more explicit in my previous communication. When I said "stay out of my stuff", I assumed you would understand that to mean ALL my stuff, as in not just my stuff in the attic, but inclusive of the main living part of the house. But we all know what assuming does . . .

Regardless, let this be fair warning. And the two of you who entered the interior my home and lived to tell about it (oh, and sorry about the little guy--I can only assume the cat was faster) , you can warn all your friends (just don't mention the part about me crying, and the protective hooded mumu. Oh, and the super long pole with the broom taped to it for added buffer, which, though possibly fearsome to a small creature, was mostly just ridiculous and a bit overkill--yeah, you don't have to mention that. Just tell them about the part where we threw your terrified little selves outside). You can warn them that their days inside my walls are numbered.

Yes, numbered.

I have been patient. More than patient I would say. The first breach was considered an accident. The second, I chalked up to an unfortnuate encounter between wandering infant bat and my house cat. But the third and final breach was the beginning of the end. I have listened to you scratching and squirming and squeaking in my office/bedroom wall for many months and I pretended you were some sort of loose ductwork, or occasional rodent. But no more. I am ignorant no more. Since you have chosen to show yourselves inside the confines of the interior of my home and squeak directly at me, I can no longer pretend the muffled sounds in my walls are anything else. I know you now. Shall we say, as the Spaniards do: There were a few, and then grandmother gave birth! I'm not entirely sure what that means, but I do know that I will be patient no longer. I'm all for live and let live, but certain boundaries must be established and maintained if we are to coexist in peace.

Your blatant disregard of social bat/human cohabitational norms has forced my hand. I may have mentioned previously that I don't know how to tackle you. But, I'm learning. And, more importantly, I have a new friend--Trapper Bob. Trapper Bob will be here in a couple of weeks to serve you your official eviction notice. You will then have approximately six weeks to move. This long notice is in respect of the important job you do (that of eating the mosquitos--although, could you step it up a little--we're itching here!) and the expectation that your little ones will continue the mosquito-eating tradition. Trapper Bob informs me that many of your wee ones in my walls cannot yet fly (though I suspect the little bugger I chased out the other night, given the location in which I found him, could likely fly, although I did not witness said flying as I flung him out the second story window into the darkness. I can only assume he swooped off to safety, but again, we all know about assuming). In that timeframe, Trapper Bob tells me that your children should be all grown up and able to fly their hairy little selves out of my walls.

As I said, I appreciate the vital role you play and invite you to continue living in my yard. Just not my house. You see, I never invited you into my living room, or kitchen, or bedroom, and yet you came anyway. I don't care whether this breach was for thrill, shock, fun, by accident or whatever. Regardless the intent, the line has been crossed and you are hereby uninvited from habitation within my walls, attic, roof, basement or any other portion of this human habitation.

However, as a token of goodwill, I plan to educate our family over the next few weeks about your habitat, your diet, and your lifecycle. Then we will either build or purchase a bat house and have it installed nearby. When Trapper Bob evicts you, we invite you to take up residence in said bat house, and leave my walls alone.

In the meantime--STAY OUT OF MY HOUSE!!!

Elliotism

Heavenly Father . . . please bless us not to say bad words.

--Tuesday Dinner Blessing with 10 Guests