Happily-Ever-After-Land

Knee-deep in Tissues with a Questionable Survival Rate

This was supposed to be a BIG weekend for me, folks. 

OK, not the WHOLE weekend, just one marvelously childless, husbandless day known to you as Saturday.

MammaDawg, a fellow blogger who lives two towns away and who I've periodically met up with (children in tow, of course), and I had made plans to meet another awesome blogger, Ciara.  Sans husbands and kids, we were going to enjoy a very talkative, uninterrupted lunch, followed by a movie (which includes my favorite pastime - gorging on popcorn, layer the butter please, thank you).  Sure, it was going take a two hour drive to get us all to meet in the middle. 

A small price to pay, I say.

So you can imagine my disappointment when MamaDawg emailed the night before to say her hubs was called into work over the weekend.  Something about a zombie problem with the employees - all I know was that it would require a large cricket bat.

I was bummed.  I thought about taking the trip myself and meeting Ciara anyway, but being a scant five weeks from poppin' a baby, Hubs wasn't keen on that option.  And then when he heard the lung-burning cough that I woke him up with that morning, he was flat out AGAINST the trip altogether.

And, dammit, he was right.

I was hoping it was just gonna be bad in the morning, the way colds can be at their worst in the morning and then level out to barely a roar once everything has been loosened up.

That, unfortunately, was not the case.

I had fever.  I had chills.  I had to blow my nose every two and a half minutes.  I've lost my voice on various occasions.  I would periodically pass out on top of a bed of used tissues.  I hate pills, yet I took the Sudafed and Tylenol religiously, because without them, I started wailing for the White Light to come and take me out of this misery.

And did I mention how hugely preggo I am?  So, aside from my very limited list of meds I'm approved to take, all this lying around has given the ol' acid reflux lots of access to my already tender throat.

This really blows. 

But I wanted to send a special "thank you" to MammaDawg's hubby and his brain-sucking zombi-ployees.  Because, if she hadn't canceled, lung expelling cough or not, I would have rallied.  I would have suffered through the two hours each way, fallen asleep in my food, and left the theater when my nose-blowing and hacking became uncontrollable.  And Ciara and MammaDawg would have wound up in a heated debate as to whether or not they should just drop me off outside the hospital and come back for me later, or actually come inside and wait with me.

It's Day Two, and I think I might survive.  Although my ribs are sore every time I cough.  And Hubby just informed me, as he served up two more Tylenol, that if I'm still bad tomorrow, I have to go to the doctor.  Well, he was right yesterday, so I guess I'll do as he says.

But only this ONE time!

Oh, and all this laying around and goopiness has caused the fluid retention that had begun to form in my legs to disappear altogether.  See, there's a Silver Lining in every situation!

Disclaimer:  This post was proofread by The Hubster before posting.  Cause let's face it, anything I say, do, or write while in this condition has a serious chance of (at best) making me look like a looney toon, and (at worst) making me look like a psychopath!

You Never Really Vacationed Unless You've Done It Seven Months Pregnant

If you saw yesterday's post, then you're already aware of the overnight trip we Happily-Ever-After-Landers took to Yosemite National Park last week.

We had a fabulous time (despite dragging around a 2 1/2 year old), and I would highly recommend it to everyone!  Now, I am not what you might consider "one with nature," on our last camping trip, the sounds of blowing up our queen size, extra tall air mattress could be heard far and wide, but there are certain aspects of the outdoors that I do enjoy participating in.

And I would have.

If I wasn't toting around a fetus in my uterus.  (hehe, that kinda rhymed!)

Yosemite Activity #1 - Hiking
    Obviously, I can walk.  It would be pretty idiotic to take a trip all the way to Yosemite if I was, like, on bed rest or something.  However, I cannot walk long, and I cannot walk far, and if there's an incline, I pretty much feel like I'm going to die.  But even on flat trails, walking too long gets my va-jay-jay a painin'.  I don't know why this is.  Weight from the baby, I suppose - I had it with Miss Priss, too, so whatever it is, it's "normal" for me (so don't get all worried, mom).  The ol' crotch muscles get so sore, that it makes it difficult for me to walk at all.  Not to mention the lower back pain that eventually creeps up on me when I try to stay upright for any length of time.  And don't even get me started on my feet!  I love pregnancy, I really do, but I think the park needs to invest in some Segways or Motorized Scooters for all of us with disabilities.

Yosemite Activity #2 - Biking
    I have been wanting a bicycle for a while now.  Nothing fancy, just a totally rad cruiser (preferably with glitter paint, streamers, and a bell NOT a horn) equipped with a trailer for the kid to hang out in.  So when I saw that they had bikes for rent, complete with kiddie trailers, right behind the lodge we were staying in, I was stoked!  Up until my crotch pain reminded me that I've got over seven months worth of belly attached to the front of my torso.  And if I recall correctly, there's something about NOT riding on bicycles, not only because of the risk of falling, but because it puts pressure on your cervix or something.  And pressure "down there" would cause a dent in the baby's head.  Or maybe a black eye.  Whatever it is, it wouldn't be good, so this preggo lady left giving longing looks to the all the other, able-bodied folks at the bike stand.

Yosemite Activity #3 - Rafting
    Now, this isn't White Water Rafting or anything dangerous like that.  Just a nice 3 mile jaunt down the river, floating along in idyllic peacefulness, surrounded by other rafting families paddling their brains out.  Nothing to it!  Hubs saw the gleam in my eye as soon as we saw all the rafters going by, and tried to "drop hints."  "I don't think we have time for that."  "You know, the water is really, REALLY cold."  I didn't care.  Just don't tip over, right?  And, as far as I could remember, hot water can cause fungus or mold or something to grow on the baby, but I couldn't recall any damage from COLD water!  I was gearing up to battle for this one.  Then I read the pamphlet.  "No children under 50 lbs."  Miss Priss might be a heavyweight, but she only comes in at 37 pounds.  And I was pretty sure The Hubster was not game for trying to fake it.

There was still plenty to do, of course, despite our small limitations.  And I would love to go back again.

But first things first.  I'll get Priss started on her high-fat, high-calorie diet right away.

Or, perhaps a better plan would be to have this baby and tie her and Priss together so they equal 50 pounds? 

I dunno, ya'll will have to help me out on this one!

Disclaimer:  Please, please do NOT rely on my advice for what you are and are not allowed to do during pregnancy.  Obviously, I have no idea what I'm talking about.  It is no small miracle that I manage to birth any healthy children at all! 

To The Subscription Department of InStyle Magazine....

Dear InStyle Magazine,

These past couple years, I have regarded your magazine as the Supreme Guide to Fashion.  The one thing pulling me out of the dark abyss of "mom jeans" and stained sweatshirts.

And I tried.  I really, really tried. 

I sported the wide belts upon your insistence that they were THE "it" accessory.  I donned slouchy, 80's style boots with pride because you assured me I would not look ridiculous in them.  That, in fact, I would be considered "hip."  I even tried the "smoky eye" look, even though my poor husband had to spend the night insisting he had not just given me two black eyes before we left the house.

We had a good relationship, you and I.  Granted, you were, maybe, a tad bit bossy and opinionated about what you thought I should be clothing myself with.  But it still made me feel a little more like a woman and a little less like a frump.  And, mercifully, you did not insist that I "tone up" any part of my body, insisting I attempt a myriad of goofy squats and tricep dips every month.  You had the foresight to know that it was a lost cause, and for that I am forever grateful.

However, my Dear InStyle, circumstances have changed in Happily-Ever-After-Land, and I fear we can no longer be friends.  You see, we now reside in the middle of nowhere and live on a Navy Base that, by all accounts, is NOT filled with wives who read your magazine with the diligence that I once did.  My daily staple is an old, gray, ratty sweater that, I think, has begun to take on a life of its own.  On the rare occasion I wear heels, my calves are sore the whole next day, they have become so used to flat soled shoes.  Oh, and the only pants I seem to wear anymore have elasticized waistbands.

But seeing as I'm pregnant, some of that is understandable.  (Did I mention that I'm pregnant?  Well, I am.  And I have yet to see a "Preggo Style Guide" within the pages of your magazine.  Just sayin'.)

So in regards to your very kind notice I received the other day, informing me that my subscription is "almost up" (yeah, in, like, nine months) and that you would like to extend to me a very "special offer" (by the way, I might be a fashion idiot, but I'm not wholly unintelligent, I can see that it's the same price I paid last year), I am sorry to say that I will have to decline the invitation to continue my subscription.

If, perchance, you have a magazine devoted to mom jeans galore, I would be interested in that.  I believe you already have my address.

Sincerely,

Jennifer.

Try As You Might, You'll Never Recognize Him With His Glasses On

It seems my dad has developed a Super Power.  For reals, people, I'm totally not making it up.

My dad has acquired the ability to clean mirrors and glass to a sparkling shine using just his tear drops and spit.

I call him..... The Cleaner.

Clad in silicone (cause, seriously, who uses latex anymore?) he has a myriad of cleaning accessories stored in secret compartments all over his suit.  Except paper towels.  He's trying to be environmentally conscious, so he only carries reusable supplies.

He might even be able to do ovens, but I don't know, I haven't tried yet.

How does one procure such awesome super powers?  In my dad's case, we've recently learned that his extraordinary powers come from an increase in ammonia in his body.  Three times the legal limit, actually. 

Was it an accidental explosion in a lab?  Is he really an alien from outer space?  Did he get bit by a crazed radioactive insect?

Sorry to say it's not as dramatic as any of that.  He simply has a liver that doesn't want to function in the way good livers should.  And the human body is not built to function on blood laced with Windex.  So my father has chosen to give up his new-found Super Powers (he really wasn't into cleaning all that much anyway, and that silicone is just not breathable!) and become a regular nobody again.

A top team of military doctors and scientists are working on this ultra-classified detoxification project. 

So don't tell anybody!

In the meantime, on the opposite side of the country, I'm reading "Watchmen," which is that comic book graphic novel that the movie was based on.  Although I am only about 20% geek, and have never read a comic book graphic novel in all my life, this one sounded pretty good so I thought I'd give it a shot.  And it IS really good!  I can totally understand the escapism these geeks fans get from these comic books graphic novels.

Especially when things are a little less-than-happy in Happily-Ever-After-Land.

Speaking of supers, I bet you didn't know there's a few more Super Heroes in the family. 

There's The CareTaker - that's my sister.  She was visiting The Cleaner at his secret hide-out when the toxicity levels started to rise.  She's there now, overseeing the medical team.

And then, of course, Captain Patience and his sidekick GiggleBox.  Captain Patience, with his Broad Shoulders, has been putting up with me, hanging around in my pajamas, not doing anything but crocheting flowers on the couch, and saying nothing about my general funk and inability to do anything worthwhile.  Last night, Captain Patience made the Ultimate Sacrifice.... he watched a rerun of NCIS with me.  That's like cryptonite to my mild mannered husband.  But not Captain Patience!  And GiggleBox, with her powers of complete obliviousness, can distract even the most sullen and lighten any mood around her.

Dad's detoxification program should be completed by Saturday, at which time he will be able to return home.  He won't have Super Powers anymore.  But, personally, I liked him way better without them.

Bust Out the Capris!

Guess what I got to wear yesterday?

Capris.  And a T-shirt!

Yes, we are experiencing the kind of weather epitomized in so many movies and TV shows and songs.  We are living in the land of "California Dreamin'!"

OK, OK, hang on, hold off the hate talk for just a sec.  I know most of you are still up to your armpits in snow, seemingly decades from a thaw-out, and the last thing you want to hear about are that the Happily-Ever-After-Landers are frolicking around half-naked at the park on a balmy spring day.

I feel ya, really I do.

But aside from the cow smell that permeates the country-side, let me remind you all that the Central Valley is actually desert, despite everyone's efforts to grow things here.  So in about a month or so, summer will hit.  And from what I understand, it hits hard.

115 degrees hard, they tell me.

The kind of heat that leaves you languishing in a baby pool in your backyard.  With ice cubes floating around you.

The kind of heat that makes the dog want to toilet train just so he doesn't have spend 30 seconds out there taking a leak.

The kind of heat that will have Miss Priss in tears because there will be no more parks (equipment's too hot) and no more bubbles (Mommy's too hot).

But I suppose it'll be good for the environment.  We'll just cook on the hood of our car rather than waste gas on the stove.

So, guys, let me have this one glorious moment.  Let me savor the afternoon walks and the lack of sunscreen and the cool steering wheel.

Ya'll can have your revenge later.

 

I've Got A Headache THIS.....BIG....

I can only tolerate my computer screen for a few minutes, so this one's going to be short.

I don't get headaches.  Not even little ones.  I don't get backaches either, for that matter.

I'm one of those hated women that's just so gosh darn HEALTHY.  And, apparently, well aligned. 

But I've got a headache.  And it's not the first one in recent weeks.

Personally, I blame the baby.  But that's neither here nor there at the moment.

You women with real, migraine type headaches will want to drop-kick me right now, but I just don't do well with this little pain in my head.  I've got a low threshold for pain. I know, I know, I gave birth to a whole baby and all, but I guess all those feel-good hormones afterward made me forget about all that. So when I say I suffer with a headache, I mean I SUFFER.  Languishing on the couch, not wanting to move, not wanting to do anything, not even open my eyes.

Which brings us to the next point in my weird idiosyncrasies. 

Being the healthy girl I am, I also eschew medication.  Especially when I'm pregnant.  If I think I can suffer through and still live to tell the tale, that's exactly what I'll do.

So it's not much of a shocker when I tell you that I finally took tylenol, after suffering with this headache for HOURS, only after the Hawaiian-Working Hubster ordered me to when he called to wish Miss Priss a good night.

Because I'm an idiot.  But I blame that on the baby, too.

In happier news, I have been trying to teach Miss Priss to hold her hand over mouth when she coughs.  She coughs quite a bit lately, trying to get over a doozy of a cold she had a few weeks back.  This evening, she finally remembered!  But, you know, not on the first time.  She coughs, then remembers, then fake coughs again so she can hold her had over it.  Oh, wait, it gets more adorable.  She was even doing it as I was putting her into bed.  Getting settled in to go to sleep, she'd cough, remember, then cough again so she could do the hand.  Awwww!

Let's hope the tylenol kicks in soon.  And then let's hope it all goes away by morning.

How Do You Make a Woman Fall in Love with You?

Many a young man has asked this very same question.  Pining away for a beautiful girl (or, at least, beautiful to him), feeling like all would be right with the world, and life would be perfect, if only this one girl would give him the time of day.

It's the story Hollywood movie producers make half their livings on.

And yet, when that one lonely guy finds his perfect girl, all does become right with the world, and the happy couple never has worry about such trivialities ever again.

Well, at least, not until he has a daughter, anyway.

Poor Hubbywubby.  He loves our Little Miss Priss more than life itself.  He'd give her the moon and stars if he could.  But do you think she appreciates any of it? 

Let me back up a little.  I went away for a Girl's Weekend and left Miss Priss in the very capable hands of her father.  I perused the streets of Los Angeles, while he sopped up boogers and played endless tea party with our poor, sickly, pathetic Priss.  (Hey, I had to deal with her stomach flu all by myself, so I am NOT apologizing for leaving her like that!)

It sounded like they were having a pretty good time, despite the goopiness.  But the minute I walked back in the door, Priss gave all her lovin' to me, and Papa Bear was left out in desert.  A Love Desert.  No more kisses.  No more hugs. 

She cries when he picks her up and asks for a kiss.  It doesn't get much worse than that!

The other night, I told her to go tell her Daddy goodnight before bed. 

"Goodnight, Daddy," she said from safely across the room.

"Not good enough.  Go give him his kisses!"

"NOOOOoooooooo!"

"You give him his kisses, or you get no bedtime stories!!!"

She grudgingly walked over to him and "allowed" him to bestow kisses upon her.  

Freakin' ridiculous.

She's obviously not mad at me for leaving.  And I don't think she blames Hubster for it.  As far as I can tell, she seems to have had such a good time with her Daddy that she now feels the need to realign her allegiance with me.  Like I'd be mad or something.  And for his part, the Hubs has been very strong and stoic about the whole thing.  He'd never want to make his Princess feel badly.  I tried to talk to her about it last night.

"Priss, you make Daddy sad when you don't give him kisses."  (I know, famous quotes of perverts, but I was trying to make her understand!)

Priss just kept playing with her toys.

"Sweetie, will you please go give Daddy some kisses?  That would make him so happy!"

"Give MOMMY kisses!"

Which was when I understood.  In her little two-year-old mind, she has declared ALL her kisses belong to me.  That's very sweet.  But it sure doesn't make Papa Bear feel any better!

And so we will ride out this wave of unlove.  She's bound to get over it eventually.

And maybe the next kid will be the one to finally love it's father!

Overheard in Happily-Ever-After-Land....

Mommy:  So, Priss, what do you think you're gonna get, a Little Brother or a Little Sister? (About the fifth or sixth time this question's been posed)

Miss Priss:  Little Bro-der!  (The only answer that's repeatedly given for previously posed question)

Mommy:  Well, then, guess it's a girl.  Cause, Priss, the first rule of childhood is that you NEVER get what you want!

---------------
Priss:  Gotta poop!

Mommy: Let's go!

(Priss tears off down the hall toward the bathroom.)

Mommy:  It's time for the Potty Train!  Chugga chugga, POO POOO!!!!

Oh, God, I gotta get out of here!

----------------
Mommy: (to Priss, who's had a humdinger of a cold) Oh, you poor little thing!  Your eyes are so RED!

Priss: No, Mommy.  Eyes NOT red.  They're BLUE!

Mommy:  Yes, sweetie, that's right.  They ARE blue!

---------------
Mommy: (to Priss) See this bowl I'm eating out of?  Isn't it pretty with all the flowers?  Daddy brought it back for us from a country called JAPAN!

Priss: (after thinking on it a few seconds) This a bowl.  (Shaking her golden curls) Not a pan.

Give it a sec, you'll get it!

--------------
Mommy:  (to Priss a week later) So, what do you think you'll get, Priss, a Little Brother or Little Sister?

Priss:  I want a (pause) SISTER!

Oh, they learn so fast!

11 Random Things

I'm not big on the memes.  They are all so much alike, and it's such a pain to pass them on (what with all the typing and linking of blogs and whatnot), but don't get me wrong, I'm always flattered when someone wishes to hand me one - it makes me feel pretty and popular!

What does pretty have to do with it?  I dunno.  Quite criticizing my good thoughts!

Anyway, Kelly at The Neurotic Mom, like AGES ago, chose me for a photo meme.  Which was just unique enough to get me interested.  I told her I would do it, even took a photo of my living room, and promptly let it sit in the camera for, like, FOREVER.  Now, today, I give you 20 Random Things.

Well, except I didn't realize it was 20 and only labeled 11.  Whatever, quite being so picky!

Here are the rules, according to Kelly (remember, she's the Neurotic one!):  "All you have to do is take a picture of the room from which you blog, as is. DO NOT CLEAN IT! I will know. I'm creepy like that. Then number random things from around the room and tell me what they are."

1. This was obviously taken in the morning.  That's when Miss Priss is on her lil' couch, sippy cup of milk all guzzled down and tossed aside, and her BFFs (Mickey Mouse & Gang) on TV.

2. The ridiculously priced Build-A-Bear dog that we had used her birthday money to purchase.  It has roller skates so she can pull it around the house and feel like she's walking the dog (since the real dog won't let her!).  Except she doesn't quite have the hang of it, so she winds up frustrated cause it keeps falling over.  Oh well, she'll get it eventually!

3. That is raffia.  I have big, BIG plans for that raffia.  Maybe someday I'll actually produce whatever crafty thing I think I can make out of it.  But I'm thinking it will probably wind up wrapped around Christmas presents.

4. Yes, there was toilet paper in our living room.  For some reason, it took us a few months to FINALLY buy some kleenex. 

5. That's Eddie, looking like he's about to kill me.  He was very suspicious about what I was doing with that camera!

6. Books!  Books everywhere, all the time!  Priss is a book fiend, which we think is wonderful! 

7. There's a shoe on the coffee table.  Actually, it's MY shoe on the coffee table.  Two guesses on which delinquent in that photo probably put it there!

8. The photo frame with no pictures.  Well, the pictures that came with it, of course!  It's my New Year's Resolution to have photographs of THIS FAMILY in all frames located inside our house. 

9. Cooking Light Magazine.  Because I had hoped that it would inspire me to actually learn to like cooking, per last year's resolution.  Yeah, that one did not quite work out the way I had hoped!

10. A feeble attempt at child-proofing the TV cabinet.  Plastic thingy is regularly found on the floor or on top of the TV stand. 

11. See that awesome baby crib?  Yep, got that at a yard sale for FIVE DOLLARS!!!  Those blankets inside were made by my grandma when Sissy and I were kids.  Now Priss has started getting into caring for her babies.  She wraps the little blankets around her babies and feeds them with a bottle and puts them in bed.  All in about 60 seconds.  Then she does it all again!  Of course, she hands the babies to ME when their diapers have to be "changed."  What's up with that???

And that's it!  I am passing this along to whoever feels like doing it.  It's really quite fun!  And a great post for when you can't think of anything interesting to say!

Thanks Kelly!

Register for Husband Training Classes Here....

After a horrific trip to Wal-mart (where I BARELY survived, by the way), I came home to find that the little man had made some of these while I was away....

BROWNIE COOKIES with PEANUT BUTTER & CHOCOLATE CHIPS!!!

Why don't you go grab yourselves a napkin before that drool ruins your keyboard. 

Don't be sad, I have a delicious treat for you, too!  Just head over to The Classy Closet and check out my article, The Meltdown. 

You can find out why hubby said last night, "Jen, stop screaming like that, you'll wake up the baby!"

If you're not a member, be sure to sign up!  I promise, this one's worth it!

(You don't really have to be classy.  If they let me in, they'll let ANYBODY in!)