Whole Foods, Mac & Cheese, and Red Raspberry Leaf Tea

Hip is sick for the third time since we moved to Michigan. It's no wonder considering how stressed he has been over his/our life changes and the fact that every single one of his friends has been sick in the past three weeks. We've stayed indoors for the most part and did not go anywhere yesterday so he could heal and rest.

This morning, after a long night of Hip not sleeping much he seemed to be feeling quite a bit better. An hour after he woke up I asked him if he felt up to going to Whole Foods and I explained to him it is a grocery store. Hip loves to grocery shop and he quickly agreed this was something he would very much like to do today.

I spent the next hour or so doing some household chores and had forgotten about going to Whole Foods because it was raining quite hard and I figured I probably should not take Hip out in the rain. The rain here is like Oregon rain and even though I like the memories that come with it, I hate getting wet to do the simplest task like check the mail or take the garbage out.

Becoming impatient with my dilly-dallying Hip came to find me. We had the following conversation:

Hip: Mom, I'm sick and I need medicine.

Me: You don't have a fever anymore and so we'll wait to see if you need more medicine.

Hip: Mom, we need to go to Whole Foods.

Me: I'm not sure if we should go because it is raining and you've been sick.

Hip: We need to go to Whole Foods and buy Mac and Cheese.

Me: We have Mac and Cheese here and I don't think you would like the kind they sell.

Hip: I want to go to Whole Foods Mo-om.

Me: Well okay, go get ready to go.

I wanted to go to Whole Foods in the first place to get Red Raspberry Leaf Tea which helps "tone the uterus" and can help labor go quickly and smoothly supposedly, as all herbal remedies go.

When we got to Whole Foods Hip insisted we find some Mac and Cheese. So I promised him I would make him some for lunch, some we have at home already. At the herbal tea section, which was packed with all 10 patrons, I began my search. If you would like a hearty selection of herbal teas hit up your local Whole Foods, seriously. It took me 20 minutes to find it, scanning the shelves and shelves and shelves of tea. While Hip patiently, only because he is under the weather, waited he made a friend with another little girl who was maybe 4 years-old. After the toddler introductions were made this is the conversation:

Little Girl: I'm getting a snack. Do you want a snack?

Hip: Yes I do! Mo-om, I want a snack.

Me: That's just great.

Little Girl: You're cute. Are you cute?

Hip: Yep.

Little Girl: What do you want for a snack?

Hip: Mac and Cheese.

Little Girl, to me: You should get him a snack.

Me: Okay, I'll make sure to do that.

Five minutes later:

Store worker: Oh, your going to have your hands full soon. That is I hope soon.

Me: Yep, that's what I'm doing here (pointing to the only items in my cart, 2 boxes of tea).

Store worker: Oh?

Me: I'm trying to cheat nature.

Store worker: Oh (looking concerned).

Hip: Baby needs to come out!

And I laughed as I walked away realizing that my comment was truly offensive in a place like Whole Foods.

Walking the final few aisles of the store we came upon some samples: baguette, the best tortilla chips I've ever tasted and almost bought until I realized a small bag cost $7, apple cider, crackers and brie. Hip ate everything happily and loved the cheese, which was surprisingly sharp/spicy--and delicious--as bries go. I wondered if my monthly WIC cheese allotment would cover brie...and was happy that I was able to keep my promise to the little girl about getting Hip a snack.

***

Later in the day I returned a phone call to my health plan. They needed to do a pregnancy screening questionnaire over the phone with me and one of the questions was, "Is the father involved?"

Me: Yes

Lady: Do you feel he is supportive of you and your emotional needs?

Me, after a loooooooooooong pause: Well yes. I certainly have my complaints but I have made them VERY clear to him already.

Lady, laughing very hard: That's good!

Seriously, why do they ask questions like this? Can you really please a woman, let alone a pregnant woman in the emotional needs compartment? Especially if you are a male and are the pregnant woman's husband? Especially if you just moved your pregnant woman and child across the country resulting in selling her beloved home and leaving her lovely career and her dear friends? Especially if that cross-country move resulted in the emotional breakdown of the existing child? Especially if the woman had to move twice in said pregnancy? Especially if she is required to make new friends where there are few things she hates more than socializing? Especially if she is a therapist and emotional needs are a pretty important discussion point to her?

I could go on and on and on about needing to change doctors, accepting the destruction/damage of many of my belongings in the process of moving, and having to change my financial lifestyle so significantly that I can hardly recognize this new life as actually being mine...

BUT, I found my emotional-thought response to the question endearing because I no longer feel traumatized by any of it and I am glad I have the insight to know that I am emotionally needy at this point in life and that is my issue to work out, not anyone else's.

HOWEVER, I know L will read this and try and use the above paragraph against me in our next battle of the wills and so I will add this to deter him: there is a lot he can do to help the situation and I will continue to make those things VERY clear to him:)

***

P.S. You should have seen the meat selections at Whole Foods. B-E-A-U-T-I-F-F-U-L. Maybe someday...

And the cheeses were awesome too.

Today's Highlights

This morning Hip told me, "I want to watch Sponge Bob."

This mid-morning Hip told me, "I want to go swim in the toilet."

I have spent approximately 13% of the day in public with my barn door open.

I have had 4 conversations about my pregnancy with perfect strangers today.

I came down with my third sinus infection in 36 weeks.

L had his first day in the Operating Room and says it was a success.

"Libraries will get you through times of no money better than money will get you through times with no libraries." Anne Herber

Beautiful

After Relief Society today a young woman I have not yet met, maybe 21 years-old, approached me and said, "You are the most beautiful pregnant woman I've ever seen. You know, most pregnant women get all fat and then their cheeks get fat and it's not very pretty anymore."

Besides when people at the gym ask me if I am a trainer, I've never been more flattered. I should have had L snap a photo of me today to post but I forgot. Since Freud says there are no accidents, maybe I don't quite believe the young woman...

Some Call It Dumpster Diving

We call it, "Being Resourceful."

The neighbors call it, "Curbside Specials."

While driving down 12 mile the other day I spotted this on the curb and began begging L to turn around. Several of Hip's friends have similar "Cozy Coupes" to this one which he loves, but being a fire truck made this one very special.

As an outsider when you see things out on the curbside in Detroit you may think, "Oh, the family that lives there accidentally left that item there." Insiders know, however, that this is no accident and the item(s) are up for grabs. You just gotta get em before the trash collectors.

I used my extraordinary powers of convincing and negotiating to get L to pull up to the house, knock, and ask if it really was there for trash pick up. (L admitted later that his anxiety level was a ten doing this--mine would have only been a five)

Luck was with us, and sure enough the fire truck was ours to take! I've never seen L throw open the hatch back so quickly.

On closer examination the fire truck is indeed well worn and used. A quick trip to Mommy's car wash and then to Daddy's mechanic shop cleaned it up quite nicely, Hip says. I sheepishly admitted to how we happened upon the fire truck to the neighbors who in turn gave me high fives for getting an awesome deal. The one neighbor said her girls scouted it out first thing in the morning asking her, "Where did Hip get that fire truck? Can we go over and play with it?"

Later in the week I found a lawn spreader while on a walk. I was super tempted to haul it home to see if it worked but my better judgement (?) told me to keep walking.

We May Have Made A Big Mistake

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(I don't know why this is so grainy)

I actually thought he would look cute. I began tearing up when I realized I was terribly wrong, after L's first few clipper swipes off the top. Fortunately when we lifted him up to the mirror to check himself out he loved it! He pranced around the house the rest of the day like Narcissus.

Here are the top three white-trash hair do's:

1. The mullet, of course

2. The rat tail

3. Shaved head

How could I have not had the foresight? It's like Detroit is already altering my better judgement.

Godforsaken

I've been breaking one of my cardinal rules, "Do Not Watch the News".

I figure if I watch the local news then I can get to know the Detroit area/culture/lifestyle, which has been true.

Unfortunately, local news is not just depressing here in Detroit, it is horrifying. A couple of weeks ago it was reported that a man's body parts were found strewn across an East Detroit neighborhood. About a week ago a teenager stabbed and killed a peer; the perpetrator's mother said the violence was warranted. Yesterday, after school on the first day of the school year, two high school students were shot by another student after an argument. This week would be the Michigan State Fair but it has been shut down due to major funding issues. Yesterday dozens of fires broke out in Detroit's city limits. Due to budget constraints fire fighters and trucks have been cut back recently and therefore there were not enough resources to adequately fight these fires. The reporter interviewed very tearful residents of a neighborhood that lost at least 9 homes. This particular fire started small, says a tearful middle-aged man, and numerous 9-1-1 calls failed to produce help. High winds swept the fire throughout the entire block. It took fire fighters one hour to get there, after the neighborhood was lost. The reporter ends the story by stating that this particular fire district lost at least one truck and 3 fire fighters taken out of commission that day.

Equally shocking was how one of the other fires in the city allegedly started: from illegal power use. Several residents in a Detroit neighborhood noticed two men, the other day, re-routing electrical power lines (apparently it is common to steal power around these parts). They called the power company to report this and got hostile responses, including one woman was told if she called again they (the power company) would charge her a service fee!? Days later, yesterday, a major fire broke out as a result of the live wire.

Our neighborhood is now concerned because across the street there is a power pole in the back corner of a lot which is slanting terribly, toward two homes in which three small children live, and is popping regularly. The two households have called the power company numerous times over the last several days with promises to send a technician but with no follow through.

What is wrong with this place?

***

P.S. (9/8/10) In a news report tonight Detroit's Fire Commissioner stated the city needs at least 200-300 more fire fighters to safely maintain the city. Further, approximately 60 districts have been closed all due to Detroit's financial crisis which has spanned a decade now.

The Good

We have found some really good things in Michigan. Today we found the Franklin Cider Mill, and its annual Labor Day Parade and Arts Festival. We've heard talk about the mills in the area and the cider since my first trip to Michigan in June.

This experience rivals a trip to Tillamook Cheese Factory because you get to see the water wheel, the pressing of apples, and of course samples! Oh the smell of pressed apples, freshly baked apple pie/bread, and apple spiced donuts frying!

The water wheel is used to power the press

I am explaining to Hip that this is a water wheel used to create power to make really good food like apple cider and donuts. This made him very excited.

Pressing the apples

(That is not a plumber's crack, even though it looks like it)

A parade can make my entire summer. A tractor in a parade can make Hip and L's entire summer.

I like this picture of Hip watching the parade. When he is bored he will often ask to go to a parade.

The world stops turning once Hip spots a fire truck. He begged the fire fighters to sit in the trucks and he also got a fire fighter hat.

Police horses are also really cool, but not quite as cool as fire trucks.

Hip fell into an exhausted sleep, finally, after the parade and festivities and after dumping the contents of his drawers onto the floor and after getting into trouble for kicking his bedroom door for 15 minutes straight.

Hip is still holding the balloon he was given at the cider mill five minutes before bed--he attempted to eat with it as well as played with it all waking hours this afternoon. When he refused to allow me to tie it to his wrist at the parade I showed him a balloon floating away and told him that the kid who lost that is really really sad. He didn't let go of it all day! And when he saw several floating away he exclaimed, "Oh no! A kid is sooo sad!"

We have found other really amazing things around the Detroit metro area in addition to the cider mill. We've had a really good time exploring and finding treasures. We've discovered the local library, parks, lakes, cheap movie theaters, etc. Keep posted.

WIC Made DHS Seem Like the CK

The Celestial Kingdom, that is.

I thought I had hit rock bottom last Thursday at DHS, but my appointment with WIC today proved one can go even lower than insane nightmares may suggest.

It all started with an intake worker requesting proof of my pregnancy...........................? "What would constitute proof," I finally asked after a very long pause and a puzzled look on my face failed to extract a response from her. "We usually need an ultrasound.....................but I guess I can go off of a visual confirmation."

If Oakland County WIC is hell than the dietitian known as Lorna is Satan. She noted in Hip's chart that he "has a diet issue" and "is at risk to be overweight." She noted in my chart that I am irresponsibly "anemic." These notations were made after she severely rebuked me over those issues in addition to thoroughly lecturing me about breast feeding, proper portion size while gesturing her head toward Hip every couple of minutes, proper consumption of fiber, and not allowing Hip to consume unpasteurized cheese (we like feta in our house, and unfortunately admitted to it).

While she lectured me Hip opened and slammed shut the metal cupboards over and over and over and over, he refused to play with any of the assorted toys or books I brought, he refused to play with the one toy provided in the exam room, he refused to sit in my lap, he screamed and yelled, he demanded, "Mommy, look at me" while climbing up into the window sills and then onto the desk, he pushed the "emergency" button calling the police to the room, he fooled around with Lorna's computer and mouse and papers, he tried to escape the room and when he failed he hit me. And yelled that he was "hungry" and he begged for "candy" or "a treat" every 45 seconds until Lorna said haughtily, "You shouldn't ask a dietitian for those things." He earned 3 time outs in the longest 20 minutes of my life. In response to what I think is pretty typical two-year old behavior after having waited through nearly a two hour process and a finger prick iron test, Lorna became agitated with Hip. Lorna made it VERY clear she was more than annoyed and did not try to hide her thoughts of severe judgement of us.

Then she offered me a nurse to come to our home. "For what purpose?" I asked with genuine interest. "To help you and your family," she answered vaguely. "I don't see a real reason why that would be helpful to my family but thank you for offering," I replied still trying. "Well, we have to offer it to everyone, you know the government makes it free," she said snidely making me suspect she hates everyone she meets in her job and that she may be the next Unabomber. She could have stopped there and I would have already felt stripped of all of my dignity and pride but then she added almost as an afterthought, "And you seem high functioning enough."

I've never been stabbed before but I imagine the emotions are similar to what I felt as this comment cascaded upon my consciousness. "High functioning enough" is code for, "it's evident you are not mentally retarded" and I know this because this is a P.C. phrase I use when writing up mental health assessments to be read only by other mental health professionals. I WOULD NEVER SAY SOMETHING LIKE THIS TO THE HUMAN BEING AS IT IS PATRONIZING, JUDGMENTAL, AND CRUEL. And "enough" made me feel as if I barely passed. My pride told me to throw my credentials in her face and evidence that though Hip may be porky he is intellectually brilliant, but my common sense told me to shut the hell up.

So I blinked back tears of rage? of humiliation? I really don't know what to call that feeling. I do know two things: I felt more pathetic than I've ever felt before and I felt more compassion for the poor and under-privileged than ever (and I have a lot of compassion for the poor and under-privileged).

The wounds to my pride may never heal but at least Hip and I will share 7 gallons of milk and 72 oz. of dry cereal per month. L cannot eat any of it, they made me sign.

Sweet Nectar On A Bed of Heavenly Clouds

We have a set of neighbors from Minnesota. Her accent is so charming I strike up conversation just to hear it soothe my worries away. He is a final year Ophthalmology resident and is going to make her and their two children very rich in approximately 9 months.

Last night, while they are still poor, the neighborhood piled into 7-11 for 'buy one get one free' slurpees. While slurping down our treats in the front yard the soon-to-be Ophthalmologist admitted he had never had a slurpee before saying, "What's in this? Sweet nectar on a bed of heavenly clouds?"

"That's exactly what it is," all of us laughed and felt better that we were poor.

***

In other news, there's some sort of hold up on our food stamps that may require another DHS visit. I'll take a slurpee with me.

***

Stay posted for some awesome videos of Hip.

I Survived DHS

Barely.

After I was denied an appointment time and was told to stand in line with the rest of the government assistance applicants in Oakland County, MI I knew I should arrive early and plan to be there for a really long time.

I arrived and entered a large and spacious room, welcomed by a large security booth manned by a middle aged overweight woman with greasy hair and similarly ill-fitting blue slacks to FSA workers. Later it occurred to me that security would be most important in a place like this.

I thought I was lucky, being the 15th in line (there was no one in the "Appointments" line, hmmm). As I moved forward slowly through this line a large waiting room to my right came into view with approximately 125 seats. Half were occupied which stunted my feelings of luck.

I could feel my chest caving in and my airway feeling slightly restricted until the gentleman two people ahead of me turned to the elderly and disabled lady directly in front of me and offered to hold her place in line so she could sit down during this leg of the wait. I was thoroughly touched and encouraged her that I would also make sure she could have her place in line when it was her turn to be "NEXT!" The man then recognized that I am pregnant and offered to do the same for me. I thanked him for his kindness and said that it appeared we would be sitting for quite some time in bit and that I would like to stand while possible. He chuckled his agreement and we continued to wait in line. I felt a renewed hope in humanity.

Twenty minutes later, after turning in my 15 page application, I made my way to the back row of the nearly windowless and very stuffy waiting room. There I took up residence for the next three (3) hours. I read some of my book but was constantly distracted by the other waiting applicants:

Is that a girl or a guy is the game I played about the person sitting three chairs to my left. I am still undecided.

There was the various immigrants that I would attempt to guess where they came from.

There was a young teenaged male with his very obese mother who was acting more obnoxious than the 15 or so toddlers combined. It made me feel right at home and I affectionately thought of interventions I would use as his therapist.

There were many mothers with infants, which broke my heart until I remembered that I was there as an applicant too, 32 weeks pregnant. There was the mother whose 7 month-old boy was one of the cutest babies I've ever seen. He was spitting and she was getting annoyed with him but I didn't have the guts to inform her that he is developmentally appropriate and the spitting is his first attempts at language. I imagined if I would have said that to her she would have said back to me, "If you know so much about child development why don't you get a job?" something that was said to me in a slightly different way later.

There was the elderly. I cried, later, over those waiting applicants.

There was the disabled. I felt guilty over those waiting applicants.

Then there was "TRAMP." Don't think I'm being rude. She's the one who inked this into her skin on her lower back and then wore a belly shirt, low-rise jeans, and a g-string to DHS and sat two rows ahead of me. She must be a very literal person I concluded. Her boyfriend, on the other hand, is a very hung over person. This couple, knowing little about anyone else except their race, approximate age, gender (at least in most cases), and socio-economic situation, were the only two people who made me angry. Their behavior was acceptable enough (security, remember) but seriously, get off drugs (if you think I'm judging, I can sniff an addict out of a crowd with 97% accuracy) before you apply for government assistance.

There was the seeming gang-banger who vigilantly picked up anyone's dropped things and handed them back to their rightful owners.

There was the hippy girl with the longest hair I've ever seen on a person.

The lady with a neon red weave who was impatient with her 10 year-old son (I can't imagine having to wait there at age 10 for that long) who was behaving very well by my observations.

The girl in the black and white striped mini dress that looked like Pink, if Pink was down on her luck.

The dude wearing long sleeves. He must be acclimated, I figured.

And there was me. I felt glad I didn't dress up, and certainly glad I slept a little later rather than do my makeup. I was a little dismayed I didn't wear my pajamas, they would have been more comfortable and apparently totally acceptable. At one point in time, to calm another onset of panic, I told myself that this was an anthropological opportunity. Maybe an hour later I rebuked myself. I am no better/different than the folks there. Just because I have had opportunities/privilege(s) to better myself and a family that raised to to make good choices makes me lucky, not better. I then imagined how God would view this room of people and though I came up with little I did understand He would not be seeing it as anthropology.

My name was finally called.

I "approach[ed] the intake door" as commanded over the loud speaker. A. Connely, my new caseworker, came to greet me. She was nicer than I thought. When she asked for clarification on my education I sheepishly told her I hold a Masters of Social Work. The irony was thick and the elephant in the room was impossible to ignore. "Are you looking for work," she questioned probably nicer than most would have. "I am a bit discouraged by that because you see I am 32 weeks pregnant." She nodded and I was uncertain if she understood my point of view. She asked for every official document that I have ever acquired, which I handed over quickly (I am a professional and even though I am "unemployed and NOT seeking work", I am able to be prepared). She ended by saying that she would get back to me about whether I get any aid--via mail. She also said I do not qualify for the child-care subsidy because I am not working. "Of course," I laughed, "I will take care of the kids when I don't have a job. I checked that box to apply in case I get a job." She said seriously, "Call me when you get a job." I asked her for a card and she said The State doesn't have money for cards. I sure hope they have money for my food stamps...

And then it was over. I broke out of there into fresh air. I hope I will NEVER have to return.

***

L is stripping a vintage bed we bought Hip at a garage sale and texted me, while I was waiting, that he would rather wait than strip the bed. I told him to not challenge hell on earth, and at this point in time he would be considered, by DHS, a dead-beat. I think he's lucky DHS didn't make him establish paternity...at least yet.

Our Street and House

I'll get some indoor shots in a few days when we have more things put away.

MI Or Bust

On the road. At a rest stop in Nebraska (see all of that corn...1000 miles of it)

Here's me 30 weeks pregnant and wearing the outfit I've been wearing for now 7 days straight.

Here's a sampling of the Hobo Spider that bit L. Did I mention I found one walking around in my hair the night before we left Utah? That was a fitful night of sleep.

I'm posting excerpts from a couple of emails as an update instead of thinking of new ideas--too exhausted to think:

We made it, the people (and the cat) are all alive but a few of our belongings were destroyed in the journey. The cat had a panic attack during the first leg of the journey but calmed down when she was moved to the cab of the moving truck. There she stayed the next 72 hours and apparently loved every minute of it. She has settled into Michigan like she owns the place.

I endured the journey well, considering being massively pregnant. Henry did too, he would "earn" opportunities to ride with Luke in the moving truck and so he stayed motivated to be a good boy. Since we've been here a few days he has started to struggle--the sleep deprivation has caught up to him and the reality that this is our new home, and not some vacation, has started to settle in. He has asked to "go home" a few times which breaks my heart. He has regressed in potty training just as I thought he would, but it's nothing a few weeks won't fix.

The weather here is super humid which makes us super sweaty. There are noisy bugs called cicadas that buzz all day long, sounding sort of like electricity. Our house is old (yet remodeled) and small but we think we will like it. Our bed would not fit into the house not matter what was tried, and so that will need to be sold.

The neighbors are very friendly. In fact, they are by far the most friendly group in a neighborhood I have ever lived in. We've been provided for, at least offers have extended, each night for dinner in addition to being helped to move in, our lawn mowed, invitations to various community events, and gifts of tomatoes and jalepenos. Our street is lined with tall/mature maple trees which is a very nice change to the nearly treeless Utah neighborhoods. It's also quiet, we love that.

My dad, who drove me and Henry, saved the day on more than one occasion. He kept things on-track (because we need help in that department in any scenario) and helped problem solve any issue that has arisen. He is currently visiting a cousin in Ohio and so I hope he has a lot of fun to compensate for all of the work he has done and all of the aid he has given us.

The garbage company is unionized and so they are old school trucks with the guys holding onto the back and throwing the garbage into the truck! Apparently we committed the cardinal sin of not sorting our recycling adequately enough sending the recycle-throwing-guy into a rage in which he chucked our bins across our lawn. If it wasn't so funny and if I didn't think he needed a job so badly I would have complained. I appreciated the comic relief that day. Our neighbor saw the rage too and came over to tell us what they've learned about sorting recycling. Next week we'll do better.

We are still working on getting government assistance, which is no easy task. Henry and I do have Medicaid now and I have a referral for a women's clinic from a neighbor who just gave birth 2 months ago. Cross your fingers they take Medicaid.

Luke's arm is doing really good, from as far as we can tell. He's supposed to get it checked out again but being insurance-less has prevented that so far. He still has several more days with the PICC line which is annoying but certainly not a problem anymore. All of his symptoms have subsided and we think that as long as the wound continues to heal he will be back to normal. He says he is doing really well with the move and continues to feel really excited about his future. For that I am glad because this should be a time of accomplishment and development for him.

I am trying to maintain a positive attitude because on the outside looking in, it appears things are going very well. And they are. But I am having a hard time adjusting to my new reality which seems all turned around from my old one. I am pretty lost here and very nervous about traveling on the freeways--which are CRAZY--or getting lost, because you DO NOT want to get lost in Detroit, MI if you know what I mean.

***

Michigan is fine so far, the humidity is something new and a force to be reckoned with. My street has an assortment of wildlife: rabbits, squirrels, rats, and large squawking insects. The neighborhood is VERY friendly; I'm so un-friendly that I am experiencing serious culture shock about it. Although it is pleasant to have neighbors who are interested in chit-chatting over fences even if they are chit-chatting about things I have no clue about and often find myself nodding stupidly. Prices are more expensive here, except gasoline, which is frustrating in light of the very poor economic climate. Michiganders have that northern midwestern accent which I find charming though I hope to avoid it myself. I like the diversity I have seen here so far--a lot of cultures represented and I look forward to meeting people across these cultures.

Tonight, as things happen around these parts, the neighbors were hanging out in our front lawn and a family I haven't met before came over. They have an 11 year-old girl. She was very interested in my pregnancy and was bragging that she was born 9 lbs 2 oz. After I was duly impressed I asked her if her brothers or sisters were also big. She said, "Oh, I only have one brother and no, he was not big...my mom was supposed to be seduced the day after he was born but obviously she didn't need to be seduced." I giggled, politely, until she was distracted and I have been laughing to myself since. Awesome. Another neighbor told me that same girl came over to their house a few days ago to announce that her mother has consented to her beginning to babysit. "She said that once the kid is off the teet then I can babysit them." This 11 year-old girl is going to be my best friend I think.

***

We traveled through Wyoming, Nebraska, Iowa, Illinois, and Indiana to get to Michigan. There was a lot of corn and there is not much else to say about the drive or those states, from our perspective on the interstate.

No more DRAMA 2010!

This theme had not worked out very well for us this year. Definitely not at all this last week. My good luck this month and last has been no were in site. In-fact non-existent! You all heard about my Camaro blowing up, and some little punk kid taking a dump and throwing pudding in my car.

Well, this week it became real personnel. Last Tuesday I woke up for my last day of work as an RN at the U of U. I was proudly of to CRNA school. When I woke up my arm hurt. I saw there was a red lump and a small white head. Figured, an ingrown hair. Maybe a small spider bit me. So I pulled the hair and popped the white head and threw on some bacitracin. I was on my way to my last day

That "bite" or whatever it was, was festering all day. By night it was really bugging me. I should all the RN's that I worked with. They thought the same as me "not a big deal". Right! The next morning it was the size of a silver dollar. So like any nurse I marked to make sure the swelling was not getting bigger. By mid-after noon the redness and swelling was the size of a dollar and by evening it was half way up my arm.

Just a little side note. The whole day we were out doing errands and Myndi my caring loving wife kept telling me what a wuss I was. But in more exuberant words. She kept telling me how she has had so many spider bites blah blah blah.

I work in the Burn Trauma ICU. I see a lot of bad things happen from this sort of thing. I was starting to freak out. So I decided to seek medical attention. I told Myndi that I needed to go to the U. She then thought I was stupid for needing to go there.

I decided to go there to see one of the MD's that I work with on the burn unit. He is an amazing DR. Just a little gruff. When I told him that I think it was a spider his comment was "Its always the spider. Spiders just don't go around bitting people. But, I do think you need antibiotics. Come see the burn on Friday".

ER pictures Wednesday night

Friday morning I woke up and went to the Outpatient burn clinic. Dr C saw this and said "you need IV antibiotics". I said what? A PICC (this is a tube that goes from the outside of your arm and sits right above your heart)? She said Yes. I then began to tell her that I am moving to MI in 2 days. Luckily the U has an awesome outpatient program and since I am an RN I am my own home health. (Need to call my insurance to see if I can get reimbursed for saving them money).

Friday morning pictures with my picc

Friday night.

Today is Sunday. The day we are supposed to leave for MI. Well, here is what happened instead.

So tomorrow I am going back to the Burn to see if I am good to go.

I would like to say that M has been amazing. With a gimp husband and 30 wks prego she has managed to pack most of the things we own.

Untitled

Yesterday was my last day of work.

One of my clients wrote to me, "I am going to miss your joy..."

Joyful is not something most people would label me as, because most people are not my clients. In the way she knows me, I am joyful. It surprised me to read her compliment but as I thought about it, it is true. The joy of being her, and many other's, therapist spilled from me frequently unable to contain it.

Each night, for many years, I vehemently thanked God for 1) my family 2) my home 3) my career. I feel these three things, in that order, were my greatest blessings.

I am willingly walking away from two of the three and my heart is breaking, is grieving.

I can't write anything more about these things right now. But maybe someday.

Anemia and Hip

Apparently I continue to be anemic and as a result I am now required to to take 325 mg of Ferrous Sulfate per day in addition to my prenatal. That means a bunch of gross side effects.

I checked into how bad anemia is for me and the fetus...it can be really bad.

Here are some symptoms I am having: irritability, tiredness, shortness of breath, heart palpitations, and paleness. I thought all of those things were due to having a two year old potty training while being 28 weeks pregnant in the middle of summer and anticipating HUGE life/circumstance changes. Apparently not.

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Hip got into big trouble this evening for 1) refusing to eat dinner 2) foraging his own dinner out of hidden snacks (goldfish he had stashed in a toy dump truck) 3) scratching me 4) dumping out folded laundry he had already been told to leave alone 5) hitting me 6) kicking me 7) throwing a temper tantrum 8) missing the potty.

About 30 minutes after he had calmed down his toy horse "hit him" and so he told me the horse had to go to time out. He placed the horse in his own time out place and told him, "Two minutes." Immediately after the horse incident Hip's toy goat began acting up, being "naughty," and also required a time out. I am relieved he is having just as difficult night dealing with his unruly toys as I am my unruly toddler.

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During his bath Hip sternly said to me, "Go make dinner, Mommy." There will be no bra-burning around here anytime soon.

Sometimes Bad Things Are Funny

Today L is working a day shift. He left the house at 5:45 am and suddenly I heard him rustling around outside. It snapped me out of my sleepiness because I was worried there were car problems. I continued to listen for a few minutes when L came back into the house and into our room to declare that his car had be vandalized. "WHAT!?" I cried sitting up straightaway. He said, "Yeah, someone took a dump (but a different word) in my car. "WHAT?!" I cried again. "Yeah, and threw pudding all over it." he added.

I threw some clothes on to take a look. If this was true it was more worth it to see the pile of poop in L's car than to continue sleeping. Sure enough, in the passenger seat there was a very large pile (well, sort of a scattering) of feces. Was it human for sure? We debated it for a few minutes. A skid mark down the inside of the door confirmed our fears and suggested the perpetrator perched himself (or herself, to be fair--but let's keep it real, there are very few girls that crass) on the door, whose window was down. It was disgusting and hilarious. And of course there was the pudding cup laying empty on the passenger floor with the contents scattered all over the seat, floor, and middle console.

I tried to hide my laughs as L called South Ogden PD but after he got off the phone with dispatch I blurted out that he just ended a dispatch worker's long night shift on a very high note and that they probably can't wait to tell all of their friends and family this story later. When the police officer showed up he could barely contain himself. Poor guy, he was trying so hard to be professional when this situation was freaking awesomely funny. L even told him he should fingerprint the pudding cup which sent me and the officer into near heart failure for trying to keep our laughing at a minimum.

Anyway, I gave L minimal moral support as he cleaned the mess, sitting on the porch thinking of the best way to blog about this later. There was no way I was going to help him...much to his criticism over the years, I always roll up my windows and lock my doors no matter where I am or what time of day. I think L will too now.

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L (but actually we both are) is having a string of bad luck this summer. His beloved Camaro's engine blew up the other day. May it RIP in my father-in-law's garage for the next 28 months. The good news is that I recently named it, "White Boy", which in my opinion is shear genius for a white Camaro.

***

P.S. I was going through my archives to look at Baby Hippo pictures and came across this from January 2009:

Later, I helped L bath Hippo and wished him (L) a safe trip to work (that was after I ate the ENTIRE chocolate covered Oreo we were supposed to share because he yelled at me for locking the car).

Oh snap!!!!!

In Five Minutes I will Regret Writing This

In the last few days I have realized that 28 months is my favorite age so far. Hippo is more aware of his body, his environment, his behavior, and his impact on others than I thought possible.

L said last night as we were falling asleep, "You and Hip have a lot of similarities...he has your sense of humor." I said, "It's awesome."

Sure he seeks attention every 30 seconds, sure he still has major temper tantrums at times, sure he still has bouts of hitting/kicking/screaming/yelling, and sure he is into EVERYTHING but instead of driving me nuts (which, by the way, sometimes he asks me if he is driving me nuts. I say, "YES!") most of the time I find it charming and a side effect of his developing interests, personality, and awareness.

Mostly he is cute and funny.

Hip's gross motor skills have increased dramatically in the last few weeks. He has learned to climb and go up and down stairs on his feet (using the wall as support).

We have been potty training the last few days. I am delighted in how motivated he is (by candy and mini ice cream sandwiches) by the process of mastering new skills. He has learned to use the potty, undress, take his diaper off, to go #1 on command just about, etc. I have to admit that a few of these skills I have been intentionally avoiding as they have brought inevitable problems (urinating all over his bed, running around the house naked and refusing to put clothing on, and thinking he is the master of the house to name a few).

I have put his underwear on no less than 1,000 times today. And he has eaten no less than 1,000 pieces of candy in the last 72 hours. I wonder if upon his marriage he will demand his wife to give him a piece of candy in return for going #1 or demand an ice cream sandwich for him to go #2.

We have had a few accidents despite the 90% success we have had. Since he is climbing now, he climbed up on a bunch of our unpacked boxes in the basement and did some business. Thank goodness he tattled on himself because that would have been an unpleasant find days/weeks later. He/we got a little lazy last night and instead of vigilantly asking him to go (or him demanding a piece of candy) we went a couple of hours and he relieved himself in his high chair and then on the floor a few minutes later.

Hip continues to love vehicles including but not limited to: cars, trucks, tractors, aircraft, trains, semi-trucks, rescue vehicles, and construction equipment. He can identify everyone he knows' vehicles. When we were at the Oregon Coast a few months ago he saw a white Lincoln, which is what Uncle AJ drives, and insisted that AJ must be around somewhere. He asked for no less than one hour, "Where's AJ?"

Hip also continues to love music of all genres, music videos, and dancing. The only music he does not like is when I sing. "Mommy, stop singing!" he says anytime I break into song. Where did he learn this?! It's rude and it was quite a problem since our car radio burned out and my singing was our only driving entertainment. Any guesses on who his current favorite musician is? Justin Bieber, of course (but he still loves Lady Gaga--he is sheltered from her image). He loves Katie Perry and Timbaland's "If We Ever Meet Again". And he is mad that Miley Cyrus turned creepy and refuses to listen to "Can't Be Tamed".

Apparently Hippo is quite busy. We joke and say he is too busy: too busy to obey, too busy to clean up toys, and too busy to listen. I actually have no idea how busy he really is but friends and family that have children to compare him against are always saying something along the lines of, "My oh my, he sure is busy." while shaking their head.

Hip still loves books and reading. Reading is a part of our daily schedule and last month he picked out his first library book--it was about cookies. This month he picked a book out about a cow.

He still likes to be out and about. When we spend too much time in the house he goes through a list of ideas of places we could go. Church, the gym, and Grandma's always top his list. He makes friends wherever we go, including our new neighbor, Lema. Lema is a 72 year-old Samoan lady who gives Hip candy, ice cream, popsicles, and other treats any time she sees him. Several weeks ago she had her knee replaced and he was very concerned knowing she was hurt in the hospital and asked about her daily until she came home. He would even ask to visit her at the hospital. When she got home he showed great tenderness to her "owie." L and I think Lema is Hip's best/favorite friend and we are sad to be leaving yet another one of Hippo's entourage.

This post would not be complete without a discussion about Hip's infatuation with the damn cat. His delight in her is translated into a lot of screeching when she is around (so she is not around that much) which I know he learned from L and I. She puts up with a lot from him but every once in awhile she loses her cool (hey, so do I) and bats at him. He has never been hurt by these encounters, except his feelings. He demands she be placed in time out for two minutes for hitting. We happily oblige.

Hip is still a wonderful eater. He will try just about everything, unless he already knows he does not like it (e.g. peas). His favorite foods continue to be: cheese in various forms--cottage cheese being his absolute favorite, berries, ranch dressing and other condiments, yogurt, bananas, Cheerios, oatmeal, candy, and ice cream sandwiches.

Hip's vocabulary is still stellar and his conversation skills are adorable. My favorite is when he has conversations with various people who are not there. It is so funny because usually he is bossing them around. He talks on an imaginary phone to his Aunt T about once a week. He told her all about his potty training last night (I bet you had no idea T!).

Speaking of being bossy...he tells everyone off except me--oh, he has learned. Next to me, it appears he believes he rules the world; and unfortunately most people, except me, abide by his commands. During his grandpa's tomato planting he would either stand at the base of the field directing the tractor/Grandpa on what he should be doing and how he should be doing it or he would sit on Grandpa's lap while driving the tractor and direct from that vantage point. It is a true travesty we never had a video camera during those times. I bet you did not realize a two year-old had so much tomato planting expertise as I was surprised myself.

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Unfortunately Hip chose the two times he wore a diaper today--nighttime and naptime--to go #2 despite begging me all day to earn an ice cream sandwich. I let him stay up late tonight as we have been homebound, under stimulated, and bored to tears and so he hasn't been able to fall asleep quickly. at 8:20 pm he came running out of his playroom exclaiming he had to go poop. Sure enough, despite crying wolf many, many times today he earned an ice cream sandwich in the nick of time!

Guess What We're Doing Today

The Combination of Bleach and Poop

When you have explosive diarrhea you need a good movie like "Nebo" (aka "Finding Nemo"), your favorite star blanket, rag, a comfy place to rest, sippy cups full of Gatorade and water, saltine crackers, a matchbox car of your choice, and a mom who is ready to spring into action for disaster containment and hazardous material cleanup. A mom who can be awake in half a second in case you call her at 3:00 am, 5:00 am, and 6:30 am screaming, "Mommy! POOP! WAAAAAAAH!" It's best that the mom is willing to heed each beck and call for "more snacks", "more Nebo", or "read books." It's also good to have a dad that is a nurse and can figure out 2 year-old dosages on Immodium.

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Here are pictures of pre-sickness July activities:

It's lucky for a 2 year-old when city workers are on the job by 6:30 am outside of your bedroom window with track hoes, steam rollers, cement and dump trucks.

It's not so lucky for a mom to have a 2 year-old up at 6:30 am.

This is the festival where I was groped (but apparently since it was on my lower side it is not legally being groped--I consulted law enforcement, but only because it was my friend and why not ask?)

The phrase, "He's all boy" applies here.