Over the top

So, my husband is a self-described NASCAR addict, and apparently it's genetic. Either that or he's into brainwashing. My four year old son is now an official NASCAR fan. Enthusiast. Addict.

Whatever.

It's actually pretty cute how into the whole thing they get together. That's actually what's going on right now. My husband is camped out in the recliner with a beer and my son is on the floor with his speedway and race cars re-enacting the big crash that just happened. They're both all decked out in their race gear and neither one seems to think that five hours is too long for a race. *yawn*

As you may or (hopefully for you) may not know, NASCAR is heavy on the advertising. I am surprised these guys don't have individual caps put on their teeth for their sponsors. Well, my little sponge, errr - boy, has now added many of the sponsors to his ever growing vocabulary of words he recognizes when he sees them in print.

For instance, we'll be driving down the street and he'll yell (not say, YELL) "Hey, Mom! Look! There's the UPS truck - just like Dale Jarrett!" I have yet to drive to the pediatrician without hearing, "Look, Mom! There's the Bass Work Shop" as we pass by Bass Pro Shop. He is an encyclopedia of commercial knowledge in the realm of NASCAR sponsorship.

My husband's favorite driver is Dale Jarrett, so he is also Mitchell's favorite driver. They also like to watch Dale Earnhart Jr. Dale is a big word in our house. It comes up often. Yesterday I found out...maybe a little bit TOO often.

We were driving home after a long day of packing, cleaning and moving things to a storage unit in preparation for putting our house on the market. We decided to just stop somewhere quick and cheap for lunch since we were all hungry and ended up at Del Taco. Mitchell asked what it was called and yes, you guessed it...it is now known as

Dale Taco.

I'll admit, that's pretty funny. I think we both got a good chuckle out of it but I told my husband that this whole NASCAR thing has obviously gone a little bit too far. I mean, Mitchell is half hispanic and it's a bit worrisome to me that he hears "del" as "Dale". Good thing his grandma is teaching him spanish!

The kids' meal came with a boy and a skateboard that magnetically stuck together. Mitchell started playing with it and said "Look, Mom! I got Dale Taco and his skateboard." I just looked at my husband and he started cracking up, shrugging his shoulders and saying "What's the problem?"

News flash -- Dale Jarrett is in the top 10 for the first time all season. There is major, big-time high-fiving happening in the living room. Such timing.

Ohhh, and a sad update there. His engine blew up. Hats were thrown. Lemon words were used. Read below for an explanation of that one.

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Oh, and just as an aside...a friendly warning from me to all of you who have not yet entered the arena of living with a four year old who is thoroughly convinced that he is smarter than you are. (He's actually somewhat convinced me on several occasions, but that's a whole different story.) Be prepared to defend, explain and hear a repetition of every single word that ever comes out of your mouth.

On the way home from Dale Taco, we were pulling up the driveway and my husband made some smart aleck comment about something and I in turn whipped out my most favorite non-cussing cuss word. "Friggin" is somewhat of a staple for me, but I think it's on its way out. Mitchell has latched onto his teacher's idea of "apple words" (words that make you smile and feel good when people say them...words like love, happy, friend, thank you, please, etc.) and "lemon words" (words that make you pucker and wrinkle your nose...words like stupid, go away, etc.) to govern what should and should not be said in our house.

As soon as the friggin' sentence left my lips in the van, Mitchell scolded me by saying, "Mommy, we don't say 'friggin'. It's a lemon word."

Thank you, Mrs. P.! School may be out for the summer, but it's obviously still very much in session at home!

Easy Button, My Arse...

I just wanted to take a quick moment and say to the executives at Staples...

You suck.

As I was tediously wrapping "World's Best Teacher" mugs in newspaper last night, I thought about their stupid "Easy Button" commercial and how I would give my left boob for one. As in, my brain seems to think it really exists and now I'm bitter because I don't have one.

Oh, and I hope that the left boob shout out won't go unnoticed. *wink*

Old habits die hard...

I have really had a not good week as far as taking care of myself. The things I used to do (eating, exercise-wise) have again become the things I'm actually doing. It's all based on emotions and stress and I hate it. I know I'll get through it but DANG. It just sucks to work so hard to make things better only to have a few things thrown in your path and send you right back to square one. Just felt like whining.

And it's my blog. So I did.

Can an adult drown in 2 inches of water?

That's what I'm beginning to wonder. I feel like the things that are stressing me out and consuming my brain are like 2 inches of water and that I'm having trouble keeping my head up long enough to really breathe.

By two inches of water I mean that most of my stress is good stress, and even the stuff that's not are things that other people would LOVE to have as "problems". Really, I feel like instead of spending time being all stressed out and thinking about these things, I should be investing more time in actually counting my blessings.

I got an email a couple of years ago that I still remember and wish I had saved. It was something like "Thank you Lord for these dirty dishes because it means that my family has enough to eat." I mean, how true is that?

Here I am stressed out about packing up all of the CRAP (have I mentioned how extensive our collection of crap is??) while someone else could probably fit everything they own in one box and NONE of it is crap to them. In fact, if they had access to my "crap", they'd probably bitch slap me for even calling it that. Add to that, I have a fantastic, supportive hubby and two amazing kids to go through everything with -- and I might get downright beat up for whining.

Yes, there are things in my life that are stressing me out and would likely stress out 90% of the population, but I guess all it took was for me to have a phone call with a friend (who lost her baby boy last summer) and to watch the news last night in order to feel like I have the world on a string.

I need to just get over myself already and simply appreciate all of this stress that I have, as crazy as that sounds.

As I sit here typing, I can't help but feel like I've blogged about this before. It's because I have!

Things I've heard and seen this week...

*clomp*clomp*clomp*clomp*

I look up to see my 4 year old son clomping across the dining room in the pair of heels I'd left by the front door. That alone was funny, but this was classic...

"Mommy, I really like your shoes with the sticks. They're fun!"

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I spent about 45 minutes last night getting so excited about Georgia bringing me discarded faux wood blind slats. They were from the excess we'd trimmed off the new ones in our bedroom. I was laying on the couch after an exhausting day of painting and furniture moving. The slats were across the living room from me. She would toddle over, pick one up and bring it to me like it was made of gold. She was strutting like nobody's business! I would reward her with an energetic "Thank you!" each time and she in turn would reward me with a very proud giggle. When I had the whole pile in my lap and she turned around to get more, I'd toss them back across the room and she'd do it all over again.

Seriously, she was E-N-T-E-R-T-A-I-N-E-D. Another "why in the WORLD do we have all of these bleeping toys?!" moment for ol' Mom.

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About 5 minutes later, we had to ditch the blind slats.

My son thought they made an EXCELLENT sword/Captian Hook hook. Yeah. That wasn't gonna go anywhere good, but it would probably get there quickly.

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As I opened the garage door and started up the driveway on our return home from preschool yesterday, my son said "Mommy, I love living in my blue house. It's my favorite."

*gulp*

Think he's internalizing any of this get-the-house-on-the-market craziness? Ouch.

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I'll end on a great note -- the last thing my hubby said to me before he went to sleep while I laid there in my futile effort to join him:

"I love you so much. Thanks for being my wife."

She surprised everyone but us...

Today our baby girl had surgery. Very minor surgery (just got tubes put in both of her ears), but let's face it -- when you're putting your child under general anesthesia, any surgery is major to you.

Originally, I had scheduled the first available date, which was last Wednesday at 10:15. As I wrote it on the calendar, I called back about 5 minutes later and rescheduled for the first date we could get the first appointment of the day. When I thought about not letting Georgia eat or drink ANYTHING until 10:00 in the morning -- let's just say it wasn't a good idea.

We had to be there at 6:15 a.m. today, so we opted to just have Mitchell spend the night at his Nana and Papa's house. He is SUCH a trooper and thank goodness his new "thing" is that he is all about having sleepovers at the grandparents' houses. He had a great time, and it was nice for us to just be able to come home and focus on Miss G last night and this morning. We had to leave here at 5:45 a.m., so that meant we had to wake our little sweet pea up.

I gently rubbed her back and said "Good morning, Georgia. Time to wake up, honey!" She just lifted her head up off of the crib mattress and looked around the room with squinty eyes. After about 30 seconds of that, a big smile spread across her face and she struggled to sit up. At this point, my husband walked in the room and with a head full of crazy hair, she lit up our hearts with the sweetest "Da-DA!" you've ever heard. I scooped her up and was met with her sweet little head on my shoulder for a morning snuggle that was truly a blessing.

I'm sorry, but how many people do you know are that SWEET when being forced awake before 6 a.m.? I really need to take a page out of her book...our baby girl is seriously just happy to be alive and in the room. We changed her diaper, grabbed her beloved Duck Duck and loaded her into the car. I thought maybe she would figure out that she hadn't had her normal bottle or sippy cup as we drove to the surgical center, but instead she just happily babbled to herself and Duck Duck. Her little giggle over who knows what spread to the front seat because we couldn't help but join in as she just laughed at herself in the mirror and her scruffy purple duck with the pink plaid bow.

We got to the surgical center to get checked in. (Can I just say here that it was COMPLETELY unnecessary for us to be there over an hour early?? Really. It was just dumb.) The woman at the front desk immediately got caught up in Georgia's early morning goofiness. She couldn't stop telling her how cute she was, and she couldn't stop telling Chris and I how amazed she was by Georgia being so awake and lively so early in the morning.

Chris and I just looked at each other and smiled -- we weren't surprised. She's always been like this.

When the nurse came in to get us for all of the pre-op stuff, the woman at the front desk told her "This is Georgia and I guarantee you, she'll be your favorite patient of the day." What a nice thing to hear, even if she does say that about everyone. Georgia began to charm ol' Jude's socks off as well -- holding her foot up and saying her favorite word, "shoes" about a million times as she put the pulse ox thingie on her big toe. When we were done in the first little room, Jude took us back to the rows of beds that you wait for the doctors in.

That's where the baton was handed to the next nurse as far as being smitten with Miss G goes. Georgia began doing her "talking" thing for this nurse...if you haven't seen it in person, it's hard to describe. Basically she gets very animated and jabbers for about 30 seconds in a very conversational tone -- it's evident that she is telling you something very important. The problem is, you can't understand a single word.

It comes out something like this:
"Dabajanabadeedodi." (One hand up in the air.)
"Shambaloomabadadadama." (Pointing across the room.)
"Shumtanastabodido." (Annnnd, she's finished.)

Yep, one of those and that lady was reeled on in. She just went on and on about how much Georiga had to say for such a little person.

Chris and I just looked at each other and smiled -- we weren't surprised. She's always been like this.

We then went back out to the waiting room where we caught some Clifford on the flat screen, played with the bead maze, and played walk around the room like a 2 foot, 4 inch drunk with an empty paper cup. Good times.

After about 30 minutes, the nurse came to get us and said that the doctors were ready for us. As we got back to the row of beds, we found the ENT and anesthesiologist waiting for us, along with two other nurses. We filled out all of the last minute consent forms (you know, the ones where we say we understand that things for this run-of-the-mill procedure could go very, very wrong...the ones that put a lump in your throat while you sign as the doctors tell you it's a really simple, uncomplicated surgery) and I got the pleasure of getting into a white paper Elvis (the fat years) suit and a lovely blue paper hat.

As all of this was going on, Georgia took this opportunity to start working the doctors over. Well, doctor. Our ENT (as our pediatrician explained when we first were referred to him for our son about 3 years ago) is one of the best in town, but his bedside manner is not his strong suit. He is a nice enough person, but we have yet to see his sense of humor over the years and he is pretty much all business. Fine with us -- he's cutting holes in our kids' ears, we're happy to know he's got it under control. In any case, he was not prone to fall under Georgia's "I'm so cute" spell, he was there to work.

The anesthesiologist, on the other hand, was more of a softie. I had spoken with him when he called our home the night before. (By the way, how impressive is that? He called us at home to make sure we didn't have any questions, to let us know how everything would go in the morning and to just make sure we were comfortable with the whole procedure. I was blown away that such a caring customer service step would take place in this nasty medical environment.) During our conversation on the phone, he told me I was welcome to go back with Georgia as he put her under. He said "Well, she's 14 months old so she probably won't just go off with me." I told him that she just might, actually. While we were filling out the paperwork and getting me in my paper suit, he said "You were right -- I bet she would go with me if I wanted her to!"

Chris and I just looked at each other and smiled -- we weren't surprised. She's always been like this.

Finally it was time for the surgery so Daddy gave her some squeezes and kisses and then I carried Georgia and Duck Duck down the hall, following the doctors and nurses to the OR. I don't care if it is a simple little five minute surgery -- it all hits home when you walk into the big, sterile operating room, complete with a team of doctors, nurses, tubes, wires and machines. I sat on the little chair with her as the anesthesiologist got her mask ready.

This part sucked. Really bad. I'd been through it before with Mitchell when he got tubes and I knew exactly what to expect, but it still sucked.

I held Georgia while he put the mask over her face. Her cute side faded away and her feisty spirit emerged as she fought both of us. Holding her still for the mask to stay in place, was a bit like trying to change her diaper these days -- she definitely got her wiggle on and made it known that she did not approve of this next move of ours. *Patting myself on the back* I managed not to cry, instead just sang Georgia her name song and told her it was okay to go night night, that Daddy and I would be there when she woke up.

Like I said, I *know* how it goes, I know what it looks like, I know what it sounds like, but still. She stiffened up, her breathing became labored and squeaky and it really did look like she was slipping away. The broken record in my head was "She's just going to sleep, she's just going to sleep, she's just going to sleep" as I helped lay her on the table. They assured me she'd be fine and that they'd take good care of her as I turned to go find my husband.

I really didn't think I would, but I did cry on the walk back. The nurse was comforting me and I assured her that I knew it was fine. And I was. It's just -- ugh. I don't know how to put that feeling into words, walking away from that O.R.

We got our stuff, and headed to the waiting room. We weren't there very long - -just a few minutes, I think. The ENT came out and said that everything went great. She had a lot of thick fluid in her ears that they were able to remove and they put in the first set of antibiotic drops for us. He explained the post-op instructions, when to call for a follow up visit, yadda yadda. A few minutes later, the anesthesiologist came out to talk to us as well. He told us that he gave her some pain medicine in her nose during the surgery to help and that he thought she did great. He said she was still sleeping and that he was a fan of letting them wake up as slowly as possible so that it wasn't such a shock to them. Still, he warned us that most of the time, kids would be upset, usually some crying and even times screaming for up to 45 minutes because they were jsut so confused and disoriented. He wanted us to be prepared for that so that we knew it was normal, and assured us that by this afternoon, she'd be back to her normal self. We thanked him and waited for the nurses to come get us.

A few minutes later, in came the recovery nurse. She had a big grin on her face and said that Georgia was awake and that we could come see her, but that we might not be able to take her home because they might want to steal her because she was so cute. As we walked down the hall to the recovery area, she told us that she couldn't believe what a great mood Georgia was in, and that she actually woke up giggling and chattering away.

Chris and I just looked at each other and smiled -- we weren't surprised. She's always been like this.

As we walked in, we saw Miss Georgia cuddled up in a blanket in the arms of a Grandma-ish looking nurse, clutching Duck Duck in one hand, the other hand animatedly pointing around the room as she busily educated the nurses on the finer features of the recovery room. A huge smile lit up her face when she saw us and she immediately reached out and lunged toward me with both arms in that "Mommy, hold me!" posture that I'm so familiar with these days. I gladly took her from the nurse and planted lots of kisses on her sweet forehead as she snuggled into the recliner with me. Chris got the bottle we'd brought out of the diaper bag, which got her very excited. We spent the next 20 minutes or so, cuddled up in the recliner laughing with the nurses about what a sweet baby girl we have. It then launched into talking about each of their older children and what they were like as kids. Funny how that happens -- parents are just physically unable to help themselves from sharing about their own kids, aren't they? After a few goldfish and lots of flirting, we were ready to go. We waved bye-bye, blew kisses and thanked everyone for taking such good care of our precious baby girl.

As Chris and I walked with her to the car, we laughed at how she'd spent the morning entertaining and charming the staff. We also talked about how as usual, she had surprised everyone but us with her sunny disposition during an experience that is usually expected to be anything but happy.

That's our Georgia.