tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62472364090250325872024-03-07T18:29:15.463-05:00safety weekemmayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16065235187894332297noreply@blogger.comBlogger125125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247236409025032587.post-18332124035387553132011-04-27T15:07:00.005-04:002011-04-27T15:18:19.033-04:00I want it now!<em>I’m posting this to enter a contest offered by <a href="http://www.checkngo.com/" target="_blank">CheckNGo</a> at <a href="http://www.thecentsiblelife.com/" target="_blank">The Centsible Life</a>! I want to win the iPad 2! Enter to win here: <a href="http://bit.ly/TCLiPad">http://bit.ly/TCLiPad</a></em><br /><br />I feel like Veruka Salt with his post here...I want to win an iPad2.<br /><br /> I've been debating coming back here anyway over the last few months....and what better reason than to get myself some entries into a contest to win an iPad. We are totally low tech here (1 pay as you go cell phone for me, no cell phone for the hubby) , we have only one television and one desktop computer. This is normally perfectly fine, but the [portability of an iPad, and its ability to entertain my children, make it pretty tantalizing. But what with the new garage door we need, and the new hot water heater, and some other green energy-related repairs, and the new car...and, well...an iPad just isn't making the list of things we SHOULD be spending our money on right now. So maybe....just maybe.....I will win this. Maybe. Cause I want it now!!<br />So here goes....<br /><em><br /></em><br /><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/GL3-pb2K7DM" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" width="480"></iframe>emmayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16065235187894332297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247236409025032587.post-14363702464050457212009-09-09T09:01:00.003-04:002009-09-09T09:03:11.580-04:00The body count risesThe lost toenail count is up to three. School starts tomorrow. I'm looking at today as my last day before my life changes completely. My kids are looking at it as just another day to aggravate the crap out of each other and whine until mommy explodes. Perspective, eh?emmayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16065235187894332297noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247236409025032587.post-38646310338158584042009-09-07T18:35:00.002-04:002009-09-07T18:46:24.964-04:00August...August...come in August...I just realized that I posted nothing at all during the rest of my trip to France as well as the entire month of August. Oops. The rest of France was fabulous...better than fabulous maybe. spectacular. The food. The sights. Time with my sister. It was all wonderful, except that I really missed my little munchkins. And Benny. And the feet...well, the feet didn't get a whole lot better. I could gross you out with details of blood blisters, calluses, and blisters UNDER toenails, but instead I'll just tell you that I am currently missing two toenails completely, three more are black and blue in part or whole, and the bottom of my left foot sports a lovely design of somewhat concentric circles on both heel and ball, where layers of skin have peeled off. It's frighteningly disgusting. <br />I will post some more France stories when I can. Right now I am trying to eek every last drop out of summer before my older goes off to big kid school. I am lingering somewhere between shock that the last five and a half years have gone by so quickly, to excitement for her since I know she cannot wait, to melancholy that she will be gone all day. (That last one is easily remedied by letting her spend more than fifteen minutes with her sister, at which point one hits another, blah blah blah, and I threaten to lock them both out of the house.) I will do my darnedest to update on Thursday....the day when school officially starts. If for no other reason than to post a photo of my beautiful girl looking impossibly adorable in her uniform.emmayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16065235187894332297noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247236409025032587.post-13910035751635544742009-08-21T20:09:00.002-04:002009-08-21T20:34:13.664-04:00Random weirdnessForgive my long stretches on non-blogging. I think of you, little blog, all the time. But I can't seem to find the time to sit and type all of my introspective, irrelevant commentary. Today, though, was a veritable invitation to blog.<br />The girls and I had a busy day planned: a trip to the gym so I could work out, lunch with our friend Carly and her older and very helpful children (Helen has a crush on a certain tween boy...so stinkin cute!), and then a return to the gym for swimming at our awesome, way cool "aquatics center" (indoor: lazy river, splash playground, big ole water slide, leisure pool, lap pool, hot tub).<br />By the time we met for lunch, I was beginning to feel like I was on the periphery of a Twilight Zone episode. We had to make a last minute unplanned trip to target after Helen decided today, the day I forgot her backpack of spare clothes, would be an excellent dsay to wet her pants. On the way out of the Target parking lot, we saw the obligatory homeless man with the cardboard sign. Usually it's something about being hungry and I usually ignore it cuz I'm a chicken and I don;t want to make nay eye contact. But today I read his plea, and I think I figured out what his problem is. See, he's 170 years old, and people probably think he's a ghost. Ghosts don;t need food, no? Yup. His sign proclaimed "Disabled Civil War Veteran" Hmmm.....sigh. Please don't judge me for laughing. I I don't think I've ever claimed to have an ounce of sensitivity. Or tact.<br />As I continued on my 4 minute trip form Target to the restaurant, I passed a man in the Office M*x parking lot. He appeared to be an employee in a food service establishment, as he was dressed in black clothing and apron, and he was parallel to the ground, feet on the curb, doing push ups. "I'll be back to take your drink order after my office supply store parking lot calisthenics." But by far the weirdest event of the day occurred prior to these, after my exercise class. I proceeded to the locker room to take a shower. I approached the sink to wash my hands, only to be greeted by the smell of meatballs coming from the crockpot that was plugged in and resting on the counter between two sinks. In the locker room. Of the gym. Seriously. If there was a pot luck in the locker room, no one told me abut it. And I dared not taste any of the meatballs, simmering away in the locker room. So. frickin. weird.<br />Lunch was good, but swimming not so much, as we were ushered out of the INDOOR pool five minutes after we got in becasue of a thunderstorm. (Note that it takes me longer than five minutes to get myself and two small children into swimsuits.) We were attempting to wait it out when the place went dark. Blackout at the gym. So we left. Strange day...indeed.<br /><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>emmayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16065235187894332297noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247236409025032587.post-42905866785180352752009-07-24T16:39:00.004-04:002009-07-25T04:39:29.551-04:00How do you say blister in French?My sister walks a tremendus amount. Ten, twelve miles a day. I can't quite keep up with that. If you know me IRL, you know that I recently sffered a debilitating bout of tendinitis in both knees. It was literally crippling. I was cawling up the stairs in my house, sending my 5 year old to the mailbox, and spending the large majority of my time on the couch because it felt like someone was ripping my tendons to shreds every time I tried to walk. I was on a nearly constant regimen of icing, I received four cottisone injections and got PT for the three weeks leading up to my trip. So with that in mind, I'm lucky I'm walking. But it isn't the knees that are kilimg me. It's the blisters. We walked abut 4.5 miles yesterday, and 6.5 today. A lot of walking for someone who has recently spent so much time not walking at all. I think I have bad socks, because the blisters are on the balls and heels of my feet. My sis went out tonight and got me some blister band-aids, but if they don't help, I may rest a little tomorrow. We've had a fabulous time. I know when people think of Paris museums, they immediately think Louvre, or maybe d'Orsay. Haven't made it there yet (well we strolled the gardens behind the Louvre lat night, but we didn't go in) but today we wnt to the Rodin museum. totally amazing. i think I realy enjoy the three-dimensionality of sculpture, and so many of his sculptures tell a story. It was fascinating. I took a lot of pictures, but I don't have my camera software so I 'll have to post them when I get home. I also got momentarily trapped in a pitch black bathroom. And I had no idea how to scream for help in French. I einvisoned dying a slow dark death in there, but managed to free myself by pulling the door instead of pushing (brilliant!) But aparently the lights are on a timer, and the bathroom was in a toilet closet of sorts, so there was NO light. When I finally burst outof there, I cried "THe lights went out!" But the FRENCH wooman at the sink couldn't understand me, so she asked me a question, in French, adn I couldn't understand her. I just stood there smiling. An when she finally mase a little room a the sink, I turned it on and she exclaimed "Oh!" So apparently she was asking me how to turn on the sink. Hmmm. I'm quite sure she stil had no idea what I said.<br />We aren't eating oursleve sick or anything, but we hav enjoyed some yummy stuff. My lunch today was a small quihe champignon (mushroms). Man was that tasty. Light for quiche anbd just all around good. We had ice cream, and I had to have a flavor I knew I couldn't get, so praline pignon it was. (Praline pine nut) Mmmmm.<br />Sis needs to get on here, so au revoir!emmayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16065235187894332297noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247236409025032587.post-78875946523963574262009-07-23T10:24:00.002-04:002009-07-23T10:39:59.830-04:00Bonjour!Well, here I am in Paris. I am not out soaking in the sights, sounds and smells of Paris at the moment because my sister and I are here in this apartment waiting for someone from the Parisian utility service to comeread the meter. I kid you not. It's like being home kinda, except the only person I can understand is my sister. I feel like I suffer from the mostt major of cognitive deficits. And I'm afraid to talk to anyone in French for fear I'll say the wrong thng, so I've been whispering things like "silvous plait and "bonjour." Cuz really, I don't know too much more than that. I did pipe up with a hearty "merci!" when we were handed the bag from the patisserie that contained our deicious pate sandwich. mmmmm. A lttle baguette with pate, lettuce and some tiny pickles. Heaven. And this delicious sweet bread sprinkled wth sea salt. mmmm again Sis is only giving the meter guy another 15 minutes and then we're taking off. In the rain...again...just like home. Except for the Eiffel Tower and all the French. Au revoir!emmayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16065235187894332297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247236409025032587.post-73750686240538857162009-06-20T16:02:00.003-04:002009-06-20T16:32:22.670-04:00NINENine....that would be the number of stitches in my poor baby's beautiful face. It would also be the approximate number of years shaved off my life this past Tuesday. <br />Ruthie, Helen and the little boy I watch, R, were all out in the front yard. Ruthie went inside to wash her hands. A couple of minutes later I hear her crying as she is coming back out and calling to me "Mommy, I hurt myself." I couldn't immediately see her from where I was standing, so I walked over towards the front door and saw my baby running down the porch steps, crying, with blood pouring down her sweet face in at least four different directions. I am not exaggerating when I tell you that it looked like she was filming a scene for a horror movie. It was hard to tell, but it looked like it was coming from someplace on her forehead. I scooped her up (and admittedly, in a bit of momentary insanity, wondered if I should carry her facing outwards because there was so.much.blood. but I faced her inward toward me so I could see her.) I ran to my neighbors, mostly to deposit the other two children there and decide what I next needed to do. My neighbor took one look at us and all.that. blood. and called 911. I got a towel from her daughter and put pressure on the wound, which I could now tell was definitely on her forehead, and sat on my neighbor's stoop to wait for the emergency responders while I comforted my poor little daughter. We live own the hill from a fire station, so they arrived rather quickly with a truck and their ambulance. Ruthie and I were both calm, so they easily assessed her, applied some gauze and tape to keep the bleeding down, and put us in an ambulance. Ruthie waited in hte ambulance calmmly and patiently while I ran inot hte huse to get my phone and my wallet. Everyone who was there was amazed by how calm she was. Another neighbor later told me me she thought Ruthie and I were both really brave. That made my cry a little. We spent about four hours at the hospital with three other five year olds, all of whom also had head or facial lacerations. Ruthie was a model patient. She never flinched when they irrigated her wound, and she never flinched when they made each of those nine stiches in her pretty little face. I can't say the same for me. I maintained my composure (I'm good in the midst of a crisis, though I always reserve the right to fall apart later) but I felt my heart stop each and every time that needle pierced her skin to take another stitch.<br />I kept her home from school the next day, and by dinner time, I could feel myself beginning to unreavel. We went to a low-key dinner picnic for Benny's work, and the whole time we were there all I wanted was to leave. It seemed there were so many sharp edges looming there, and every time one of my girls came within a foot of one, I panicked and just wanted to go home. The feeling was exactly the feeling I had after we lost our first baby, and I wanted to be nowhere except the safety of my own home. I guess it was probably a minor anxiety attack. I actually cried on the way home from the picnic, no doubt a release of pent up anxiety. And also the picture. The one that is birned on my brain. The one of sweet little Ruthie running toward me, her face covered in multiple rivers of blood. I thought after two NICU babies, I could handle any medical emergency when it came to my kids. How wrong I was. <br />Four days later I'm slightly calmer but still nervous about the edges that are everywhere all of a sudden. And we're still finding blood in places. My neighbor kindly cleaned up the puddles by the front door after we left in the ambulance. I found some above the doorknob on Wednesday. The front porch is almost all clean thanks to the rain. Benny found some streaks on the front door today. <br />I find myself wanting to hold her and hug her even more than usual. And I'm so proud of her for being so brave. She really is a trooper.<br /><br /><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>emmayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16065235187894332297noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247236409025032587.post-25858884203089211212009-06-16T13:54:00.004-04:002009-06-16T14:05:10.853-04:00Parlez vous anglais?I can say that....it's a start.<br /><br />My sister leaves tonight. Me? Thirty-six days. I just got the address where we'll be staying. It's in the Theater District of Paris. And it is a seven minute walk to here:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.spirit-of-paris.com/wp-content/photos/paris/lifestyle/moulin_rouge_spirit_of_paris.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 962px; height: 641px;" src="http://www.spirit-of-paris.com/wp-content/photos/paris/lifestyle/moulin_rouge_spirit_of_paris.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Knowing where I'll be staying make sit much more relevant, and exciting, to peruse the travel books.emmayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16065235187894332297noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247236409025032587.post-20830270142839297152009-06-03T16:21:00.004-04:002009-06-03T16:36:23.143-04:00Je ne comprend pasI don't even know if that is grammatically correct. I haven't taken French in 22 years. I thought I could "brush up" on some French and be okay while away. Ha! I reserved a few books from the library with French phrases, etc. They're not in yet. A friend of mine at the gym recommended <a href="http://www.dailyfrenchpod.com/">this site</a> for free daily French lessons. I was psyched! Ha! The lessons are auditory....the hardest way for me to learn...I need to see stuff in print. I listened a bit and understood that I was listening to something about North Korea, and maybe a boner and a cheese infant. I guess I should just learn to say "I don't speak French" "Where's the bathroom?" and "Have you seen my sister?....she's American and speaks French slightly better than me."emmayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16065235187894332297noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247236409025032587.post-32992042018542957912009-06-01T07:35:00.002-04:002009-06-01T07:40:01.329-04:00Groan...groan<a href="http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/31040692/">This</a> is so not helping with that irrational (or is it now?) fear that my plane would go down somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic and leave my children motherless. Benny says it actually decreases the odds that something like that will happen on my flight over...or back. Yeah, he's probably right but for now...sigh.emmayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16065235187894332297noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247236409025032587.post-6871167733467057172009-05-25T14:30:00.002-04:002009-05-25T14:53:54.695-04:00Can you take it??UGh...my post just disappeared. I'm sure my sideways typing caused me to hit some combination of keys that completely obliterated the full paragraph I had written. Whatever.<br />Anyway, can you take two posts in one day?? Before the Paris business, I intended to tell you all about my fabulous trip to Price Chopper, and how I managed to get my grocery bill chopped (haha) from $178.59 to $39.67. Between sales, rain checks, coupons and bottle slips, I saved $138.92. Benny says the bottle slips don't really count, but they do. Because they are counted into the total of my other receipts when I pay that 5 cents per can initially. Like when I went the other day and spent$44.31 when my original bill was $97.63 (which I was moderately inpressed with until this morning), $3 of that $44.31 was bottle deposits paid. So it counts.<br />Anyway, here's what I got...<br /><br />(1) box Kashi waffles<br />(4) boxes Kashi Heart to Heart cereal<br />(5) boxes Frosted Mini-Wheats (or as Helen calls them, Weenie Wheats)<br />(1) 6 pk. Italian rolls from yummy local bakery<br />(1) loaf Italian wheat bread from same yummy local bakery<br />(2) boxes Wheat Thins<br />(2) bottles All Small & Mighty HE detergent<br />(4) bags Halls cough drops<br />(10) containers Dannon yogurt<br />(1) dozen bakery bagels<br />(3) half gallons chocolate milk<br />(2) boxes Betty Crocker Brownie mix<br />(6) bottles Mr. Clean all-purpose cleaner<br />(2) 2-pks. Mr. Clean Magic Eraser<br />(4) 2-pks. Mr. Clean Magic Eraser Duo<br />(1) qt. strawberries<br />(2) jars bread n butter pickles<br />(1) jar tomato bruschetta<br />(1) 10 0z. pkg. mushrooms<br />(1) 12 0z. package Portabella mushroom Grillers<br />(1) 2 ltr. bottle Diet Dr. Pepper<br />(1) container Cottonelle wipes for Kids<br />2.6 lb. Granny Smith apples<br />1 lb. bay scallops<br />1 lb. shrimp<br />All for $39.67<br /><br />I think I'm framing my receipt. Maybe my fabulous savings were what convinced Benny that Paris was doable.emmayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16065235187894332297noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247236409025032587.post-31395339695304089982009-05-25T12:09:00.003-04:002009-05-25T12:16:37.295-04:00OMFG!!!!!Pardon the foul internet language in the title of this post, but I am so friggin excited I cannot contain myself. Remember <a href="http://safetyweek.blogspot.com/2009/03/parlez-vous-francais-non.html">this</a>? Well, I kinda gave up on that, cause I developed this insane fear of dying on an overseas flight crash. Then I read <a href="http://www.elizabethgilbert.com/eatpraylove.htm">this book</a> again, and the bug started creeping in. So I brought it up to Benny. Cause he knows what the $ situation is much better than I do. (But on aside, I got my $178 grocery bill down to $39 with coupons and rainchecks and bottle slips.) And....he said we can sweing it. I'm going to Paris baby!! Details to come later. Passport to be gotten....like yesterday. Or tomorrow at least. Off to pedal away on my bike in the lovely sunshine and dream of Paris. And find a really good crash course in French since I haven't taken a French class in 20 plus years.<br />And Kitty, I'll eat lots of Brie for you.<br />Au revoir!emmayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16065235187894332297noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247236409025032587.post-87161593995402974012009-05-04T15:03:00.004-04:002009-05-04T15:28:55.063-04:00Dear Mom, Dear GodDear Mom,<br />Remember all those days when I was a kid and I would follow you around while you were trying to do stuff (which was probably every day). And I would talk incessantly. I could tell that after a while you weren't really listening anymore. I thought maybe you didn't want to hear what I had to say anymore. Well, I just wanted t tell you that I'm sorry. Because I live with a little girl who looks suspiciously like I did 34 years ago, and she follows me around and talks non-stop. Even when she can't follow me around she talks non-stop. When I'm buckling her into her booster seat in he car, and we're in a big hurry, which we are 99% of the time, she starts telling me stories that have far too many details. And I have to tell her to stop so I can shut the van door and get into the driver's seat, and then she can resume her talking. Except sometimes, when I'm really distracted, I forget to tell her to stop a minute and I just shut the door in her face. And I can still hear the din of her voice through the car door. Or like right now, when I'm trying to type this post really quickly, and she is just going on and on and on and on about the 73 clown pictures she's been drawing over the last twenty minutes and how she's going to bring them with her wherever she goes so that, on the off-chance she runs into a clown somewhere, she can give him one of her pictures (coloring used to be a quiet activity). And I don't even realize she's asked me a question and is waiting for an answer, and I kinda feel like a schmuck for not answering her. And I suddenly realize my mother wasn't ignoring me. She just had other things to think about and was trying really hard to preserve her sanity. Like me right about now. And her head probably felt like mine does a lot of the time. Kind of like it's going to explode because the constant chatter of a five year old sometimes sounds an awful lot like a swarm of bees has taken up residence in your brain. But at least I know where she is. That other one...the one who looks like Benny. She just silently plots against us.<br />And I know you're probably laughing because I still talk a lot, and you also always told me that you wished I'd have one just like me. Congratulations. I did.<br />So anyway, I'm sorry I didn't stop talking all those years. And one question: how long after she moves out will the buzzing stop? Will I miss it?<br />Love,<br />emmay<br />P.S. I guess it didn't help that her middle name happens to also be the name of the person in Benny's family who also never stops talking. (And she has halitosis, too.) So we can share the blame. Except that I picked that name (aslo his mother's name) so maybe it really is all my fault. Please spare my daughter from the halitosis. <br /><br /><br />Dear God,<br />Thank you for bestowing the gift of these beautiful children on me. And thank you for watching over them when they were so new and fragile. When I said I couldn't wait to hear Ruthie's voice when she was a baby, I did not realize that I actually had to specify that it was okay if she didn't use it every second that she was awake. So when my head explodes into thousands of miniscule pieces, please make sure that my daughters knew I loved them. And make sure it isn't too hard to clean up the mess.<br />Thank you.<br />Love,<br />emmayemmayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16065235187894332297noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247236409025032587.post-33090046028583323292009-04-29T17:08:00.003-04:002009-04-29T17:14:45.153-04:00She's mad at me againHelen got in trouble this afternoon. she won't stay out of my room. She empties out my nightstand drawers, hides things of Benny's and mine. All in all, she's a sneaky little shit. So when I took Ruthie and the little boy I watch outside, Helen has to sit on the steps. No playing. I couldn't see her from every spot in the front of the house, but I 'd go to check on her every once in a while. The last time I checked I found this:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO3_b2Sq6ITsiMotAvArCnnMes634_XrfphGbNX7pQcCG3ZS4Y8KVGeeBLyKT83d3_jQ9AVj9NXUL5egzB0GFScaasMrWGl8xp7k6nl8X722JRwX-7zkVB3PwnKFcC27yRlMINPSknmw/s1600-h/IMG_3528.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO3_b2Sq6ITsiMotAvArCnnMes634_XrfphGbNX7pQcCG3ZS4Y8KVGeeBLyKT83d3_jQ9AVj9NXUL5egzB0GFScaasMrWGl8xp7k6nl8X722JRwX-7zkVB3PwnKFcC27yRlMINPSknmw/s320/IMG_3528.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330223984910960962" border="0" /></a>She was fully clothed when we came outside. I hope she grows out of this before junior high.emmayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16065235187894332297noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247236409025032587.post-14693708576240982182009-04-20T19:14:00.004-04:002009-04-20T19:59:44.977-04:00Timing is everythingThis kid has some amazing timing with things. I'm one for dates anyway. Dates and phone numbers. Those are things that my head is clogged with. Since Ruthie's arrival, that kid has had a knack for landing significant events on days that already have some pretty significant meaning.<br />*<br />On March 5, 1994, at a party in Albany, NY, somewhere around 2 0r 3 in the morning, I took a big risk and it paid off...I asked Benny out. Yup, I'm a modern woman that way (::snort::) Fast forward 10 years to March 5, 2oo4. At 3:44 a.m., Ruthie was born. That's right....ten years to the day, nearly to the hour, from when I asked her father out, our little daughter made her grand entrance.<br />*<br />On October 16, 2002, we received the sad and devastating news that our first little baby's heart had stopped beating. Thought that baby was just the size of a bean, it was ours, and I'll never forget that day. Five years later, on October 26, 2007, little Ruthie started school for the very firs time. A much happier thing to balance out the sadness.<br />*<br />On April 20, 2004, we were finally able to take our little girl, then 47 days old, home from the hopsital. Her first breath of fresh air, her first glimpse of sunshine, and our first night at home as a new family. Fast foward five years again, to April 20, 2009, and that little baby girl loses her first tooth.<br />*<br />Weird how things happen, huh?emmayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16065235187894332297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247236409025032587.post-37963374366811395002009-04-19T18:15:00.002-04:002009-04-19T18:22:45.270-04:00Oh where, oh where?Have I been? Kitty was wondering if I was no longer posting because it was no longer Lent. While that is a good guess....it's not the case. The real story is that I am STILL FRIGGIN SICK. And just when I think I'm over the hump, the snot returns. Actually, the big problem now is that I keep coughing. And coughing. And coughing. It's keeping me up at night. And it sucks. And I'm tired. So while I desperately want to post about my fabulous lunch with Carly, and other fun stuff, I really do not have the brain power to form a well-written sentence. But in the interim, I have stumbled upon a fabulous book by one of my favoritest writers of all time, Joyce Carol Oates. She has a newly published collection of short stories entitled "Dear Husband" which I am too lazy to link to. But if you are looking for reading material in the absence of my deep and thoughtful posts, read that.emmayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16065235187894332297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247236409025032587.post-14453103484591443512009-04-15T19:23:00.006-04:002009-04-15T19:35:53.898-04:00Top ten titles for this post<span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">10.</span> Those children aren't mine<br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">9.</span> Dear Neighbors, Excuse my screaming five year old in the driveway<br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">8.</span> And I really wanted another one of these?<br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">7.</span> I hate school vacations: the pre-k years<br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">6. </span> Why three year olds should learn to do laundry (or alternately: it isn't cute to wet your pants on purpose).<br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">5.</span> NY mother goes missing...please don't look for me<br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">4.</span> I never should have given up drinking<br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">3. </span>Does anyone have a cigarette....how do you light this thing?<br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">2.</span> Foreign adoption may have been a better bet<br /><br />and finally...<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">1.</span> Where the fuck is that last Cadbury creme egg?</span>emmayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16065235187894332297noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247236409025032587.post-7167497240187696892009-04-13T17:45:00.003-04:002009-04-13T17:49:05.700-04:00From Poltergeist to DatelineDead on....<br />I love Dateline, but Keith Morrison gives me the creeps big time. He reminds me of the weird old half dead guy from one of the Poltergeist movies...the one who shows up on the porch and walks around singing and freaking people out. Benny found this for me:<br /><br /><br /><script src="http://widgets.nbc.com/o/4727a250e66f9723/49e3b2411943b7fc/4727a2501a2a0f59/e6f9e773/widget.js" type="text/javascript"></script><div style="font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 10px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; width: 300px; margin-top: 3px;"><a href="http://www.nbc.com/Video/library/" target="_blank">Video Recaps</a> | <a href="http://www.nbc.com/Video/library/full-episodes/" target="_blank">Full Episodes</a> | <a href="http://www.nbc.com/Video/library/webisodes/" target="_blank">Webisodes</a></div>emmayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16065235187894332297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247236409025032587.post-55575498592336657712009-04-13T09:25:00.005-04:002009-04-14T16:48:29.756-04:00So what?Are you ready for some...<br /><br /><a href="http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/30156915/">BIG NEWS!!! (that's a link, folks)</a><br /><br />Really....does ANYBODY care?<br />I sensed a hint of "whatever" from Matt and Meredith when the promos were announced. My feelings exactly.emmayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16065235187894332297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247236409025032587.post-14682193191899894672009-04-13T07:51:00.003-04:002009-04-13T08:20:09.764-04:00Easter ModayI'm sick. Nasty head cold. But I really shouldn't complain, It's the first bad cold I've had since I had my tonsils taken out ten months ago. The relentless congestion in my head is preventing me from coming up with anything witty this morning. <br />We had a great Easter...we're exhausted....looking forward to a lazy day.emmayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16065235187894332297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247236409025032587.post-17672150653138393482009-04-10T18:14:00.002-04:002009-04-10T18:23:09.428-04:00Mother of the YearI've been MIA the last couple of days. I have been busier than I'd like to be....getting ready for the bunny, visiting with old friends who are in town, making bread for Easter dinner, making <a href="http://bakerella.blogspot.com/2009/04/eye-candy.html">these</a> just because I'm nuts. We're leaving town tomorrow for Easter. And I'm pretty sure my five year old has not stopped talking in at least 72 hours. That constant chatter makes me head spin. <br />But it's not just you, my loyal readers, who have been neglected. Dinner this evening in our house was two hard-boiled eggs and a ring pop for Ruthie, and Cheerios and M & Ms for Helen. Benny was on his own, and I had some Strawberry sour straws leftover from the cupcake project. <br />Hopefully while we're away I'll collect some fun stories to tell you, but I can't promise anything. <br />In case I don't get to it tomorrow, Happy Easter!emmayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16065235187894332297noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247236409025032587.post-37052354843905672752009-04-07T15:29:00.003-04:002009-04-07T15:50:15.152-04:00What's in a name?A bonus post today...just becasue I'm curious. The addition of a new baby to our extended family, as well as the same in a friend's family, has led me to wondering how people go about picking a name for their child(ren). It's a hard thing to do....the poor kid will be stuck with it his/her entire life.<br />Here's my process:<br />First, nothing trendy. <br />Boys' names are easier for me. I tend to go for more traditional names, and I like quite a few biblical names (not Moses or Cesar, but the stuff that would also fall into traditional) I think a boy's aname should have a certain degree of stregnth behind it, KWIM? Our boy name was always Andrew. It's Benny's middle name and it is a classic. While I try to steer away from top ten names, I didn't mind if it was top ten but not trendy. Andrew fit that. Other favorites were Adam and Noah (though Noah was starting to get kinda popular).<br />Girls were harder. In both cases I wanted a name that was maybe a little old-fashioned and not popular, but also had a bit of strength. Also, a name thatI hadn't encountered as a classroom teacher was good. I tend to love Gaelic names, but they're generally hard to pronounce and Benny isn't the biggest fan of them, so while I used a Gaelic name for Helen's real name, we Americanized the spelling, and it's a name that also occurs in other cultures. I fact, by changing the spelling I think we actually made Helen's real name Russian. But I still tell people it's Irish. Ruthie's real name was chosen just becasue it's a beautiful old-fashioned, strong name that I happen to love. Of course, now it's getting more popular and it's just pissing me off. I also loved Sadie and Charlotte but they were vetoed by Benny.<br />Middle names were picked because we wanted to honor certain relatives.<br />In the case of either gender, three things were of vital importance. The first was that the name be a strong name that could carry the child through life. A name that's cute wehen she's four might sound pretty stupid when she's 40. And also, it needed to sound good with our last name. And by that I mean just the first and last name together need to sound good, and the whole first-middle-last need to sound good. And it had to be a name I really loved. Nothing I was "settling" on.<br />So what was your process? Even if you don't usually comment, I want to hear from you! I'm really curious about this! Did you want a nickname? If you have more than one, did you care if they "went together"? Tel me, tell me!emmayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16065235187894332297noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247236409025032587.post-33728795837519801332009-04-07T10:03:00.002-04:002009-04-07T10:22:39.266-04:00Make me an offer I can't refuse...So things are getting ugly here in our house. Helen is increasingly unhappy with the crackdown. And I believe we've been threatened. We're having a horrible time getting her to stay in her bed at night, and then <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">gettingh</span> er to STAY ASLEEP!!! (Isn't the statute of limitations over for regular and repeated night waking...she's three for God's sake!) So anyway, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Beenny</span> and I have each gotten up repeatedly over the last few nights to try to figure out what is wrong with Helen, who refuses to speak to us. She just whines. And not in that "I'm hurting" or "I'm scared" kinda way. Rather it is that "I am just waking up and whining to PISS YOU OFF" kinda way. And piss me off it does. Things here at about 12:30 last night were way ugly. I am not happy when I am awoken, especially by a whining three year old who woke me up for no good reason. When I put her to bed, I reminded her that she needed to stay in bed, and she needed to sleep and not wake Mommy and Daddy up. She understood that and agreed. But she got up anyway. And I told her to go back to bed, but I didn't go upstairs. Lately she's been <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">stealthing</span> around upstairs, making her way to our room <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">where</span> she doesn't belong and doing other things she should not. be. doing. She had been told to stay out of our room, after we found lotion smeared on our new bedspread, my earplugs missing, and tissues <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">scattered</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">around</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">the</span> rug. The other day I found some black <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">foam</span> strips on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">the</span> bathroom sink. I assumed Benny was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">embarking</span> on <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">some</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">sort</span> of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">project</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">and</span> left <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">them</span> there. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Later</span>, when i <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">asked</span> him <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">about</span> them, he <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">didn</span>'t <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">know</span> what I was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">talking</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">about</span>. We eventually figured out that they were <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">striops</span> that he had put on the door frame of Helen's <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">door</span> to keep the door from banging. Helen has decided to remove them from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">the</span> door <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">frame</span> and left them int he bathroom for us. We told her they were helping to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">keep</span> her door quiet <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">and</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">she</span> needed to leave them there, and Benny adhered them to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">the</span> door frame again. Last night, after Helen had finally <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">gone</span> to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31">sleep</span>, I went to go into our room <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32">and</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33">was</span> stopped in th<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_34">e</span> doorway by the foam strips, pulled from the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_35">doorway</span> of<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_36"></span> Helen's door again, and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_37">placed</span> on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_38">the</span> thresho<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_39">ld</span> of our bedroom. Like some <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_40">kind</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_41">of</span> warning to us. "Take things back to<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_42"></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_43">the</span> way they were...or else." I am taking great comfort in knowing that H<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_44">elen</span> is nowhere near strong enough to lift the head of a horse.emmayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16065235187894332297noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247236409025032587.post-30818834249740986362009-04-06T17:56:00.003-04:002009-04-06T22:28:42.108-04:00I cavedAnyone who knows me well knows I detest character clothing. Perhaps this is a remnant of my days working in day care: I recall a little girl coming in and proudly showing off her Pocahontas sneakers. Before the movie was even released. I was so disgusted by this (and other examples of flagrant over marketing to young children) that I swore I would not dress my children in character clothing. Actually, I make the exception at underwear and pajamas, which I guess means that maybe some of my issue is about the fact that I think a lot of the stuff is ugly (do I need to take a picture of the shiny brown Disney Princess hand-me-down tracksuit with the rainbow stripes to prove my point?). And poorly made. (Does not bode well for my consignment selling). Either way, Helen was NOT getting the Dora swimsuit she has persistently requested each and every time we have been to Target in the last month. Well, yesterday we went shoe shopping. More specifically, Easter dress shoes for Ruthie and summer sandals for both. We went to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Payless</span> first, where I accidentally bought Ruthie a par of Hannah <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Montana</span> boots on clearance. I'm sure you're wondering how someone <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">accidentally</span> purchases a pair of boots. Well, they were on clearance, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">in the</span> size I anticipate her to be next year, and they are kinda cute. So I picked them up out of the box and said "Look, honey, do you like these?" at which <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">point</span> she looked at the box and screamed "Hannah Montana!" Oops. I hadn't <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">looked</span> at the box....just the boots. And the big kicker here is that we don't watch Hannah Montana. I know there is nothing offensive about the show, but I don't need my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">pre</span>-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">schooler</span> looking to teenagers as role models just yet. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">KWIM</span>? So anyway, we got the boots. They don't <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">actually</span> say HM on them anywhere, so I can <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">live</span> with that. I do beleive I saw Benny roll his eyes when Ruthie arrived home toting an enormous HM box.<br />On to Target for sandals. I found a pair for Helen immediately. She didn't want them. Because she wanted the Princess sandals and the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Princess</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">shoes</span> and the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Dora</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">sneakers</span> and the Dora sandals and the Dora <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">crocs</span>. Sigh. After trying <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">desperately</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">and</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">unsuccessfully</span> to divert her attention to th<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">e</span> sandals that were <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">pretty</span> and white <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">and</span> had NO <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">FRICKIN</span> CHARACTERS on them, she <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">steered me</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">back</span> over to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">the</span> character shoe <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">section</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">where</span> she found a<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28"></span> lovely (note the sarcasm here) pair of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">strappy</span> pastel metallic sandals.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51pl6qqknLL._AA260_.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 214px;" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51pl6qqknLL._AA260_.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /></div> See the Dora on the bottom there. Dora brand. She tried them on and I almost let her get them, but then I regained consciousness. Then she found these:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/41fgv-5VHGL._AA260_.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 260px; height: 260px;" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/41fgv-5VHGL._AA260_.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>And of course my first instinct was to scream "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD CHILD HAVE YOU NO DIGNITY?!!" But I fought that, and tried instead to gently dissuade her. Helen will not be dissuaded, gently or otherwise. I realized pretty soon that she was never going to forget the fact that she wanted these shoes. And I could either be badgered every day for the next 15 years until she moves out of my house, or I could buy her the damned shoes and hope that nobody noticed she was wearing Dora <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">crocs</span>. Which is what I did. But they're hot pink. And they have a huge Dora head on them. And in case they don't notice, Helen points them out to everyone she meets. "Look at my Dora shoes."<br />But as a mom who shares my view on character clothes noted today, Helen stared at her shoes the whole way down the path at the front of Ruthie's school. So I guess that, in the end, buying her those shoes was okay.emmayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16065235187894332297noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247236409025032587.post-40041795030495513472009-04-03T18:03:00.005-04:002009-04-03T19:20:29.742-04:00The Gloves are OFF....and my hands hurt. (not literally, folks)Okay, here's the thing....Helen is one of those kids who will make you laugh 23 hours out of the day. She says things that you don't expect out of a little, tiny person...she does things that are just frickin hilarious. But she can border on obnoxious. And I've been around little kids long enough to know that if you keep laughing a them when they're three and hilarious and a little precocious, they keep it up. Even when they turn seven, and no longer so tiny and adorable, and they are now full-blown snots. And so it was with a heaving sigh that I announced that we needed to crack down on Helen before she became one of these incorrigible snots. So last night, when I put her to bed, I told her in no uncertain terms that if she got out of her bed, I would be closing her bedroom door. She got out of bed. Twice. So I closed her bedroom door. And so the all-out screaming and kicking the door tantrum began. Benny wasn't home, so I was flying solo on this one. I had wanted nothing more than to put my children to bed and curl up on the couch for the series finale of ER. Thank God for tiVo, because the pause button got a lot of action last night. I went up and down the stairs, putting Helen back in her room and shutting the door, again and again, for two hours. And then Benny came home and put her to be and left her door open. And by the time I realized it, she was out cold. Thanks Buddy. Two hours of my life down the drain. He thought the point was to get her to fall asleep. That was NOT the point. The point was to let her know that Mommy said what Mommy meant. So now she knows: Mommy might mean what she says, but that doesn't mean Daddy will do something else. Helen's exhaustion, coupled with my exhasution and a downright depressing day in terms of weather, did nothing to improve my mood this morning, and made the day seem endless. And since Benny is getting home late tonight, I have fed the chldren. After he gets home, while he puts them to bed, I will run out and pick up our <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1010048/">movie</a>, already reserved courtesy of <a href="http://www.redbox.com/home.aspx">Red Box</a>, And then I'll make <a href="http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/2007/09/cooking_with_my_punk-ass_little_sister_penne_a_la_betsy/">this</a>. And we'll curl up on the couch with a nice big bowl if <a href="http://www.edys.com/brand/loaded/flavor.asp?f=2712&b=1417">this</a>. And THAT should make it all better.emmayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16065235187894332297noreply@blogger.com0