Blog thievery

Sounds like some thing a pirate would do.
Alas, I am linking you to another blog today. It's a blog post from a local "celebrity" blog. I'll not say how we know her, or who those people are. Just in case you have no idea.
I swear I don't know these people.

Parlez vous francais? Non

So I'm trying to figure out how to get to France this summer. There are two reasons I want to go. My sister will be there for the summer, which is the common denominator for both reasons. First, she plans to bring my father with her. He's dead. So she'll be bringing his ashes. He passed away suddenly in 2004, and for the last 4 1/2 years, his cremated remains have spent the majority of their time in Sis's closet or my basement. We won't give them to our brother because of the very high likelihood that his wife would throw them away. She is a neat freak. We never purchased an urn or anything. Really, we had no clue AT ALL what we were supposed to do when he died. My parents divorced years ago, and it was left to his historically underachieving and irreverent offspring to find him a final resting place. We had him cremated because we had no idea what else to do with him and had to make a quick decision. I've felt guilty about him being in my basement, but I did bring him up for the 2008 Super Bowl to see the last quarter of a TOTALLY FANTASTIC GAME (won by his fave team, the NY Giants, in case you were living under a rock that year). And I don't even really like football. But I digress.
My dad was a huge cycling fan and my sis's idea was that, since she'll be in France anyway, she'll scatter some of his ashes on the route when the Tour de France is in Paris. Totally brilliant idea (thought that same feeling may not be shared by the cyclists or spectators who would run the risk of inhaling the bone fragments of my deceased pere...that's french for dad...I think.). I'd really like to be there for that (the scattering, not the inhaling), but I have no money. Sigh. Benny tells me to stop shaving my armpits becasue that's the closest I'm getting to France anytime soon. Fermez la bouche, buddy.
But the other, more pressing reason I want to go to France is because my sister is spending the ENTIRE summer living with a French family doing God knows what in a country where the primary language spoken is one she has consistently proven herself inept at speaking and understanding. My sister SUCKS at French. She's failed graduate level French a couple of times I believe, primarily becasue she couldn't pass the final exam. And this semester she tried to audit the class and I think they asked her not to come back. So she is under the potentially catrastrophic impression that completely inmmersing herself in French language will make her a natural. Too f'ing funny.
I'm not sure this poor host family has any idea that she is so lacking when it comes to basic communication in French. Seriously, it'll be like having a five foot four inch infant in their house. She might need to resort to crying when she is hungry. Or maybe she should just practice her pictionary skills. That's universal right? So I just want to be there to watch all this because I would find it really, really funny. I means seriously funny. Funny enough that instead of underwear, I would pack Depends because I think I would be wetting myself on a regular basis. It would be like a weeklong overseas comedy show. And I know my sister well enough to know that my hysteria over her lack of fluency would produce equivalent fits of hysteria in her as well. We would be like two mentally ill Americans walking around in Paris, doubled over and crying, possibly curled up in the fetal positon at the base of the Eiffel Tower. That would do so much to improve foreign relations, because they love us already. And honestly, think of the blog posts. Just think of it!! So to all of you readers who want to spend the summer reading hilarious posts about two noncommuniucative American tourists in France, consider donating cash or frequent flier miles, in the interest of entertainment. For now, I'm going to set up a lemonade stand. In the 30 degree weather. Au revoir!

Five years later...One week late

Lat week was Ruthie's birthday. Her fifth. To me, that seems like a huge milestone. Every birthday, I think back to the day she was born (as I assume all mothers do.) And I relive moments of that day again and again. And inevitably I cry. Sometimes a little. Sometimes a lot. This year, I felt this strong pull to take the girls up to the NICU that day. That's where her story began, and I wanted the people who were such a vital part of her beginning to celebrate and share in our joy. We brought them cookies, and we brought them brownies and we brought them some pretty big smiles. I'm pretty sure seeing the grinning faces of "their babies" makes their day each and every time someone comes back to visit. We visit there a few times a year, but this is the first time I've felt a compelling need to be there on a certain day. All the way over, my eyes were filling with tears. It wasn't even a specific thought or memory that was striking me. It was just the whole emotion of it. Remembering how small she was, how scared we were, how sad we were that we couldn't bring her home, yet how happy we were that she was alive. And to look at her now, I am constantly reminded that she is a complete miracle. I can never express the enormity of my gratitude for the NICU staff for saving my babies, and for the fact that they were born when they were. In a time when saving a baby who could fit in the palm of your hand isn't an impossibility. I promised myself I would write a letter to my girls on their birthdays every year. Hasn't. happened. yet. So here we go...a week late, but true as ever.

Dear Ruthie,
I cannot believe it has been five whole years since you came into our lives. Then, it was still the first half of the decade. Now it's nearly the end of the decade. Five years. It's not fifty. But it's a milestone to me. I remember looking at you and feeling such an overwhelming sense of love for you, and an overwhelming sense of sadness. It was so difficult to look at you and wonder, first, if you were going to live. Then to wonder if you'd ever be able to run and play, talk and sing like a little girl should. My worries were for naught, because you are five now, and you are just like every other five year old I know. You are amazed at the world around you, and you are so eager to learn all that you can. You are curious, you are sweet, you are loving. You are also so very feisty and stubborn when you want to be. As infuriating as this is, I try to stop and remind myself that were it not for this spunk, you might not have had the strength to get yourself out of a rough spot. You might have had a harder time. Or you might not have made it at all.
Moms I know, who had their babies "when they were supposed to", and who took them home a few days later, often remark on how awful it must have been for us. I'll never deny it. It was awful. Every day of it. Leaving you every night never got easier. In fact, as we got to know you, it became even harder. But it was worth every bit of heartache, because look at you now. You are all a five year old should be. You love to dance, you love to sing. You love to play with your little sister. And you love to torment her too. You love to build things, and you love to figure things out. You write your name like a pro. And you find letters everywhere you go. You are full of questions. You love to pretend. Sometimes you are a princess, or a ballerina. Or a builder. Or a mommy yourself, tucking your baby dolls in for the night, telling them that you love them. And you love to tell me that you love me. And each time you do, I know that it doesn't matter how hard the beginning was. It only makes me realize more how lucky I am today. I love you baby girl. More than you even know.
Love,
Mommy

AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH

I am drowning in things to do today. Drowning. And I have a very cranky 5 year old on hand to make things alittle easier for me. And tonight is my volunteer night. But I refuse to break my Lenten promise, so this little blurb will have to suffice as my post for today. See ya.

Daylight Screwings

Daylight Savings is catching up with me today. My children were completely exhausted and took almost 3 hour naps. I did not have that luxury today. (Well, I fell asleep but only seven minutes before the time went off, reminding me to get the little boy I watch off the bus...that is really almost worse than no nap at all) so I am feeling a really nasty case of the wretcheds coming over me. It is not helped by the fact that my living room is filled with items needing to be tagged for the upcoming consignment sale. My goal was to have all 76 items of children's clothing/toys/equipment tagged by dinner time. Plan aborted when tags began printing the item descriptions in something I can only guess is Russian. After several attempts to fix this problem myself I put a call into Benny to get him to see if he could print from work. This plan (probably Plan Q by now) failed when he was prevented from disabling his pop-up blocker, thus making it impossible to print. So.....an email to the sale coordinator. Apparently this is a Firefox problem?? Thy are printing fine in IE, but not in enough time to clear the living room out before dinner. And dinner??? White trash night here. Hot dogs, baked beans and Kraft mac n cheese. That should make me happy. I just regret my lack of thorough planning...I'd have made some kind of Twinkie casserole for dessert.
I'll post about Ruthie's birthday later. But I'll leave you with this gem....someone gave her a Mickey Mouse karaoke book with a microphone. This is NOT helping my mood at all.
I think I smell burning beans.

Pin Drop

I am alone in my house. This almost never happens. Maybe three or four times a year. I was going to clean the basement but my iPod is on the fritz. Cannot do a serious, heavy-duty clean without iPod. I'm nearly positive that Benny forgot to give the children lunch before he took them out visiting, Oh well. They're bug enough to tell him if they're hungry. Not a problem now anyway. So what will I do alone in my house? I think, given the lack of hot dog buns, which kills my plan to kick back with a deliciously adorned frankfurter, I will cook some frozen dumplings and watch a murder show. Bliss.

There is a God!!

Went to the eye doctor with Helen and Ruthie on Wednesday. I am beyond thrilled to report that Helen does NOT need glasses. Relief is not a strong enough word. This is far less about the worries I had with Ruthie (that her beautiful sky blue eyes would be hidden, that she couldn't wear her beloved sunglasses anymore, that I just didn't want her to have that responsibility/annoyance that comes with having glasses) and much more about the fact that I had no frigging clue how I would keep them on her face. Ruthie, while not always compliant, is easier to persuade. Not Helen. She's been insistent on picking out her own clothes since she was barely two. When she has her mind set on something, there is no convincing her otherwise. And she had made it pretty clear to us that she would have none of this whole wearing glasses business. I barely remember Ruthie's portion of the doctor visit, because the fearful pounding of my heart as we awaited Helen's turn prevented me form hearing almost anything. But alas, my worry was for naught. Helen doesn't even need to go back to the eye doctor, unless her eyes start spontaneously crossing, or she develops wall-eye, or some other manifestation of her mother's f***ed up eye sight. Phew.

20/20

It's 8:45 a.m., and I already have a tray of chocolate chip cookies in the oven. Impressed? The bake-a-thon continues.

I have to take the girls to the eye doctor today. I'm terrified that Helen is going to need glasses. Ruthie is soooo good about her glasses, but I know we'd have a much harder time convincing Helen to keep them on. When her father told her she might need glasses and she would have to listen to the eye doctor, she turned to him and said "blah, blah, blah." Then she told me she wouldn't get glasses, she'd just get contacts. I'm pretty sure she isn't three. She's a fifteen year old trapped in a very tiny body. And yes, I know we're screwed.

Oh, and DH's comment when I alluded to the fact that Helen getting glasses was a possibility: "No. I'm not going to have two kids in glasses." Um, okay buddy. Let's see how you work that one out if she needs them.

The Agony of Defeat

This morning has easily been one of the worst in recent memory. Ruthie has been completely unbearable and impossible the last two mornings. This morning was worse. I don't have time to get into the details now, but trust me. It sucked. In fact, when I dropped er off at school and it was nearing time for me to go, she burst into tears. She never, ever does that. Ever. She knew that we had reached a new level of awful mornings. Of course, she has herself to thank for that. But I don't know if she completely gets that. I'm utterly confused and I feel completely defeated. And it isn't even 9 a.m. I'll try to post the rest of the details alter, but today is shaping up to be hell on all fronts. I have to take Helen to "library school." It's not school, but she thinks it is. Then we have to get Ruthie from school, inhale lunch, drive over to Benny's work so he can take the girls while I go for pulmonary testing and chest x-rays. And then I'm supposed to do my volunteer thing at the NICU tonight. It's at the same hospital where the pulmonologist is, but I don't know if I'll have it in me to stay.
At least American Idol is on tonight.

Woohoo!

I figured out that if I disabled adblocker plus on this page, I got all of my edit buttons back....yay!
So later I will be able to add pictures of the butterfly cupcakes I am making for Ruthie's class party on Thursday. Because I am a moron and get myself way in over my head, I need to bake the following this week: 24 + butterfly cupcakes, 2 double pans of brownies, 1-2 large batches of chocolate cookies, and one Ariel mermaid cake. So far, I have made the candy butterfly wings, and I have the first double pan of brownies in the oven. Thank God it's cold enough here that I can store it all in the garage until it's needed on Thursday and Saturday. Is this what all parents do when their oldest turns five? Or is it that preemie mom overcompensation thing? Or is this not so much that, but is it "Celebrate my tiny little sick baby girl turning five and being totally healthy!" I think it's the last one.