Alright, I'm ready to talk.

It's been nearly three months since Hurricane Katrina ripped through the gulf coast like an angry mother who had just lost her only child...funny analogy, don't you think? Seeing as how that bitch wiped out hundreds of children, broke up thousands of families, killed thousands of men and women (most of whom were impoverished, disabled, or elderly), and left nearly one million homeless?? Most of the links I saved over the past few months are no longer available, thank goodness really. There are parts of this tragedy that I don't want to relive, nor do I want you to either.

I JUST DON'T WANT ANYONE TO FORGET.

I stumbled across this RN's blog following the hurricanes, and it still brings me to tears. I remember stories from the March of Dimes local chapter repeating the same issues faced by this woman. No one was in charge, yet everyone was in charge. If you wanted something done, you had to DO IT YOURSELF. It's during times of tragedy that we have the opportunity of seeing the beauty of the human spirit. When others turned their backs, there were those who opened their hearts and made a difference. I am talking about ordinary citizens. From doctors to car mechanics, police officers to taxi drivers, nursery leaders to the ATF...everyone was on the same playing field the day that storm hit. I was disappointed in National Disaster Organizations (like the one with the red cross on it? yeah, that one), I was disappointed by the organization "in charge" (like the one with Government stamped all over it? yeah, that one), and yet...I am so overjoyed at the response of local citizens stepping up to the plate and making things happen. I am grateful to those who didn't take "no" for an answer. I am grateful to those citizens who got up when they were knocked down. And I am grateful to those Louisianans who are refusing to give up the fight. Welcome home.

The March of Dimes has committed to Hurricane Relief efforts, and I have been so impressed by their hard work. I have seen the difference they have made with my own eyes. They were even gracious enough to let me help. We are all here for the long haul, and no matter what...

WE WILL NOT FORGET.

Wh j kb

Little Miss says:
Hoy rpm (read: Holy crap!)
Little Miss says:
Hoy rp (read: Holy crap!)
Little Miss says:
The he (read: the keyboard)
Little Miss says:
My omputer I ii out (read: my computer is wiggin' out)
Barefoot says:
DO WHAT? (read: are you smoking cracK?)
Little Miss says:
The keybor I broke (read: the keyboard is broken)
Little Miss says:
Uhi…it I beepi (read: Umm, it keeps beeping)
Barefoot says:
NIIIIIIIIIIIIIICE (read: you stupid shit!)
Little Miss says:
Er your phoe bei (read: answer your phone beavis!)
Barefoot says:
YEAH, I’M TALKING WITH MY DAD, HE JUST GOT HOME
Little Miss says:
Oh, my keybor keep beepi it ot ork. (Oh, my keyboard keeps beeping, it won't work!)

*at which point Barefoot starts yelling "SHUT IT DOWN! IT'S GONNA BLOW!"
But I want to figure out what's making that noise!
"SHUT IT DOWN, NOW!!"
Fine. good bye.

**no computers were hurt during the writing of this post.

Now, for my REAL post, go visit Just Me.
I'll catch up on the holiday posts later.

I Just Don't Go There

While avoiding our children, Barefoot and I had this conversation earlier:

Barefoot says:
The girl cherub's nose is bleeding and the boy cherub is crying because she won't play with him. Selfish bitch
Little Miss says:
her nose was bleeding at our house the other night. what's up with that? just dry weather?
Barefoot says:
she has bad allergies, dr. gave us zyertec, but I never remember to give it to her. I suck
Little Miss says:
just wondering...do you spend most of your day trying to ignore your children like I do? or do you actually sit down and play games with them? and do art work together?
Barefoot says:
ignoring or hiding
Little Miss says:
what's the norm?
Barefoot says:
depends on who you ask
Little Miss says:
i knew you were going to say that.
Barefoot says:
yep, and the boy cherub is now singing about the girl cherub's nose bleed
Little Miss says:
I wonder how bad I suck. Maybe I need a mom-suck-o-meter to keep me on track
Barefoot says:
I just don't go there, I know it's bad
Little Miss says:
go where? actually getting involved with your kids daily activities? or sucking?
Barefoot says:
my level of suck-i-ness
Little Miss says:
i mean, like right now, Sweetie is still coloring at the table, Tiny's still napping...and i'm still right where i left them an hour ago. Am I the only mom who does this?
Barefoot says:
nope, I do it to
Little Miss says:
k, good, so long as my *BFF goes to hell with me...
Little Miss says:
i just don't want to be alone
Barefoot says:
cheif greeter, I tell you

*you'll have to ask Barefoot for what her version of this acronym means!

Hi, My Name Is

Hi. My name is Little Miss, and I have an addiction. I cannot leave a store without purchasing something of little consequence. That's right, I am addicted to shopping. I have entered into a twelve step program for this problem currently plaguing me (and my family). The steps are as follows:

1. Recognize you have a problem. (spending $122 when I only went in for a stick of deodorant and some tampons??)
2. Commit to making a change. (balancing the checkbook would be a great place to start.)
3. Confess. (um, honey, we're in debt, our account was overdrawn last week, and I want to buy some new clothes ?? no, crap. um, honey, please don't let me out of the house any more?? Done.)
4. Spend many sleepless nights fretting over fiscal matters.
5. Get a new system for paying bills, record keeping, and budgeting.
6. Cut up the credit cards. (and throw away at least one piece so I cannot possibly tape it back together again for online purchases. damn, that's good!)
7. Cut up the debit card. (ouch! that one was the kicker!)
8. Make a grocery list, and stick to it. (make a list, give it to my husband, and stay OUT of the store. check.)
9. Cash or check only.
10. No impulse buys allowed. (holy crap, did I REALLY commit to that one?!)
11. Stop eating out--the kids don't really need individual kids meals, they're 4, 2, and 1...seriously, we can all split an order of fries and a soda! (you mean they DON'T need a cheap toy that will break in ten minutes and cause total toddler meltdown??!! Whoah, that's deep!)
12. Stay home. No, seriously, don't tempt yourself with window shopping...it will only cause more pain. (feel like shopping? Then Go To The Gym, and kick my own ass!)

Now you know how I'll be spending my time...NOT SHOPPING.

blogging, working out, playing taxi driver to my three munchkins, not shopping, going to the gym and not entering the pro shop they have at the front, driving right past the mall and not shopping, napping, playing with the kids, skipping the garage sales, chasing the dog in the back yard, blogging, bathing the damn dog instead of having her groomed, not going into Petco and buying stuff for the dog, blogging, surfing the web and not shopping, talking on the phone, listening to the radio and trying to win free cash (FOR SAVINGS-- PEOPLE), oh! and then there's not shopping.

Bubbles Rise, plip, plip, plip.

Tonight's post is brought to you by:
(click on picture for more details)

My son has not been sleeping well (as many of you already know by now), and he is still complaining that his tummy hurts. He lifts up his shirt and cries. Tonight, while eating dinner, he leaned forward and farted several times. Later, still crying that his tummy hurt, daddy gave him some hugs...and he farted again. So the next time he fussed, my husband grabbed him and said, "put your butt in the air, buddy...there you go."

[picture this]: he puts my son on his lap with his head down and bum up. He.is.hugging.my.son's. derriere! The odd thing?-- he sat there for a long time, and I'm sure his tummy DID feel better after a little help from gravity...meanwhile my tummy hurt from giggling myself into a silent fit!

*When you tell your son to fart in your face to make his tummy feel better, THAT'S the love only a parent can give.

Speechless.

I don’t even have anything to blog about. How lame is THAT? I could tell you about the horrendous gas our family has been experiencing (my daughter was the reason for driving with our windows down while going 70 mph down the freeway), but I’m not in the mood. I could tell you about my son going potty for the First Time Ever on his little playschool throne, but he’s only done it one time since then (and even THAT was an accident).

I could tell you about the waterbed I've had since I was three years old, and the painful death it suffered over the weekend. And how I was crushed to see the garbage man whisk it away and crush it along with all the other rotten food, dirty diapers, and waste. Now that wonderful little bed, (the one I learned to tie my shoes on while sitting at the edge of my brand new bed-- the one my mom used to cuddle me in during the middle of the night-- the one I used to imagine there were alligators underneath so I had to literally jump from the door to my bed and then line up all my animals and dolls along the edges so the alligators wouldn't get me-- the one I used to pretend was my stage-- the one I could just sink my body into and never feel that level of comfort anywhere else in this world-- the one I used to cry on when my heart was broken-- the one fitted with my Care Bear sheets (my pillow with Rainy Day Bear, the moon, and stars on one side, Funshine Bear and the sun on the other)-- my other set of sheets with Rainbow Brite, my pink bedspread with Holly (that little pioneer girl with a bonnet)-- the one that used to leak right in the middle of the bed and I sometimes forgot about until I sat down into a pool of cold water-- the one my mom and I used to put cleaning solution into then roll out all the air bubbles-- the one my mom used to stay up with me during all hours of the night helping me to cram for that science test the next day-- the one that I slept on throughout my childhood and high school years-- the one I took to college, and the one I gave to my daughter when she graduated from her crib at the sweet age of 17 months old...) now that same bed is lying somewhere in a rotting, disgusting, fly and mosquito infested swampland we call a dump. Am I sad? Yes. Did I think I would be so affected by this? No. It comes as a complete shock to me too, so you're not alone.

I could tell you about ALL those things, but I'm simply too tired. The kids have not been sleeping well, my stomach still isn't right, we have no savings because I suck at budgeting, I miss my mom, I wanted to sell my dog to the gypsies today, I have a yucky cut on my forehead from Tiny striking me with a "childsafe block," (and now it's infected and looking stupid), my hair is in need of some attention, I get my feelings hurt way too easily, and the kids have not been sleeping...did I mention that one?

Okay, then. I'm done.

What Is Sleep Without ...um, any sleep?

Second night in a row with no sleep. NONE.

Do you hear what I'm trying to tell you?? The prince.is.marrying.the.seawitch.in.disguise!!

The girl is feeling better. Her fever broke yesteday. By the afternoon however, I was feeling sick. I'd be changing a diaper, then start to dry heave...so off to the kitchen sink I went. Meanwhile, the kids were LAUGHING at the sound of my insides wretching; they thought it was HILARIOUS. And then the baby started to fake barf! She'd throw her head back, stick out her tongue, and say, "blalahggugh", then giggle. Nnnnice.

(Here I am, barfing into the sink, laughing at my children, and calling my husband on the phone so he can hear what's going on!!--I wouldn't want him to miss out on this PRICELESS family time, now would I?!)

Anyway, the boy woke up screaming that HIS tummy hurt last night. I wanted to be in there if he was going to throw up, so I climbed into bed with him. I was convinced that if he just held still long enough, he'd fall asleep. No such luck. He thrashed around, cried, kicked his feet, screamed, drifted off long enough for me to finally fall asleep, then start the cycle all over again. And by 3:45 a.m. he was saying he wanted to get up. He wanted "chickin en fries and watch cardoons".

EXCUSE ME??!! Cartoons aren't even on at that time of night! Chickens aren't even awake at that time of night!! Naughty shows and infomercials are still airing at that time of night!!! WTH was he thinking?

*The only thing worse than not getting any sleep is TRYING.
~little miss

That's Love, Sam.

Three bottles of Gatorade: check.
Two liters of Ginger Ale: check.
Ten loads of laundry in one night: check.
One can of Lysol: check.
One dispenser of hand sanitizer: check.
One pallet on the livingroom floor: check.
Disposable pillows: check.
Handful of Tylenol: check.
Box of Saltine crackers: check.
Homemade chicken noodle soup: who do you think I am? Betty Crocker? Martha Stewart? no, that's my mom!
Cup-o-noodles chicken flavor: check.

My four year old said her tummy hurt really, REALLY bad. She thought she needed to go potty, so off she went. Soon I heard her crying. I went in and hugged her...that's when it hit. "BAUGHLEHHH!" Puke, all over the back of my hair, my shoulders, my back, the floor...at which point I just continued to hug her and say, "it's ok, honey, throw up all that yucky stuff...shhhh, shhhhh, shhhh."...(thinking to myself how amazing it is that this gut reaction comes so naturally to mothers when it involves her own children)... And yes, all the while still sitting with her pants around her ankles and arms around my neck...poor baby!

*Damn! And here I thought we had narrowly escaped the barfamillion plague that has been going around our preschool friends. I think it's hit every family this side of the Mississippi. Alas, they saved the best for last! (We wouldn't want to be left out, now would we?!)

UPDATE: 10 times in 2 1/2 hours! 10 times!! Is it possible for a little girl to barf up her entire GI tract? I think she's headed in that direction.

Who's Scared of the Light?

Ok, there are two versions to this story, but it doesn't matter. I'll just tell you mine, and we'll leave it at that.

Last week, I put my kids down for a nap, and then I crawled under my covers for a little rest. (BIG surprise, I know.) Anyway, I woke up to the sound of the back door closing. I sat up thinking it was my husband, but realized he was still teaching...then I heard his footsteps on the kitchen floor. I laid back down, fully expecting him to come in and kiss me, tell me class was cancelled, and that would be that. I waited...and nothing. I finally got up and went into the kitchen...nothing, the computer room...nothing. (The panic was really beginning to rise by this point...) I rushed into my kids rooms to see if maybe they were out of bed...and nothing. It wasn't my husband, the dog was with me, and my kids were asleep. I called the two people I know who might feel comfortable enough to just walk into my house unannounced...and nothing. (Neither of them would even lie to me about it to calm my fears! wth??)

Of course the next day, I scheduled an appointment with a home security company. He brought in his entire demo and sales book, (I didn't have the heart to tell him he had me at "hello"...he was obviously new to the business, and I'm sure I was one of his first sales), so an hour and a half later, we were finally signing paperwork. Then he told me the next available appointment for installation was five days away. FIVE DAYS?!

Did he not understand that I now have panic attacks in the middle of the day?! One minute, I'm fine... feeling confident...doors are locked...kids go to bed, then...BAM! The Panic Button Has Been Activated. I panic at the sound of the back door opening and closing, especially if it's during daylight hours! As soon as my kids are in bed, (it's like clockwork), my palms start to sweat, I jump at every gust of wind, and my "down time" has been turned over to the fear of some dumbshit neighbor kid walking into my house. I freak out every time I hear anyone outside...we live in the freakin' suburbs, people!! We have neighbor kids! We have moms who push their babies in jogging strollers! We have grandparents who walk their dogs around the entire block every time they need to urinate! And who the hell gets scared in the middle of the day anyway?! HUH??!!

*************************************

Well, I'd like to invite you all to just try to get into my house NOW! Go ahead, open the door. Or better yet, open a window. C'mon, it'll be fun. And when the security company calls to ask for the verbal password to cancel the alarm, you can tell them it's "get the fuck outta my house!"

Suck My Big Toe!

The night before last, while frantically trying to fix a late dinner for three unruly children, my Tiny decided to get into the pots and pans. I generally approve of this idea because A) it keeps her entertained and B) it keeps her out of my way. This time however, she decided to pull out the large skillet, (and seeing as how it weighs nearly half as much as she does), she dropped it on her foot. At first, I thought the loud noise just startled her...and then I noticed "the cry" (you know the one...the-I-can't-breath-because-I'm-screaming-so-hard cry)...so I picked her up...and that's when I noticed the blood, the swelling, and the purple color under her big toenail.

*for those of you who don't know me, I'm a huge hypochondriac, especially when it comes to my children. I automatically think the worst, and I like to play on the "safe side." I can't stand the thought of neglecting an injured or sick child that truly needed medical attention...I've already lost my mother of the year award, I can't afford to push my luck.

So I did what any normal girl would do. I called my dad (aka the family E.R. doc). He said that due to the amount of cartilage still present in a baby's foot, it probably wasn't broken. I should just give her some Motrin, and she should be fine. Well...about an hour after putting her to bed, she started screaming. When I went into her room, she was holding her foot in the air and wailing like I've never heard before. I felt so bad! (And due to my over-compulsive tendencies to rush to the doctor at the first sign of a homeostatic upset...I did just that.) I rushed her to the doctor.

And then after an hour of holding a screaming, thrashing, crying, tired, and pissed-off one year old, (and of course wishing that I had simply listened to my father in the first place), it was determined that she indeed had a slight fracture, but there wasn't much they could do. At some point, she may need to have her toenail drilled to relieve the pressure. But for now, I'm just supposed to give her some Motrin, and she should be fine. (Gee...where did I hear that before??)

Poor baby! Now she walks on the side of her right foot, she pushes her Tigger-on-wheels with one foot, and she whimpers any time we have to put shoes or socks on her feet.

*And yes, Dad, I did expose her to unecessary radiation, I did indeed waste my $25 co-pay, I did not learn anything new (except that Tiny does NOT like the oximeter being placed on her foot), and we did lose nearly three hours of decent sleep...all because I am an overprotective, overcompulsive, self-absorbed and can't-listen-to-a-damn-thing-I'm-told hypochondriac, but I can't help it...I was born this way!

I Already Wrote This Post!

Didn't you get it? The one with all the cute pictures of my munchkins on Halloween? You know, the really long one with the cute stories to go along with them?

No? Well, maybe that's because Blogger sucks and lost my post!

*if you see scooby-doo, briar rose, and a bat flying around together in blogosphere, please send them back. They belong to me! Thanks.