Category: blessings

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And Still, I Gestate

Joe and I went to the baby’s first ultrasound yesterday. Because I’ve been on bed rest (and going insane) the bleeding had subsided by Wednesday evening, which meant we could have the ultrasound on Thursday afternoon.

Everyone was very nice. I tend to read too much into things so I think they were treating me with the uber-nice set of bedside manner skills. And I jump from there to the conclusion that they think I’m going to lose this baby so they treat me with more smiles, arm squeezes and shoulder pats. Either that, or I really am just so incredibly charming and don’t know it.

Here is Exhibit A:

uterus

Here are the two scenarios they gave me.

1) My uterus is reabsorbing the fetus. I will continue to bleed until I manifest a full miscarriage in the next two weeks. No amount of bed rest, Wikka, prayer or hocus-pocus will do anything to stop it from happening.

or

2) I really DID have the flu for 3 weeks, took the first home pregnancy test the very same day that the egg implanted and by some stroke of luck my hCG was high enough to show positive along with the next five tests. This would put me at only 5 weeks pregnant, which could account for not being able to see anything in the gestational sack. Which, as you can see by the blue arrow in the above illustration of my uterus, is mostly empty save for a few ribbons of something near the bottom. Which would be wrong for 8 weeks.

So, either we lose the baby over the next 2 weeks or we go back for an ultrasound in 3 to see if anything has changed in there. You can guess which one we are hoping for.

Thank you so much for all your comments, emails, letters and packages of encouragement. Your support means so much to us. If I don’t answer you, it’s just because I don’t know what to say right at the moment. My mental health seems to be a bit teetering on the edge and I’m really concentrating on keeping it together. Thanks for understanding.

Much love,
lpc

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Bed Restlessness

Because I have been stuck in bed for the past few days, I have been absorbing way more than any person should know about Goldie (actually very smart!) and Kate (as sweet as she appears!), J-Lo (actually has a legitimate music career!), Cameron Diaz (i would like my ass to look like hers in roos!), the right way to fold a t-shirt courtesy of Martha Stewart (i don’t care! i roll mine!), who incidentally, licked jam off of David Letterman’s finger last night (it looked like blood!), watching Kelly Ripa pick a splinter out of Regis’s foot, (I AM NOT A FOOT PERSON!!) and watching episodes of Project Runway that I’ve seen probably five times but still enjoy way too much (yay! vincent is finally out!).

A very thoughtful person sent me a box of books, music and even a game to help my mind not turn into a bowl of oatmeal. Thank you, Amy. And, my husband thanks you since it keeps me from being quite as crabby.

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I'm Growing a Human

So, funny story.

Joe and I quit trying to have a baby sometime during last year since it didn’t seem to be working out too well. Add to that the fact that my PCOS seems to not really ever give me a clear picture of when I’m going to have my period or when my period is actually happening, since it can start and stop over the course of a few weeks, just in time to start again, and you can see why we are sort of, no, really surprised to find that we’re expecting a human in about 7 months.

Are you ready for the cliché moment?
I thought I had some kind of bug that was going around.

But one night, after being sick on and off for about two weeks, we went out with a friend and my glass of wine tasted weird. And then the next morning, when my stomach wasn’t really upset and I should have been able to eat breakfast fine, the coffee made me want to hurl. And then I was suspicious. Because, dude. I like wine and coffee.

I took a home pregnancy test. And then I did 5 more, different brands, because I kept not believing it and thought that somehow, I was getting all the broken ones and the next one, the REAL one, would tell me I wasn’t. But it didn’t happen.

Last week, I was spotting and having lower backaches, which historically for me has been a sign of impending miscarriage. But by Thursday, that was all gone and in it’s place is this completely irrational emotional behavior, which I guess was rearing it’s ugly head as early as last weekend when I freaked out over the BBQ. It went something like this:

Me: Devon, we need eggs! Go get some eggs!
The world as we know it will end if I don’t have eggs to make potato salad!

Joe: Dev says he has to finish putting together the BBQ so he doesn’t want to go.
Why are my wife’s eyes so wide open? Is that foam on the side of her mouth?

Me: But I need eggs!
Why aren’t you offering to go get the eggs? Don’t you love me??

Joe: Well, what do you need the eggs for?
uuuuuuhhhhh?

Me: What do mean? I want to make potato salad!
How dare you ask me what I need eggs for?? I NEED EGGS!!!

Joe: *sigh* I guess I could go.
*SIIIIIIIGHHHHHHHH*

Me: You know what? Forget it! I don’t need eggs. I just won’t make potato salad.
OH REALLY???? Oh, no you won’t. Not with that attitude, mister!

Joe: Seriously, I’ll go get some eggs.
Dude.

Me: NO! I don’t want eggs! It doesn’t matter!
Why are you trying to force me make potato salad?? Why do you hate me and treat me like a slave?

Joe: Leah. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do here. Do you want me to go buy the eggs or not?
Who is this woman?

Me: I can’t believe you are asking me that! I can’t BELIEVE you don’t know what I want you to do!!!
He will never understand me! Our marriage is over!

Joe: Um…..I’m going to go upstairs for a minute.
I need space away from this demon woman.

Me: Oh, fine! Ok, kids. I guess we have to have our BBQ without Joe!
He hates me!

Even as the hyper-ridiculous verbiage was spewing out of my mouth, I knew it was dumb and making no sense! But my mouth – she just kept going. Joe came back downstairs in 3 minutes and helped the kids who were cowering in the corner to escape the room unnoticed where they all asked him what had happened to their mother. Yes, that day was super cool.

I can’t eat enough watermelon and the smell of chives makes me want to hurl. And if the store doesn’t have my favorite kind of shampoo, I will cry. I’ll also cry when my favorite pair of jeans is in the washer and I can’t wear them. And when the cell phone commercial comes on because that is just so sweet. And if there is any program on any station on the television that includes anything remotely connected to babies.

But not when I allow the sandwich bread to become soggy. No, in that case, I’ll just laugh and laugh and laugh. Until you wish I would cry and knock it off.

I suppose we could still lose this baby. Neither of us would be surprised because it has happened twice in the past few years. But we’re trying to project Positivity.

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It Was the Best of Times

ACT I

The day started out late.
I was impatiently waiting for what seemed like hours, but what was in fact, hours, for the kids to come home. They had been scheduled to arrive the previous night but the call of a sleepover was stronger than fresh sheets on their own beds. And me.
My consolation prize of at least getting to fix them a breakfast feast was quickly dashed when they did not show up early as promised. The oldest one called and re-promised their arrival very, very soon.
Three hours later, when all the afternoon plans I had made were no longer viable due to travel times, ending times and general time constraints, they rolled in, all smiles and happy to see me. All was forgiven.

ACT II

We watched movies for a bit and packed a picnic lunch of hoagie sandwiches, veggies and chips. Departing at 4:30 wasn’t the original plan, or even the third plan, but it worked. We got in the car and drove to Little Tokyo. First stop, Kinokuniya book store, where they carry things like little erasers that smell like peaches and the tiniest colored pencil set you’ve ever seen. Oh, yes, and lots of Manga.
Our last stop was the Hollywood Forever Cemetery where we were going to sit in the graveyard on blankets, watch an old movie and eat our delightful picnic.
When we drove to the gated entrance, I got out to ask the nice man if we were at the wrong gate since there didn’t seem to be any other cars lined up to go in. The very nice man told me in a very nice way that we had the wrong night and everyone else had come yesterday.

ACT III

We decided to not waste our evening. We’d go to Griffith Park and eat our picnic there. I mean, at least we still had our dinner. It wasn’t the end of the world by any means. Yes, my daughter was upset that she had worn her way-too-short jean skirt and leggings for nothing and my son kept asking if we could hurry up, turn around and head back for a movie at the Cineplex and another son was very upset not to sit on top of dead people for a few hours, but I knew all of them were team players and were actually going to have a lot of fun. Ahem.
We found the park fine and unloaded the picnic to the nearest table, which was in the shade and close to the bathrooms. Score! We set out the food and I passed everyone a sandwich.
So, here is a little tip from me to you. When you pack the sandwiches in the cooler and then add ice, the ice will melt. And if you haven’t made sure that the sandwiches are in a watertight environment, the sandwich bread is going to get soaked. Like, totally soaked. And then? No one wants to eat their sandwich. Including me.
One child, after lovingly sharing his feelings about the soggy bread, created a healthy, low-carb version of the sandwich by wrapping the lunchmeat in lettuce. We foster an innovative and creative environment wherever we go.
Most of us ate cucumber slices and carrots.
I don’t like BBQ flavored potato chips.
I laughed quite a bit throughout the picnic. It wasn’t all sane sounding.
All in all, the picnic was a success since we all hate bread, anyway. Not really. I love bread more than chocolate.

ACT IV

Day two. Let’s go, people! We only have one day left of this weekend! Let’s have some fun! NOW!
What? My yelling and freaking-out overall demeanor is not really helping to cultivate fun?
What? You’re scared of me? Why are you cowering in the corner?
Let’s get the BBQ started!
After Joe, Dev and Ty got the BBQ put together, (and here is a bonus tip: $17 BBQs might not be the best purchase. I’m just sayin’.) I was excited to cook up the hamburgers. Yes, excited. Suddenly, I wanted grilled hamburger more than anything else in the entire world. RRRrrrrorr! Meat!
But first, we had to light the briquettes without lighter fluid, since I forgot to buy some.
Unfortunately, no one knew how to do that. We tried many ways including rolled up corrugated cardboard, a saturation of Jack Daniels and when I wasn’t looking – gasoline courtesy of an impatient son who is now lucky to only be missing his arm hair. Who also happens to be in big trouble. (Those two things are not exclusive.)
After dousing the five-foot wall of flaming briquettes and then cleaning out the BBQ as much as we could, we tried again. This time, with store bought lighter fluid. Amazing difference.
Did you know that you are supposed to wait for about 45 minutes after the briquettes finish burning before they are hot enough to cook with? I vaguely remembered something about that. But in my carnivorous state, craving cow flesh as I was, my brain was not what it could have been, and I put the meat on immediately. Where is continued to be raw for 15 minutes. And then we took them inside and fried them on the stove in a pan in the kitchen. In the meantime, two of the kids had left to other commitments and missed out on the burgers. They missed out on the FUN! of being with ME!
I know, right?

EPILOGUE

I wish I had some really awesome finish to this story, but I don’t. We watched The Abyss and White Men Can’t Jump. I freaked out a few more times over completely dumb things. They all continue to forgive and love me.
I am the luckiest person in the whole world.

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Precious Moments

Sometimes when I’m with my children, I just can’t believe how lucky I am. I look around the room, or as is the case yesterday, the car via the rearview mirror, and I’m almost unable to breath, I feel so lucky. We were busy running to and fro and to and fro and fro again getting all the kids signed up at their respective schools, changing schedules, picking up books and doing all other manner of getting ready for school activities. There were peals of laughter, good-natured ribbing and their beautiful voices combining in song:

When you’ve got no place to go
And you feel it in your toes
Diarrhea
Diarrhea

When you’re wearing a white dress
And you feel a lumpy mess
Diarrhea
Diarrhea

When you’re standing in the trees
And you smell a stinky breeze
Diarrhea
Diarrhea

When you’re right next to a pole
And it’s coming out your hole
Diarrhea
Diarrhea

When you’re squatting in the hut
And it’s coming out your butt
Diarrhea
Diarrhea

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And She Bid You Adieu for a Short Time

I think my son may be too old for the Tooth Fairy when he walks up to me, shoves the tooth in my hand and demands a dollar. Methinks the shine has worn off the ritual a bit. And shouldn’t he be giving me a dollar? I paid for his dentist bills for that sucker.

I just took off a complete set of fake nails this evening. The beautiful white and long talons that once were are no more. Now, I have only the small stubs God gave me along with the chunky residue left behind from glue.

Digital Pixie rocks. She is doing some construction on BloggerNetwork.org and things are only going to get better.

I’ll be gone for a few days. My parents have gone and done stayed together for 49 years, which means next year will be their 50th wedding anniversary. Sounds kind of like a fairy tale, doesn’t it? I’m meeting my brother, who now lives in Missouri, at my parent’s home to do some filming, photo taking, scanning and printing in anticipation of the best darn video ever shown at any 50th celebration anywhere ever.

See you next Thursday. Miss me.
xo

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Hair

My daughter is sitting in the car, telling me all the things about her hair that she hates. She’s pointing out this strand and that strand, discussing color, highlights, non-existent split ends and the terrible, terrible length. Obviously something must be done. And done quick to avoid catastrophe before people see her later that night at the coolest party ever.

I suggest we drop into the local haircutting chain which rhymes with Poopercuts because they are cheap, close and cheap. You have never seen a look of such distain and disbelief in your entire life. She wailed and gnashed her teeth exclaiming that no one there would even have a real hair cutting license and that if one of them touched her hair it would never, ever look good again because they don’t know what they are doing and then she would be ugly and have no friends and it would ruin everything for ever and ever. And then she spontaneously combusted *poof* leaving only a charred mark on the passenger seat of the van. I told her we could go check the place that is more expensive and where there seems to be all manner of importantly tanned women with long, fake and shiny nails encrusted with jewels toddling around on high heels two sizes to small*, talking on their cell phones and carrying their tiny dogs in little purses. Why must this rant include small dogs? I don’t know, but it does.

After 2 hours and an unmentionable amount of money, of which she paid half because there is just no way I can justify paying that much for hair, she had the hair she had always wanted (for the past entire morning) and she gushed and looked at herself in the mirror all the way home pointing out how it was just exactly how she had always dreamed hair could look. I was pleased to have been able to facilitate this momentous occasion for her. And also, world peace.

Fast forward to the next morning when I pick her up from her friend’s house where she spent the night. She is tired from all the antics and lack of sleep. And then she asks me if I notice anything different about her. Now, I know that this is a historically bad question and the bane of the sexes in some circumstances. I’ve been asked how old I think someone looks and how much I would guess they weigh before creatively turning the conversation towards something safer like, oh I don’t know, penguins. Or Monopoly. But this is my first experience hearing it from my own daughter.

After a lengthy and uncomfortable pause, during which I’m trying to figure out how to remain calm when she tells me they snuck out last night and got matching tattoos with the words ‘Tiffany + Alex = BFF 4EVR’ across their hips, she interrupts me mid-nightmare-thought with, ‘My hair, mom! Look at my hair!’

Since I’m driving, and people that know me, love me and have my best interest at heart, Alex included, know that me just paying attention and going forward and staying within the dotted lines is sometimes as much as I can handle, she quickly follows it up with, ‘Wait. Look when we get to the light.’

The mile between that comment and reaching the light was very looooong. And when we got there, I turned slowly to look at her. And looked at her. And saw…..nothing.

She says, ‘So, after you dropped me off last night, we were getting ready and M told me that my hair was, like, totally, totally great except for that my bangs were too long and I needed some more layers right here? in the back? so she and T, who are both, like, totally into hair and going to be professional hair cut people when they get out of high school, are, and I’m not even kidding mom, genius with hair. So they gave me some more layers in the back and fixed my bangs for me. Don’t I look great?’

*The other day I was out and about and noticed a plethora of people walking around in sandals because, hello? it is hot. But more than half of all the people wearing sandals, flip-flops or other manner of toe-exposing shoes were allowing some part of their foot to touch the ground as they walked. A big toe here. A little toe there. And heels of all kinds. I think that is odd. They must go home and find that they have a mostly clean foot with only the usual wear and tear on it and then that one part, that slice, that is completely covered with black tar and sidewalk filth.

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Sweet Nothings

Exhausted both mentally and physically to the point of forgetting my own phone number and how to put on my shoes, snuggling with Joe was high on my priority list when I got home. It wasn’t until tonight that we both had the time and quasi-energy at the same time to attempt a snuggle-fest. We spooned on the bed, content to be together, and the sweet nothings ensued.

Me: What are you thinking about?

Him: Upholstery.

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You Can Touch My Weenis at Blogher

What’s really, really funny is to walk around saying ‘weenis‘ all the time. Just ask my kids. They come up to me and pinch my elbows and say, ‘Oh, sorry. Did I hurt your weenis?’ and then laugh and laugh. And laugh. And then they do it to each other and laugh some more. Not only do I not find it funny, I think the word ‘weenis’ should die a quick death. It’s a dumb word. Who invented it? I’d like a few minutes of their time. Creating a word that sounds like another word, that happens to be what we in these parts call a Potty Word, is just dumb. I’m living in a sitcom laugh track over here. Come on!

I have Blogher on the brain. I’m a little nervous about my panel but since I’m doing it with such great women, I’m mostly ok with that. But, in an insane moment, Alpha Mom asked me to do interviews with some pretty choice women. These are FILMED interviews. And I’m nervous because, dude, I am not used to being on the other side of the camera. All I can say is that it’s a darn good thing there is a makeup artist there to help me when I have something on my chin that looks like cheese doodle. So, if you’re going to Blogher, I’ll be the one that is going up and down the elevator every fifteen minutes before, after, and in between the workshops trying to fit in time to speak with all of my internet rockstar idols. I can’t wait to meet them all and I hope they don’t think I am too much of a dork. Unless they like dork. And then, my friends, they will be blown away and fall in love with me.

Here is a list of all the wonderful women I get to interview in no particular order besides the order that I had them written down in Notepad:

Marrit, Yvonne, Amy, Tracey, Tracey, Alice, Angela, Eden, Kim, Jen,
Grace -n- Molly, Andrea, and Catherine. And probably Heather, if I can get her to put down the martini and sober her up with some coffee. Or, I could just film her while she’s sleeping.

There are some other women that I can’t wait to have a drink with and do their hair and nails and if you are going, this probably includes you. I’m driving up Wednesday. Anyone else around that early?

Update: I’m a dweeb. I left off Melissa. And also Karen!

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End of the Fauxcation

Ah, Internet. Have you missed me? Thank you for your nice notes. I have so much to tell. I’ll have to break it into parts.

I dropped the kids off just moments ago and already The Sad has infected my heart. Yes, I’ll see Devon tomorrow and Alexandra in a few days and Tyler and Tony in a little over a week, but WOW it is so great when they are here 24/7.

We had fun. It was hard some days. We didn’t Go anywhere or Do anything but we did spend lots of time together hanging out. As Tyler said out of the blue, ‘It’s not what we do, Mom, it’s who we do it with.’ And then my heart exploded and I died. The end.

We went to Universal Studios one day and City Walk a few times. The kids have a season pass which includes discounts on anything you buy, including food. Score! I find most of the ‘Rides’ and ‘Adventures’ to be lame, but what can be better than walking through Van Helsing with your daughter who is so spooked that she insists on having your arms wrapped around her waist the entire time? When we walked out she tried to act all cool and smooth her hair back, but dude, she and I both know she wanted me to hold her hand, so she does still need her mommy.

Speaking of my daughter, she has just gone through one of those major growth spurts. The kind that leave you, the mother, a little breathless and off center. Dizzy, even. She has had her learners permit for a few months, so I’ve known that she is moving towards being a Real Driver. I know this, and yet I persist in ignoring it. But late Friday night, her father drove her to Phoenix to pick up a car he got her in an auction. They got back Saturday evening and she is now the proud owner of the cutest, yellow, ’71, automatic, convertible VW Bug you have ever seen. She even took me for a ride. She was a little nervous but she did great. And she looked so OOOOOOld. And I want to throw up my hands and whine, ‘When did this happen??’ but I actually know when it happened. It’s been happening.

She has her first real crush. He lives a few towns away and she is all giggly and cute and so liking him, like totally. I told her she better change the phone plan to unlimited texting because her hand is now permanently attached to her cell phone. I asked her one day to turn her @#$%@!!* phone off for a few hours because @#$&!@#! it is just unreasonable to text every 3 minutes the entire live long day and she will die from carpal tunnel. She acquiesced and actually tried to take part in what the rest of us were doing but sadness descended upon her and my heart couldn’t take it! I looked at her sad puppy eyes and her itching fingers and her spasms and ticks from withdrawal and I gave the phone back to her for resumed texting. Her smile cleared the skies and the sun came out. You can blame her for this heat wave we are having. Thanks a lot, Alex. Thanks a. lot.

But I look at her manner and her speech and the way she carries herself and she is Older. Sigh. Here she is right before she went to see her BF.

7smile

And here we are in our maiden voyage.

7car

But, back to Universal Studios. I sat for about 45 minutes in front of one of the stores near the entrance waiting for a couple of the kids to meet up. During that time span I realized that I was listening to the Jurassic Park soundtrack and that I had been listening to it all day. I could hear the rousing refrains of music meant to inspire me to trek across wild and prehistoric terrain in search of T-Rex but all I wanted to do was sit in the shade away from the 150 degree heat. After I noticed it, I couldn’t stop being annoyed by it. Why? Why are you trying to make me jump up and march? Stop it! See me? I am sitting!! Also, there were very, very, Very annoying people that try to highjack you upon entering the park to ‘Give you a free bag! Waterproof! For the Waterworld Adventure!’ when what they really want to do is ‘Have you fill out a form’ which is really an application for a MasterCard. The Douchebags! It was good fun to watch people shoot them down. It was strange to watch one of the guy’s eyes as he tried to Make Eye Contact and draw fellow park-goers in. And it was sad to watch them demean themselves. But then sometimes I started feeling really bad for them because surely, they must have no other options because, Dude! who would want THAT job? No one, is the answer to that question. No one wants it. And I bet no one keeps it for very long because your soul dies the death similar to the telemarketer and then you get a job at Geico.

I made the kids take a photo with Frankenstein. Sorry, Mr. F. You prolly hate your job, too. But not as much as my kids hated me making them stand with you for this photo. Thanks for the Franken-hands!

franken