And then there are the others.

I am admitting to something here that is very hard for me. I am biased and prejudiced and probably not a decent human being. But, hey, I’ve still never had any hate mail and am waiting for it before my chest can swell up with pride and I can feel like a real blog writer!

I am prejudiced by sex.

No. This isn’t a “sexual” post. It is a sex post. Ok, that still sounds a bit creepy. Let’s try this again.

My whole life I have been around people with nice little girls and horrid little boys.

OK that’s not really true. Most of the people I have known have had it that way. I have to admit that there have been those that had very nice, sweet, well behaved, human little boys. But they were in the minority.

Not that they didn’t exist! And I am not by any far stretch of the imagination trying to say that all boys are vulgar, violent, hateful loudmouths who will do anything to draw attention to themselves…

Some of them just seem that way at times, and it throws the others in the fire.

Really, the problem is clearly MINE. We wanted girls both times. We got girls both times and I think we ended up feeling superior for obvious reasons. Not so much because we trumped the “dealer”. (Two out of two… Woo-Hoo!) But because we went into this whole thing with preconceptions about the differences between boys and girls. (I still feel bad about that.)

I remember telling John and the doctor that I really wanted to know what sex the baby was because we wanted a girl and if it was a boy we needed time to get to want him as much as we already did a gitl. And we would have, too. There would definitely have been no sad faces in that delivery room if the thing had popped out with a penis.

But we were forewarned and happily anticipating our first and second daughter.

Now comes the part that you are going to suspect is fiction more than fact.

I swear, I am telling the God’s honest truth.

Those two were the most perfect babies and toddlers that you have ever come across.

There is 17 1/2 months difference in their ages and they were thick as thieves in their early years. One did not ever do anything without the other and they constantly looked out for the other as well.

They have grown apart during Jr. High and High School, but are starting to pull back together again just as destiny dictates. They’ll be fast friends  before long and best friends for life.

I say so.

But that doesn’t make them the perfect children to raise, does it?

I swear, I am not lying, neither one of them ever had a “terrible two tantrum”, or three or anything else for that matter.

I never had to wrestle them to get them to take medicine. Even when tiny babies. I just put the foul tasting stuff into a medicine giver with a nipple on it and they made horrible faces while sucking it down. (I know, you’re wondering about intelligence here… turns out to be above average! Surprised me, too!)

They were so obedient that it made me stop and take stock and pray over and over that God wouldn’t second guess what he had given us and make it hard. Because it wasn’t. They did everything I told them to as if it was not comprehensible not to. It simply didn’t occur to them to test the system.

I feel so horrible for new mothers, or even mother’s of older children who are having a really hard time and I can’t even imagine what they’re going through.

I swear mine were perfect. I would do the entire thing again in a heartbeat.

Yes, I know the nursing every three hours was a pain and all that, but it didn’t last forever. Just a little blip in my lifetime and hers as well. Plus, I can’t say it wasn’t enjoyable. That’s the one time that I could see my daughters looking up at me knowing it’s only me that can do this for them. And it was so good to feel so connected.

They were cuddly and sweet and loved hugging and kissing. This is something that boys, in general just don’t do. (Note the “in general”, I DO know that there are those penis bearing types out there that are loving in this way, but I still feel they are very much in the minority.)

They never put anything in their mouths that did not belong. I swear, they didn’t try to eat everything in sight that would fit into their mouths. Only food that was put into a plate in front of them. They were clearly much smarter than other kids their ages in that they could identify FOOD. They had teething rings and what not and got through all that unhappy crap really early. Like, I’m not kidding you, between 5 and 12 months.

They didn’t pick up anything and attempt to make a weapon out of it. There was not beating or hitting.

Ever.

There was no screaming or yelling. They didn’t spend the majority of their time attempting to be so obnoxious that there was no way to not to notice them.

As a matter of fact they were so confident in themselves there was never any reason for them to scream.

They just calmly said what was on their mind and trusted that the world would see their insight or questions for what it was.

Heh. I like to think, “From the mouths of babes”, was coined after them.

It SO wasn’t.

I believe Jesus said it, though I can’t think why. Or what book it’s in… Oh well.

So does it make me a horrible person to feel like, just in general, girls are so superior to boys?

I am writing this while John is asleep beside me and baby is between us at the foot of the bed. She is making funny little grunting and sighing noises in her sleep. I wonder if she is dreaming of a hamburger? Every now and then she begins to run in her sleep… wonder if the burger is making her chase it?

Hello everybody. I am, (yes, once again), apologizing for my absence. I am needing a note from my mother at this point and even she is miffed that I still haven’t gotten around to posting all the fabulous pictures of Christmas at her house.

Hey, it’s just a little over a week until February and I don’t like to rush things.

Every time I think about sitting down and posting I start off with something funny in my mind and it turns all maudlin in my head before I can get it out. And I don’t think it’s because the Lexapro isn’t doing the job it once was.

Let’s do a rundown, shall we?

Henrietta is still convinced that Gilbert, (the older daughter’s longtime boyfriend), is the devil and frequently can be overheard muttering things about diablo and then using his name under her breath. Yesterday she told John that I was trying to give her drugs that Gilbert supplied me with that were illegal. (Mucinex DM)  She also started crying a few days ago and telling John that she just KNOWS that Gilbert is bringing drugs over here and “shooting” them into him, (John). He had been to the doctor and they had taken blood and so he had a cotton ball taped to the inside of his elbow. I guess I should be proud that she thinks that we only deal with the kind of pushers that use an alcohol pad and then a sterile cotton ball and band-aid after the shooting up. We be classy like that.

She is also convinced that I am a horrible person because I won’t let her go to the hospital. She has been sick with the same virus that has worked it’s way through the rest of the family and lingered in the chests and throats and sinus cavities of each of us for two to three weeks each.  She is convinced she is dying because she has a hacky little cough that bothers her a few times an hour.

I coughed like I had TB for three weeks and and had a rattle in my chest like a maraca.  On a couple of the days when it was at it’s worst I stayed in bed because there were other people here that could take care of her. I heard that woman say to John, “What’s the matter with her now?” John was obviously aggravated with her when he told her I was sick, (as if she didn’t know), and she didn’t say anything else about it. But now, she is telling me that she wants to go to the hospital because she is coughing. When I tell her it’s just a virus she says, “How do you know?”, and telling her that everyone else has had the same thing and the same symptoms does not help.  “Oh, Krissa… you don’t know!”  She asked me to call a friend of mine that’s a nurse that lives about 20 minutes away and have her come and listen to her chest and tell her what she’s got. (As if that would settle it.) I told her no, there was no way. She said, “Well, she could take my temperature!”. I told her over and over she has no fever. She started telling me I didn’t know what I was talking about. I RAISED TWO CHILDREN. LIKE, I REALLY DON’T KNOW HOW TO TELL IF SOMEONE HAS FEVER!

I got the damn thermometer and took her temp. Normal. So she let that drop.  But she started crying because she wanted to go to the hospital. No amount of assurance that the hospital wouldn’t take her would do. She won’t believe it. I explained that the insurance wouldn’t cover her admittance to the hospital for a cough. She just looked away and shook her head like a small child being defiant.

But, she gave up on the waterworks.

In other news…

John is not doing well at all and I am desperately hoping we can find a new way to attack his heart problems with a new pulmonary doctor and when we see him I am going to ask him if he can recommend a new cardiologist.  He has been sick and barely able to function at least 50% of the time since he got out of the hospital. They are not doing anything different. Same drugs, same course of action. (None.)  He hasn’t been to see the pulmonologist since he got out of the hospital because we found out the hard way that he doesn’t accept our insurance. But he is having such a hard time breathing now that we both think we have to do something new. So he will be going to see him on February 2nd.

Meanwhile his present cardiologist is saying that he should maybe consider “another line of work”, that maybe he just can’t do this anymore. As if there are  all these jobs out there waiting for him to just pick one. I think John is wondering if he can do it too.  I am frightened of the future and all the terribly unsure aspects of our lives.

Meanwhile…

Kessa made a small batch of hash browns the other day for her breakfast along with an egg, ham and cheese sandwich between two slices of perfectly toasted bread. She then walked over and set the plate down on a small occasional table between two chairs in our living room and, (for some totally unknown reason), went down the hall to my bedroom to talk to me for a few minutes. Leaving the sandwich innocently sitting there. On the plate. On the table. Between the two chairs.

Moments later she and I emerged from the bedroom and she exclaimed, “Baby!”  I wondered why since Baby was no where to be seen.

Neither was her sandwich.

Baby was rather shy for another couple of hours, the guilty little shit.

I put on one pair of them and wore them yesterday and Keelan remarked that they don’t make me look like I have an, ahem, “old lady butt”.  I considered this statement carefully and decided to let her live after all put it in the compliment category.

Both pairs of jeans are low rise, and while I don’t wear the “Mom Jeans” that  Stacy and Clinton on What Not To Wear are constantly lecturing people about, they are a good deal lower than I’m accustomed to.  I finally went in and put on a belt because every time I stood up I felt like I was losing them by an inch or so.

Then, Sunday,  Kes and I were running into Kohl’s.  Upon getting out of the child’s car, (actually climbing up out of her car, which is what you do with a Mustang…), grabbing the “waist” of the jeans and hauling them up, while pulling my shirt down and noticing Kes staring at me, I turned around so she could see my back and said, “So can you see any butt crack?”

She pinked up a bit, glanced nervously around and said, “NO MOM!”.  While deftly giving the ubiquitous eye roll.  She then had the grace to grin at me and comment that I need to “…get some tight strapless tops today.”.

I told her that I am wearing practically butt crack pants so she can just score one for her team and leave well enough alone.

Free toes, everybody!

John?  Gettin’ a wee bit gray, and a wee bit more sparse on top.  The eyebrows are getting wilder every time I attempt to tame them, and I am guessing it won’t be long before there are a few singular hairs sticking out of his ears.

Time will tell.

Then we come to me.  I am currently dying all the gray, non-conformist, rat-bastard hairs into submission.  That is on my head, anyway.  There are other hairs that are starting to give me grief.

The last time I was putting on make up I payed close attention and I swear, God as my witness, I am getting as fuzzy as a peach on my face.  I don’t have any dark hairs.  Yet.  But my once smooth cheeks and, ahem, sideburns, are covered in soft fuzzy clearish looking hairs.  Yes, my face is very soft.  SO IS A PEACH.

I stood there looking at this.  One more step towards the grave.  AND, IT IS!   I would actually take a picture and show you IF I HAD A CAMERA THAT WOULD TAKE CLOSE UPS.

Gee.  You guys don’t know what you’re missing… heh.

Now I gotta go research facial hair removal products.  Fun, fun, fun.

The reason I never posted to tell you dear people that I was jumping ship was because this trip was SUPPOSED to be a secret and a huge surprise for Nana.  She knew Kes and Keelan and The Boyfriend were going to visit with her, but had no idea that I had made arrangements for H to be taken care of by my SIL and John had vacation and all the planets aligned just right and we were all going to go and be there together for the first time in years.

Sadly, I can’t seem to keep a secret, Kessa slipped up and her nana suspected that maybe John and I were going to come, too.  So, when I blew it and practically spelled it out for her when I accidently gave up a clue, she figured it out.  This was just a couple of days before we left and I was embarassed to tell the kids, because I had threatened them with certain death if they let her know and FOR ONCE they were actually scared of me I had expressed such a strong desire to keep it a secret and cautioned them…strongly, to keep it to themselves.

So Mither was in the know when  we got there.  Oh well.

We had a ball and did all sorts of things.  Not to mention we got to go and see the “new” house that’s in town and Mither and Pop have decided they want to buy.  The place they live now is so wonderful it’s hard to describe, truely a paradise, yet, it’s sooo much too much for them to have to take care of anymore.  The house is gi-normous and the acerage is too.

Time to downsize.  So this needs to be sold.  Please take a sec and click the “button” in the middle and look at all 10 shots of their place.  Tip of the iceberg.

What I’m trying to point out here is that while they are needing to downsize… BAD, it must also be a truly wonderful house.  Or as Kessa and Keelan are fond of saying, “Nana-licious”.  I’m not sure, as it’s a fairly new word and Webster’s doesn’t know about it yet, but it may be spelled Nanalicious.  I will be talking with their people any day about the next updated version of that particular dictionary.

Moving right along…

Enter the new house that Mither and Pop have their hearts set on: here.  Yes, go ahead and look at all the pics of it and tell me…  Even though the bizarre realtor seemed to be fixated on the bathrooms and the outside(?), the inside is indeed wonderful.  We broke into it took our own tour, twice and took a million pictures.  I WILL be posting some of those in a future postypoo.  They are still not even off of my camera.

Now, nobody is to dare  consider buying this particular house… (Sush!  I can too dictate this!)  But if you would like to buy Mither and Pop’s present house, I am sure they would be delighted and the “new” house is just right in town and I could come and visit you when I go and see them!  And I would, too!

Well people, this is enough for today.  I have to get these pictures downloaded and catch up on some blogs!  I am sorry I haven’t been reading, but I was visiting!

I’ll post again, soon!  Free toes, everybody!

Then, she managed to pull herself together enough to look at me and say, “The other day I took that thing, (referring to the steam mop), upstairs and tried to vacuum with it.”  She had the decency to look a bit embarrassed as her sister and I burst into fresh gales of laughter.  I told her that I didn’t know whether to be proud of her for voluntarily cleaning up there or disturbed by her lack of knowledge of the household cleaning appliances.

Oh, she said it did NOT vacuum well at all.

*The other night Craig Ferguson said something like, ” Young people  who want change try to orchestrate a well placed riot.  Old farts like me  just think, “Get that riot off my lawn!”   Heh

*Overheard at chez Lopez last night while discussing John’s midlife crisis crazies.

Kessa shot a look at The Boyfriend and said, “Honey, when you start having a midlife crisis I’m just shipping you off.

The Boyfriend, a tad bewildered, “To where?”

Kessa, “They have places for men to go to stay till they get over that stuff.  That’s where you’ll have to go!  But, don’t worry, I’ll still come and visit you once in a while.”

The Boyfriend contemplates this for a few seconds and says, “So that’s what happens to men…. what happens to women?”

Before Kessa could begin to formulate an answer, I snapped, “We start having periods once a month about the age of 12 and it lasts until who knows when!”

The Boyfriend, “Oh….yeah.”  Now he feels lucky.

* H, essentially, wet the bed last night.  Yesterday her catheter started failing and she was waking up with a leeeetle bit of pee in the bag and a lot in the diaper.  So I called the agency to come out here and change it.

They sent some new chick.  *sigh*

Now don’t get me wrong, she was nice, and doing the best she knew how. Yet, Henrietta is riddled with fistulas  to the point that it’s like Swiss cheese up in there.  At least that’s what I’m guessing since it’s such a hit or miss proposition to get the cath to work.  OK, mostly “miss”.

The nurse did her thing and left.  So cocksure of herself that she didn’t even bother to wait around and see if it “took”.

It didn’t and it was evident last night when I put H to bed.  She just had a wee bit ‘o wee in the bag.  Sometimes moving her around and, consequently moving the fistulas gets it all back lined up, so I was hopeful putting her in bed would do this.

About 8:00 this morning she was soaked in urine.  So I changed up all the fixin’s she was in, diaper, nightgown, hospital chux, etc. and she went back to sleep.

Here in a few minutes she is going to go sit on the bedpan and when she’s done, I am going to give changing the catheter a shot and I bet I can get it done.  If she’ll let me do it.

I’ll report back and don’t worry.   I promise…  no pictures.

Child b. is due to graduate tomorrow evening beginning at 7:00.  Her Nana and Pop are down here for this auspicious occasion.  Her great aunt, Auntie-poo was supposed to be here also, but wasn’t able to come.

I won’t lie to you, we are also celebrating Witchypoo’s birthday.  She has alluded to the fact that it is a “milestone birthday ending in 0″.  She never said how many 0′s…?   Heh.

My house is as clean as it has been in a very long time without being dusted yet.  Floors, spotless.  I got a new Haan steam mop for my birthday that I have been wanting.  Or maybe it was Mother’s Day… I forget since they were one day after the other this year.  Karen over at The Rocking Pony filled me in on it and she loves hers.  I can see why.

Aaaannnnyyyyyway, I love it and all my floors are clean with a minimal amount of effort and bother.

This is starting to sound like a commercial for Haan.

Moving right along.

In the morning the graduation girl, Keelan, her sister, Kessa and Mither and I are all going to eat breakfast at La Madeleine.  Both girls really love that place and it no longer feels like John and my secret place.  That’s what I get for spilling the beans about how good it is.  Anyway, all three generations will be there and it should be lots of fun.  I am really, really looking forward to it.  I will take pictures, I promise!

Boring post?  Tough shit, it’s five minutes after midnight and I am tired and can’t form comprehensive sentences.  Much less bring to mind any of the FASCINATING crap that has happened to me of late.

Good, (*yawn*) night.

Pleeeeeeease get me out, Mom!

I don’t know what made her go in there and think that jumping in the tub was the thing to do, but she could NOT get out.  The tub is a bit sunken on the inside and with no rug for traction, she was good and stuck.  Desperate and pitiful whining like you can’t even imagine.  The little fat ass.

Kes, will YOU get me out?!

However, this did not prevent me from leaving her there long enough to go get Kessa and let her come in and we both took pictures of her cause that’s the kinds of bee-otches we are.

I just wait... SOMEBODY will get me out!

What on earth do you think she was thinking to hop in there all by herself?  If there had been even a crumb of food, I would have expected it… but no.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Last night overheard in my house:

Squealing and laughter along with some yelling and aggravation. “MOM!  Make Kessa give me back my M&M’s!”

And without missing a beat these words came out of my mouth: “Kes, give your sister back her M&M’s before I spank you.”

And the most surreal part?

It worked.

John: Hey, get me a cone out of the freezer, please.

Kessa: I’ll take the third one!

Keelan: Oh! I’ll take the fourth one.

Kessa: No, I already ate the fourth one last night.

Well, at least they both laughed and Keelan called dibs on the…third(?) one.