Pooling Our Resources

Good news everyone! I have craploads of protein in my urine! Hooray! Hooray for this! Because I didn't fricking JINX myself or anything when I told The Husband last week, "Wow, everything's going pretty well still, considering. This could be the ONE healthy pregnancy I produce!" Yay, I'm an idiot! Anyway, I'm back to testing for this crap and we'll see just how bad it is in a couple of days. And if I actually have to be stuck in bed like my mother wants me to be, or if they'll just call it good and force the poor little tot out now. Like I said, we'll see.

In other news, I have nothing more to say. So I'll post one of the articles I wrote for our neighborhood parenting newsletter. It's not as good as the next one that's coming, but it has to do with summer and stuff so I figured I should post it now and get it out of the way. Who's gonna stop me? YOU? Yeah, I didn't think so.

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It’s summer! Time for the outdoor excursions and fun to begin, specifically at the pool! Or, as it’s known in my house, waterboarding! Allow me to introduce the detainees to you:

*My daughter, 5, whose nickname is “Peawhistle.” If you have ever heard the screeching sound that a pea whistle makes, and the screeching sounds that constantly emanate from my daughter’s mouth, the correlation would be obvious.

*My son, 1.5, whose nickname is “Peanut.” He is allergic to everything he touches. Thanks Nature!

For some reason, my children view water as the worst thing ever created. Now, Peawhistle has never been a huge fan of the pool, but before last year she still went with me and at least moved around the shallow end largely unassisted. That’s fine. Last year I thought, idiotically it would later appear, that she was ready for beginner swimming lessons. Two weeks and eight lessons later, it was obvious that this was not to be the case. Most of the first week involved an overly dramatic and hysterical Peawhistle, dressed in a life vest no less, clinging to the swimming teacher like a spider monkey, and screaming, “HELP ME, I’M DROWNING, I’M DROWNING!!!!” while no fewer than one on-duty lifeguard and two other off-duty lifeguards all stared are her most intently, and every visitor at the pool looked on in amazement. The second week proceeded with her having nothing to do with the pool whatsoever, merely looking on at the other three students, while comfortably sitting in a chair in the shade with me and Peanut. Even the baby pool earned her utter distain after that.

Well that was a healthy $120 down the drain! It’s coming out of your allowance, kid!
Fortunately, I had the foresight to videotape much of this disaster in personal preparedness so at least it wasn’t a total waste. I’m sure she’ll thank me when we screen it at her wedding reception.

And then there is Peanut. Ah, Peanut, there are no words. This is the adorable boy who refuses to sit in an inch of water in the bathtub, resulting in every bathing session being conducted with a standing toddler enforcing a death-like grip on his mother, all the while screaming like he’s being beaten. I’ll assure you now, as I assure him every single time, that is not the case. I am comfortable in predicting that the odds of him enjoying a pool-time experience are less than optimal at this point.

This year Peawhistle has assured me that she will be braver at the pool. And true to her word, with a set of bright pink water wings in place (that never once got wet), she managed to survive her first experience in depths up to two feet of water without heart failure or screaming on either of our parts. She also confided very loudly that she is going to be a life guard one day. I pointed out that life guards typically need to know how to swim, nay, love to swim. She brushed aside my concerns as petty and assured me yet again that such trivial matters would not deter her from her newly discovered career path. We shall certainly see. (To be on the safe side, however, I would caution against swimming in any pool that advertises her as being in charge of your family’s welfare.)

This summer I encourage everyone to pull out the sunblock, don your swimgear, and have loads of fun at the pool! I can’t say we’ll see you there!

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I realize that much of this is familiar to many of you, probably because I just simply plagarized my own blog for it. But see, I moved some words around so it's totally OK now. See that?

Also, some of you who know the circumstances will also realize that shortly after this was written (not even published, just written mind you) both of these adorable children turned me into a filthy rotten liar. PW turned into a brave little fish for some inexplicable reason, and Peanut now loves the bathtub. Well, he likes it OK anyway. The trick there, though, was to have PW put on her very best and hammiest performance for Peanut whilst in the tub, going on and on about how great bathing is and how much more fun she's having in the tub than outside of it. After we convinced him to try a bath with her, he warmed up to it just fine and now can even bathe on his own without complaint. A hearty thanks to the consummate actress, Peawhistle, for convincing her dear brother within two week's time that taking baths is the most marvelous time one can possibly have on this earth. Heaven knows I tried for a year and a half to convince him of the same thing, all without any hint of success. Turns out big sisters are good for something after all.

There In Idaho

Oh, I got away all right. I GOT AWAY GOOD.

Actually, I just told my mother last night that it would be nice (and relaxing) to be able to sit with my email once in a while without Peawhistle constantly asking me questions about every keystroke I make. So she's entertaining PW while I read and write. See, so she's good so far.

I've been meaning to plug a certain website for some time. Actually, I plugged it half-heartedly a long time ago, but I don't think I did it the proper justice it required then. Have you all heard of The Onion? The online satirical, swear-heavy humorous newspaper? It's not for everyone, due mostly to the afore-mentioned swearing and other subject matter sometimes contained therein. It's run by a large staff of very funny and talented people.

Anyway, there is a delightfully hilarious woman out there who writes her own satirical, non-swear-heavy humorous newspaper-like website ALL BY HERSELF. She is that fricking funny. I love her dearly, in every way possible that blog-stalking and the law can allow. Yes, Kristi Harrison is the genius behind one of my very favorite websites, Here In Idaho (also linked on the sidebar there if you care to look). I first discovered her humor through her Very Famous Post about running (for exercise? Crazy, I know) around her neighborhood and what her neighbors must think of her efforts. This post (which has apparently disappeared forever unfortunately) was featured on the well-known blog, Navel Gazing At Its Finest, and I've been a loyal follower of Kristi's ever since. Her humor is everything I wish mine was, but clearly isn't.

As I said, I meant to plug this website much, much sooner but I kept forgetting or putting it off. But I cannot put it off any longer. No, ladies and gentleman (there's just one of you, right?), her latest contribution is an article post entitled: "Twilight Makes More Sense if Bella is Disabled (Mentally and Physically)." Oh yes. OH. YES.

Oh my holy yes. Check it out. Become a Google Reader Follower. You will never regret it. She doesn't post often, but when she does she more than makes up for it. Genius takes time you know.

"The Time Has Come My Little Friends...."

Once again, a great big thank you to all my adorable friends who have taken Peawhistle into their homes for months on end in an effort to save us all from a world of more destruction, chaos, and tears. But now it's time for a new era of destruction, chaos, and tears, and that era will come in the form of my mother flying in on Sunday to stay with us until the baby is born and then afterwards for a week or two, or until the police are summoned, whichever comes first.

My blood pressure, as I've exlained to a few of you over the past two days, has reached the end of its healthy limits. It is assumed it will pass into unhealthy territory very soon, and thus they have strongly suggested without argument from me that I begin fetal assessment testing twice a week until the birth. This put the Husband and I in a bind childcare-wise, which left us our only option left: call the Beloved Mother for help. And help she will give. In copious amounts no doubt. This "help" also means that the activities that I see as relaxing (such as writing like this) are not activities that she would see as relaxing, despite the fact that it keeps me sane and alone and quiet and all those wonderful things. No, my mother will likely insist I sleep 19 hours a day if at all possible, and if not, I'll simply be padlocked in my room until she's determined I'm relaxed enough to come out, i.e., never. So I can't imagine I'll be writing a whole heck of a lot in the month to come. I'll try to sneak in here on occasion--if nothing else, I feel an overwhelming need to check my email at least once a day--perhaps when I've been able to successfully overwhelm her and tie her up and/or completely knock her out (in a totally legal I-know-her-so-it's-totally-OK kinda way).

Anyway. That's that. Thanks again to my dear friends for all your help and please allow me to bring you a dinner and/or dessert of your choosing. Otherwise I'm going to make a fabulous meal that will get thrown through your front glass window, and trust me, no one wants that. Least of all you, because I'll be damned if I'm cleaning that mess up.

Wish us all luck in the coming month and pray no one dies in the process of us all loving each other too much and crap.