Chronically Sleep Deprived

Doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. Want proof that I'm certifiable? I'm pregnant. AGAIN. I'm three months along (due Jan 21, 2011). Dylan is almost 8 months old. They'll be fourteen months apart, if this baby is a few days late. Yes, we know what causes this. Yes, we own a TV. No, we don't have cable. Anything else?

John had all of last week off. It was his second week of paternity leave, which he had to use before Dylan reached six months or lose. It was great to have him home all week. It was especially great because I demanded suggested he menu plan and cook for the week, and he agreed. Monday, he and his dad became embroiled in a project (which is another post altogether) but Tuesday through Sunday, he cooked. The menu for the week: Tuesday: buttered noodles with parmesan cheese Wednesday: Cheeseburgers Thursday: Sloppy Joes Friday: Fajitas Saturday: pan-seared salmon with rice pilaf and salad Sunday: Shepherd's pie Noodles and cheeseburgers are always popular around here, so they went over big. Trea, adventerous as always, ate EVERYTHING with minimal hesitation and no complaints. Adia ate the shepherd's pie, downed the salmon (and ate the leftovers for lunch), ate the fajitas minus the peppers, and. . . would.not.touch. the Sloppy Joes, no matter what. Strange kid.

Trea had her pre-kindergarten check up today (and the pediatrician, who has seen Trea off and on since she was two weeks old, was as aghast as I was). She got FIVE shots, and didn’t shed a single tear. She was rewarded with coupons to a local fast-food place to get a hamburger and an ice-cream cone. Since John was planning to work late, we went out. Now the problem, every time we go to a fastfood establishment with a play area of any kind, is leaving. They are wonderful kids while we’re there; they play well with others, eat their food, and generally behave themselves. Come time to leave though, and it’s almost always a fight. So we talked, thoroughly, about my expectations. That when it was time to go there would be nothing less than complete cooperation. When the time came, Trea was fabulous and Adia resistant. Still, she didn’t melt down, so this was an improvement. We got in the car and the litany of complaints began. “I’m tired.” “I’m thirsty.”“I really wanted to play some more.” ...

My brother-in-law died today. He was 34, and he leaves behind a wife and four kids between the ages of 17 and 6. It wasn't expected. He had a sudden, massive infection in January. They replaced the mechanical heart valve he'd had for years; he suffered several strokes. The prognosis changed hour by hour: he might not live, if he lived he'd be in a nursing home, he'd be able to come home but need round-the-clock care. . . . he went through intensive rehab, made incredible progress, and came home March 30. He was great, he was fine; I made him cream-cheese frosted brownies last week - the one thing I knew he liked - and he told me he couldn't wait to get going with more therapy, he was raring to go. Yesterday he had a routine exam, they did an echo this morning and discovered the replacement valve wasn't working. He made it to the hospital, but not the OR. They don't know what happened, but it was fast. I can't believe he's gone. He was THREE YEARS old...

Stole this from Shoeless Joel (only I am not as cool as he is, and couldn't figure out how to embed it.) Parts of it give me Mousetrap flashbacks, and the rest reminds me of a Baby Einstein video for adults. Cool though. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qybUFnY7Y8w

A co-worker lost her three-year-old grandson early Wednesday morning. Brain cancer. They'd known for a long time that it was terminal, and Tuesday night she told us he was dying. We got her a card, of course, and many of the students and staff made cash donations to help out the family, and I think the school sent flowers. The funeral was today. I didn't go. I didn't go because John was working, and the idea of packing up three kids to attend a funeral was daunting. The idea of sitting through the funeral with three kids wasn't so tempting either. And I didn't think Trea would handle it well - or rather, I didn't want to have to explain to Trea (or Adia) why these things happen. Mostly because I don't know. And the real reason I didn't go was because I could. not. stand. the idea of seeing a three-year-old laid out in a casket, and then coming home to take care of my kids who are 5, 3, and 4 months. I didn't go because I am a wuss.

We dyed eggs today. As I was getting the dye ready, I noticed the box listed nine colors: red, orange, yellow, blue, purple, pink, spring green, teal, and denim. Denim? Does "denim" say Easter to you? (It's pretty ugly, by the way; I ended up mixing it with the blue). The package also listed three options for making the dye. You could use vinegar for "ultra-vibrant" colors, lemon juice for traditional colors, or water for pastels. So, if I make the red with water for pastel, and the pink with lemon juice for traditional, will it be the same color? I'm almost tempted to go buy another package just to find out. Maybe when they're on clearance next week. . .

Talking to Adia on Sunday about what she learned in nursery (Sunday school for the 3 and under set): Me: Adia, what did you learn about today? Adia: Jesus DIED! (giggles) Me: Oh. . .and then what happened? Adia: They put him in a CAVE! Me: Oh really? Adia: And then they put a big rock in front of it. . .and then angels came, and Jesus was ALL GONE! (here her eyes go wide and she raises both hands, palms up, to emphasize the mystery). Me: What happened next? Adia: Jesus came back to life, and everyone was SO HAPPY! There you go. Easter story in a nutshell. (And yes, she really does use caps and exclamation points that often; trust me).

So, a while back I was browsing Craigslist, and there was a posting selling miscellaneous items. One of those "virtual garage sale" kind of listings. This woman listed a pair of high heels that she described as having "never been walked in." I thought, Huh, that's odd; usually I see things described as "never been worn." She described them as black, with tall, narrow heels, ribbon ties. . . and mentioned that they had cost $50 at a local shop known for, um, intimate apparel and accessories. So, "never been walked in" but NOT never been worn means . . . . OH. (Yeah, I'm quick, I know.) First of all, ew. Second hand shoes? Maybe, depending on many factors. Second hand ANYTHING involved in that particular, um, activity? Ew. And second. . .fifty bucks? Seriously? For THAT?

Adia just came to me with her doll. "Mom, my doll is hungry." "Ok, why don't you feed her?" Adia, yanking up her shirt and pointing to her chest,"I don't have any milk. See? No milk!" I am NOT breastfeeding a doll. (She decided to "feed" the doll anyway. . .she put the doll's face to her chest for two seconds and declared the doll full. If only, sweetheart, if only.)

You know, a couple of people I know have commented on my lack of blogging. I know, I suck lately. In my defense, I'll post a blog I wrote three weeks ago, detailing a Thursday: Woke up at 6 am and nursed Dylan, who thankfully went back to sleep. Over the course of the next several hours, I exercised (only for twenty minutes, but still), read my scriptures, showered and dressed, fixed breakfast for Adia and Trea and got them dressed, nursed Dylan, unloaded the dishwasher, washed the breakfast dishes and a few miscellaneous others, chatted with the neighbor who stopped by to pick up the moving boxes I offered her yesterday, washed, dried, and folded/hung up/put away three loads of laundry, nursed and changed Dylan, drew a horse for Adia, scheduled a doctor’s appointment for Dylan, called a lady about buying some cloth diapers, talked to my sister-in-law about plans for Sunday dinner, reorganized part of my kitchen, made Thai-style stir-fry for lunch and washed the dishes, put frozen ...