Epiphany and my budding photographer.

I finally figured out how people manage with more than two children.

Eventually they put their own shoes on. And leave them on.

We're not quite there yet, but I feel we're getting close. Not the part about raising more children. I still feel that more of the one's I've got need to wipe their own butts before we think about things like that. I'm just sayin' that I'm starting to see how it's possible.

Late for a date at the train museum, Scrunch waddles towards the door hauling her baby's diaper bag.

"Mom, don't forget my purse."

I figure I better check before I lock her down in her car seat with a lighter or a Sharpie.

"It's very heavy," she tells me.

Greeeaaaate! This ought to be good. "What 'cha got in there?"

"A bow. A sippy cup. Strawberry Shortcake. My Camera. And an apple."

Proudest moment of my parenting life. Seriously.

***

Yes, my kid has a camera. Don't look at me, I had nothing to do with it. She can thank Grami and Gramps for that one.

One of these days, if she figures out she's holding it backwards, I'll start her own blog. For now, we've got 169 pictures of her nose.

A first for everything.

12:27 a.m.- I've been asleep for 93 minutes. I am warm and I am tired. Porkchop begins to fuss and it's hard to tell if he's hungry or uncomfortably teething. Almost by reflex I check that he has his appliance before I pop the bottle in. It's there. He's still uncomfortable and on the verge of a come apart. I resort to the Tylenol. Check #2. Appliance is there. We head for the recliner. I rock. I bounce. I sing. I cuddle. He is miserable. I reach for the bottle again and he's just plain not havin' it. Without thinking, I do my triple check and dammit all to hell! The appliance is missing!

It's 1:17a.m. I begin searching for a small figure eight shaped piece that gives Porkchop a false palate. It's covered in denture adhesive and when he finagles it out, it sticks to everything. Oh, and he won't eat without it. Identifying it's exact location at all times has become my current life's mission. As calmly as possible I begin searching. Twenty minutes on my own, back and forth between the kitchen and the family room, and I don't see it. I finally resort to waking Husband up. "His appliance is missing." He hauls out of bed and we are now searching together. EVERYWHERE.

The recliner is upside down. I've searched the bottoms of our socks. Everything Porkchop has had contact with in the last seventy two hours. And Husband is on his hands and knees with a flashlight under the fridge. Short of Pig Latin, I have muttered a prayer in every language I know. Please, please, please let us find his appliance! After another grueling half hour of identifying every dust bunny in every crevice of the kitchen and family room but still no appliance, I am close to a meltdown. Both tired and annoyed with the situation, our conversation is limited because if we talk right now, it's just not going to be nice. Husband already tried being funny and patting my butt, and he about lost a limb. We are about to throw in the towel and I'm going to sit down on the floor and cry when husband reaches towards me, and he's headed for my chest. Are you freakin' kidding me? If you're seriously about to try what I think you're about to try, you have just about the worst timing on the planet and you are going to lose a limb. Just at the top of my unzipped sweatshirt his hand emerges with the appliance.

Oh, halle-fricken-lujah! I rejoice.

Wa-hoooo-eee!

Zippity-do-da. And all that.

Sure I'm glad the appliance is back, but I never thought I'd lose anything between my boobs.

...

P.S. Husband's appendages remain intact. He is a such a good sport and really loves me, you know. His only comment on his way back to bed was, "Next time I'll frisk you first."

The Breakup

While Scrunch's birthmom was in labor we watched Pretty Woman. Right there in her hospital room a special spot was growing for Richard Gere. It was a good omen.

For the last five months every week I've had a date, or rather Porkchop has had a date with Dr. Richard Gere. Richard Gere is a special name at our house. And our real life dude much more famous.

People practice medicine for all sorts of reasons. It doesn't matter what they are, you have to at least pretend to care. The difference with Dr. Gere, is that he really does. He's gone above and beyond for us. What doc gives out his personal cell and home phone number "just in case you have questions or are concerned for any reason"?

The day of his surgery he came in on his day off to fit Porkchop personally with his new appliance. He sat with us and chatted in the waiting room while he was in recovery and he was with us when we saw him the first time. I saw him tear up when I started crying. Every visit he has told Porkchop how awesome he is and "way to go mom!" As we leave "Keep up the good work! I'll see you next week."

So yesterday when he pulled up his calendar and said, "Unless he starts teething on top, I'd like to see you every three months" I nodded and smiled and we left the office with a "We'll see you soon."

He broke up with us. Thinks we should see other people. We're too good for him now. And it's in thanks, a large part, to him.

We will always love Richard Gere.

And Dr. Senders too, but he deserves his own post.

I'm pretty sure we've been pegged with this description more than a few times. And it's cool, because it is true. You may have added/subtracted a part about where we live, how much you love/hate me, or that I once had purple hair (on purpose). And all of that is probably true, too.

There is only one time, one, where I would ask that you never use this description. Never, never, never, (did I mention never?) use this description when talking with someone/friend/friend of a friend/chick who is in the process of adopting or is hoping to adopt or is planning on adopting. Please don't peg us as "that couple", the one that someone always knows that adopted and then they got pregnant. Because that's not how it works. And that's not how it worked.

You may not realize it but it is actually hurtful, and can be mean. Adoption should never be pursued as a cure for infertility. It also puts a negative connotation towards adoption. Like a family just adopts/adopted so they could get pregnant. Ahhh! Makes me crazy. And as a mama bear, ticks me off!

If I am talking with someone and they hear Scrunch was adopted and that then Porkchop came biologically, I automatically get an "Oh, that's wonderful!" Um, yes. Yes it is. But you know what? Adoption is wonderful too. And that's what you should say to these friends/friends of a friend/chick who is in the process of adopting, or his hoping to adopt, or is planning on adopting. Say, "That is wonderful!" and leave it at that. Because it is wonderful you know. Wonderful to me.

Note to Self

80 lbs. of apples does not make as much applesauce as you would expect.

What exactly was I thinking?

Back to the Grind

• Tomorrow is my first day back to work since Porkchop's surgery. It's only been three weeks and it feels like longer than my leave ever did when he was born. I am going to remember how to take a blood pressure, aren't I?

• Speaking of blood pressure, how bout them elections? I got out the vote. Not that it did a damn bit of good. Note to self...They're all the same.

• I overheard Scrunch in the bathtub get all huffy and strict with the plastic turtle and rubber ducky. "Shh!! You need to be reverent. You're taking the sacrament." as she dumped a shampoo cap full of water over their heads. 

• That girl! She's a firecracker. I was feeling all wussy because by the end of the day I am wiped out, but the friend who watched her the day Porkchop was in surgery told me, "Man she's an active child. I've got four! And I don't wonder what you do all day."

• Today's Joy school did me in. I don't know if it was Halloween or what their deal was, but a frenzy of crazed two year olds descended on my dining turned play room. N was for Nature. T for Turkey. And I spent two and a half hours talking in that high pitched kindergarten teacher voice to keep their attention for more than three seconds. Note to self...there's not enough money on God's green Earth to entice me into opening a daycare.

• Husband kicked my trash in Scrabble tonight. I was a sore loser and got pissy. His winning word? Kong. What the...? It's like playing Scrabble with a twelve year-old. And he won! I'm getting a better reference than dictionary.com. They think shabu is also a word. Tap. Tap. Tap-a-roo!

• I've watched too much Adam Sandler. Can you imagine playing Scrabble with that guy?

• I'm going to bed before I go search 'Scrabble SNL' on YouTube. I've got to work in the morning.

• Please take mercy. No butt wounds, okay? I always seem to get a butt wound right off the bat.

A is for Awesome

Awes-vember, as it has been affectionately dubbed, is off to a good start.

Artgurl had a little giveaway and I won! I won something. I actually won something. I don't think I've won something since a "It's hot to not" t-shirt in the 4th grade.

Anna Maria Horner. Ah. Piecing this quilt and looking at all the colors is just a happy place.

Avocadoes are awesome! As of this morning there is one tiny white pearly thing on his left bottom gum that wasn't there before.