No lie

OK. They are home again. Sick. My babes. My offspring. My love angels on earth.

They are hungry. "Katie, what do you want for breakfast?" " A salami sandwich and pickles." There was no prompting from me. I could not (well, yes I could because I am the Mom and I know my girls. OK. Rabbit trail - isn't it amazing how in a room full of kids you can still hear your child's voice when she calls Mom out? I even saw a mom call to her daughter, in a soft voice, from about 10 feet away in a crowded loud room and the 2 1/2 year old heard her. Amazing.) believe it.

So I did what all moms or scrapbooking moms would do. I took a photo. Here she is.

Side note - I was looking on google for the name of a person who sells pickles (anyone see Crossing Delancy with Amy Irving?). Turns out it is pickle-maker.

But oh this is what I found...

http://www.dallasnews.com/sharedcontent/dws/fea/taste/stories/DN-nf_pickles_0711liv.ART.State.Edition1.439b017.html .

You must see this. I did not know about this and now am intrigued.

OK. Off to tend to other issues in the home. Need to make lunch. No telling what that is going to be.

Day 5

Child one is still home. Did not listen to aging parent on Wednesday, got "overheated" (my generation's word from our parents) and had low grade fever this morning during normal prep time for school. Well enough to control remote, aggravate and whine incessantly.

Child two is home as well. High fever on the thermometer but not on the Mom hand. Well enough to fight, whine and want to swing and ride a scooter (oh no she did not).

Mom is holding up. Working at home full time, trying to keep the house clean (HA), doing laundry, cooking meals, being a short order cook to fever ridden children, answering phones, running errands all leaves no time for utter compassion or nice behavior towards children and spouse. I wish I could be that Mom who has on heels, a large petticoated skirt with tidy sleeves and pearls, hair pulled back, who is in the kitchen with an apron on (speaking of apron Kerry you da bomb. Can I give the link for the aprons?) cooking chicken noodle soup from scratch (hey I do make CNS from scratch) and is lovingly attending to my sick babe as she lays all neatly covered in her bed, hair pulled back by a satin ribbon. But no. Instead I am a sweat panted, sneaker footed, hopefully bathed within the past 48, opening cans of Sam's choice CNS and serving it in a plastic bowl to kids who are trashing the living room with a million tissues, soda cans, snack bowls, papers, crayons, glue scissors, a zillion little pieces of cut paper, dressed in mismatched tops and bottoms with unbrushed hair. Forget Barbie. June Cleaver is messing with my head.

"Mom I want pickles for breakfast." Pickles. What I ask is wrong with my child? Last week was rice. How about olives and corn? What happened to cereal, toast, grits? Now it's "I want a salami sandwich." Now I must say with utter pride that my children are not picky eaters. Sarah is pickier than Katie but all in all they eat most everything. No spinach, asparagus, or baked fish. They are just crazy. Katie ate capers with her meal last night. She will suck the garlic off garlic bread. And she loves "snushi". I am not complaining. These kids get mostly balanced meals daily and they eat without argument, for the most part. But the weird requests sometimes baffle me. Hey I've had my share of cold pizza or spaghetti for breakfast but I do believe that was due to economics and something that occurred the night before. But pickles for breakfast? Oh no.

So tomorrow, the alarm will go off. I will drag out of bed, brush my teeth and check on the girls to see who has fever and who will be going to school, with the Mom hand and then the thermometer. Think Katie may be home due to the 24 hour fever rule and her possible being contagious with the flu. Better make sure we have enough pickles on hand.

A, B ... it's all flu to me

Imagine this scene. It's a fall Sunday. We are all at church. St. Tammany Parish Hospital, I believe through the Parenting Center (try to give credit where due) is giving flu shots to anyone who wishes for $10 a shot. Well, those of you who know me and know me by one of my nicknames - Frugal Beth - know if I see a deal that we can use - well, yes I am going to partake of it. $10? What can I get for $10? Not much these days. 10 items at Target in the Dollar isle - well actually 9 due to tax, 2 big kid meals at McDonald's, a sushi lunch with a non-alcoholic beverage, 9 itunes, well you get the picture. $10? I can not get the flu shot for $10 at the doctor's office. Just me signing in on the clipboard there costs me $10.

So, I decide to get the shot. I fill out the paperwork. I pay. I get the shot. It does not even hurt. Cakewalk.

Now I have to convince the fam to each get one. I get Sarah and show her what is going on. I try to convince her that it is a good thing to do. She is not buying it. After talking and bribery of books, she gives in. I tell her we will do it after the service, that we will get Dad and Katie and all together they will get their shots. She agreed with apprehension.

So during service I devise a plan to get Katie, fill out the paperwork , bring Katie behind the curtain and distract her while the nurse made her move. If I would have told her, she would have been out of control. So I am holding her and talking to her, making her look at me and wham, prick, pow, she is immunized. She is shocked and starts to cry. I feel guilty, all the while Sarah is getting her dose. Stickers, candy, whatever is distributed. All done. Flu free. Except Paul. He won't do it. No sirree Bob. He just plain and simple won't. There was a lot of clucking going on.

Fast forward to Sunday, as in last night. Sarah feels cold in a warm house. I threaten that she WILL go to school on Monday. (See here is an excellent illustration for those of you wondering what you have to do to make Mother of the Year. Threaten your sick child.) I take her temp and it is 102.7. Great. Not only does she feel bad but I feel guilty as well. Throughout the night I give her Motrin and it really is not taking care of the fever very well. She stayed home today from school and has been blowing her nose all day. Her fever got as high as 103.5 and that's when I called the nurse at the doctor's office. She said Sarah has the flu but needs to be seen to determine what meds to get.

We get over there as soon as Katie gets home, Sarah get seen, gets a swap of her throat for strep (no strep) and a swab in her nose for the flu (yes flu). Flu B. There is an A and a B. She has B. Swell. Seems the deal of the century flu shot only covered A. Now I can get Sarah meds that are quite expensive and that MAY relieve her symptoms and shorten her down time by a day or two but after the doctor said she did not do that for hers (oh all right first was the fact it was expensive then that) I decided we would just let nature take its course. So now I have paid for a doctor visit, a strep test and a flu test. And Sarah still feels lousy. No meds. (The whole insurance thing is another blog to which I have no energy to discuss tonight.)

So she must stay home until she is fever free for 24. No school. No soccer. No shopping. No eating out. No Mom going anywhere to do anything. No sanity.

Why did she get B and not A? Poor girl. Truly I feel sorry for her. She is a good little patient. Hate to see my kids sick. But it gives me a glimpse of when they were younger. Plus they have less energy to fight.

So keep you hands washed, use that anti bac and if need be stay away from the general public. It seems to be the only way to stay well. Oh and a $10 flu shot for type A.

I'm back

Wow. Mid-February since my last post. What in the world was I doing? I have been meaning to write but something always seems to take over my time and creative energy. I have even been saving info for theme ideas so that when the day came I would have some material. Not that my family isn't material enough.

OK for instance I took Sarah to Old Navy on Sunday. They said they had $12 jeans. Why do I always fall prey to sales? FYI - $12 for kids - adults $19. Still a bargain. Almost can't pay that at Walmarts.

Anyway I digress as I always do and it is my style. Sarah is not the A-list shopper that I have cultivated myself to be. Baby, I can do a shopping marathon. When other are tired, fatigued, hungry and ready to throw in the towel, I still have the stamina to shop. It was great when the girls were little and I could use the stroller to pick packages, lean on the handle and have a place for my drink in the cup holder. Now, can't use the stroller. Why has no one (a mother who's child has grown let's say) invented a shopping stroller? I'm not talking a geriatric walker thing with the wire cart on the front (although I did get my AARP card this past month - another blog another time). I think I will invent that. Hear that. Don't steal my ideas now. Just imagine how much more shopping could be done with a shopping stroller. The possibilities are endless. I could hook up a WIFI or an itunes port. Maybe a calculator and a swing table top (for lunch or writing checks). I'm doing it. Seriously.

OK back to Sarah and Old Navy. First we have to find clothes that we agree on. Please someone tell me who the fool is that thinks low rise on a 9 year old is a fashion statement. I want to slap them into reality. I do not want to see any butt cracks. No one tucks in shirts like they did in my day so what is a child to do when she needs to bend over? Next is it the same foolish designer of the low rise jean who also thinks a bikini bottom should be made of the least amount of material possible? Cutting costs on fabric? And the plunging neckline? Dear Lord. Please let me find some inexpensive options for a 9 year old that look good and cover appropriately.

So we get what ever appropriate and negotiated clothing into the dressing room and then IT starts. The goofy 9 year old erupts right there before my eyes in the 2'x 2' dressing room. She can't get the clothes off/on, she is standing on the clothes and can't pull them up, she is admiring herself in the mirror(s), she is driving me crazy. She is laughing uncontrollably and oddly.

Now we have about 16 items to try on. We spend about 30 minutes in there. I suppose the number average about 2 minutes for each item but it is actually feeling like 2 hours. I threaten, I bulge my eyes, I give that cutting look. I almost cry. I even use physical force - the old squeeze the arms - to get her to stop. Just stop acting like... like.... oh for Pete's sake I can't even explain. Those of you out there who have or had a 9/10 year old girl - you know what I am talking about. The child is 9/10 and acts responsibly most of the time, likes tween things and all and yet acts like she is 4 sometimes. Argh!

So just when I am ready to ground her for life she says to me, "Trying on clothes is hard work." HAHAHAHAHA. That was just what I needed to stop the craziness stirring inside of me. "Oh yeah. So many people die from trying clothes on. It's so tragic." I tell her. Wonder if that is true? I mean for the mothers?

I did end up walking out of the dressing room and not harming my child. Yeah me. We did find age appropriate clothes. Yeah Old Navy (and for $10 a pair of jeans). I did get a good laugh. Yeah Sarah.

Finally finished some things I have been working on in my scarce free time. Now I have more time to write about things that no one really cares about per se but to which many can relate. Thanks Denise for the nudge and encouragement. That was sweet and got me back on the blog.

Got to run. Going shopping with Sarah. Pray for a miracle.

Little bit of this and scrap

Here are a few layouts I have done of my favorite subjects - Paul, Sarah and Katie. Most layouts are of everyday things, a cute shot, something I want to remember and want them to remember.

Take a peek.

When will I stop being surprised about things?

Katie just came into the office and asked me to help her get her hand out of the Clorox wipes container. It was stuck. Proceeded to do so as she explained why she needed a wipe. I looked at her angelic face and immediately notice the bubble gum pink colored lipstick all over not just her lips but her lower chin and her Cupid's bow to her nose. Now why? Can't she feel that? I tell her she has a bit too much on and she informs me that she knows, that she was putting it on and had nothing to wipe her hand on except the wing chair she was sitting in. So she needed the Clorox wipe. So I got her one. Have not seen the chair yet. Why do I even care?

Still waiting on a check from a client for work we did in May 2008. Sent the invoice in ($30) 3 times and then a notice of a late fee maybe charged. She called me to tell me she wanted to discuss the invoice. She was angry that we charged her for work that she called and requested we do for her. No I don't have an MBA in business but usually when one wants work done, we exchange service for money. Oh no. Not her. She was dang blang mad that she had to pay. Wonder if I can do that with my utility companies?

Just got a phone call. Looked at user id - SCAM ARTIST with the number. No lie. I will have to take a photo of it.

We are trying to switch insurance companies. We just don't feel we are spending money wisely with our current provider. I spent 2 hours yesterday applying with Humana. I received an email that I was not going to be covered. I called today and was told that due to my weight and height I was a high risk. Now I am the first to admit I need to lose weight. I even went to the fitness center today (and I will pay for that tomorrow physically). But we live in southern LA. Half of the population is fat and not all of us are tall. What irks me is that I have a beautiful clean bill of health but none of that is considered. Dang Humana. Now I have to spend more time this week calling other companies.

The state of Pennsylvania wants to charge me sales revenue tax (Foreign Franchise Tax of which we are not foreign or a franchise thank you) since May 2006. That is when our ex-co-worker moved there after she fled from Katrina. The state feels compelled to charge me revenue tax for her living there. Now mind you I pay into the state for payroll related taxes. Come on. This is ridiculous. Dang PA.

Sarah has to compose a little something-something to speak about for Black History month over the school's intercom system. She needs to sum it up in less than 30 seconds. Yeah. That's just not do-able. What the hey?

We have a fountain in front of the dining room window. The pump does not work correctly (first non-shocking news) and often gets green. Paul was told he could put bleach in the fountain to kill the algae. Well, the fountain had foam in it for weeks. Weeks. Why pray tell? Paul said he put bleach in the fountain. Clorox. Clorox for colors. This is why Paul does not do the laundry around here (or maybe that is his ploy?).

Speaking of bleach, Katie just showed me some drawings she did on stapled sheets of loose leaf paper. I taught her yesterday how to bleed markers on coffee filters. She thought that she could do that tonight on loose leaf. But her liquid of choice is from the Clorox wipes that she previously had her hand stuck in the container.

Now she is riding the pizza disc that came from a Whole Foods store bought pizza on the floor in the living room. She thinks it is a sled.

Now none of this is earth shattering and thank God nothing is fatal. It just gives me a constant question mark across my brow. Dang wrinkles.

I can not believe I have not blogged since January 15. My, am I really too busy to waste time writing about mindless things to open air that no one reads? Obviously. Until now. A little peace and quiet and little interruption. Only one problem - what do I have to say today?

I could talk about the stimulus package but why? There is really nothing I could say that would make any difference, instead I would only get what I think off my chest.

Hmmm, I could talk about the Super Bowl but truly unless the Saints would be in it (yeah, right) I really don't care who wins. I do like the commercials and the parties though.

Let see I could talk about the business. No. Not now. I am off and let's that be that.

Okay - how about the kids?Yeah, the kids. OK, well, Sarah joined a soccer league. (She has on her uniform right now and she is practicing and I have to say she looks pretty cute. And her number is 7!) She had her first practice this past Monday and her first game is Saturday. Her coach and assistant coach are so very nice and encouraging. The girls on the team welcomed Sarah as if she has been with them all along . (History => Sarah has never played soccer before, said maybe PE in school. This is the very first time. 9 years old. Never too late I suppose.) So, I asked the coach today if she was going to let Sarah play on Saturday and she said "Oh yeah. Of course. The only way to learn is to play." Hope she still feels that way on Saturday. After the game that is. I know Saz will do fine but it is scary to see your offspring put herself out there to possibly get hurt, be embarrassed, run the wrong way towards the opponent's goal or be so tired she wants to faint. But then she may just be a good player, kicker, whatever they call players and what they do (Note to self - look up soccer terms on the web.). She may very well show us all.

Katie has decided that the TV has all the answers to life's problems. Got a zit? Use ProActive. Need to find your keys in your purse? You need the do-hick that hangs in the purse to find such. Needs to lose weight? Take your pick - Jenny Craig, NutriSystem, those fat melting pills. But now she has taken it too far. (OK, for those of you who maybe asking, why is she watching so much TV? First - shut it. Second - live in my house for 2 days and you will be kissing that TV every morning. Third - she does not watch that much but she and Saz are hooked on I Love Lucy. Go figure.)

Sunday as we were driving to church, I asked Katie if she was going to give some money to the church out of the cupcake container she had in the car (that she was rattling incessantly). She was not answering me. I explained what the money goes towards and how the church needs it. I told her it was God's money anyway. Pregnant pause. Then she proceeds to inform me emphatically - "Mom. They say on TV that it's my money and I want it now." Thank you J G Wentworth. OK. Funny. Laughed really hard. I tried to explain that what they are saying does not correspond to what I was saying. I don't think anything was sinking in her brain. Shock.

Last night Katie gives me a letter size piece of paper. It has a phone number on it and CALL NOW written in her kindergarten handwriting. "What is this Katie?" "This is the number you call when you want your money." .................. She froze the DVR taped commercial from the I Love Lucy episode and wrote down the number for me, along with six faces of people - some happy, some sad. Imagine how proud I am. Maybe she'll be an investment banker.

OK. The peace and quiet has turned into slam fighting, whining/crying/complaining, yelling and tattling. Oh wait. Now it is laughter. I live in the crazy house, full of TV commercial solutions. But no TV for awhile. TV has been taken away until the rooms get cleaned. Guess I won't be getting any advice for quite some time.