A for Effort...

Have we talked before about how I am not a baker?  I try to be, I want to be a baker, but I am more of a project manager when it comes to baking.  I have great ideas, I know how to rally the troops and get people excited about the project, but I am not the best when it comes to the actual project.

I don't have many memories from being little, but I do remember my Grandma Szwedo making beautiful Barbie cakes for birthdays.  You know, the ones with the big cake skirts and the half Barbie on top?  And this year the girls are into Barbies big time.  And, being a little nostalgic and missing my Grandma, I thought that I would attempt to make two barbie cakes.  One pink, one purple.  So, off to Michael's this morning to get half dolls and coloring for the cakes, then to my Mom's to get the pans.  I have now sent the girls off with Jim, put Austin to sleep, and have made a cake recipe that a friend raved about

Ann Boyd's Best Yellow Cake Ever

I have put some mix into a tube pan, and some into a half ball pan in the hopes of getting just the dress shape that I want.  However, I did something wrong with the tube pan (it has a removable base) and some of the cake mix has dripped onto the bottom of the oven.  That means a delightful burning smell is wafting through my kitchen.  Awesome. 15 more minutes to bake, and we will see what comes of it...I promise to post pictures!


And the results...(sigh) Pretty sure Grandma's cakes didn't look like this...

You can rip your what?

Did you know that you can rip chest muscles/ligaments?  Me neither....

Then I did it...

This weekend...

As I picked Austin up out of his stroller and put him into the minivan.  The pain that I felt in my chest was immediately sent to my head as either being A. Heartburn or B. A Heart Attack.  The best description was a knife in the left side of my chest, but just in one spot.  I could breathe, I wasn't pukey or sweaty.  I could walk and talk. So, I swayed towards option A for 5 hours.  5 painful hours.  I took meds, I rested, then I figured if it was just heartburn I should get up and get ready for the Memorial Day BBQ.  So I vacuumed, I used my Hoover FloorMate and washed the kitchen floors.  I boiled ribs, soaked corn, and baked a pie.  And when I still did not feel better at 2:00PM (it happened about 10:15AM), I told Jim I needed to go to the Doctor.  And you know what: Urgent Care is not open on holidays.  That left me the ER of Northwest Community Hospital.

I heart NWCH. 

Do you know that if you walk into an ER and tell them you are having chest pain that people move around you.  And they move REALLY fast.  Blood, EKG, and Chest X-Ray in 30 minutes flat.  (I should note here that I was not being dramatic, and said over and over to the nurse that I was not having a heart attack because I had looked it up online and WebMD said I wasn't.)  Diagnosis, a torn muscle/ligament in my chest.  Treatment...AWESOME drugs.  I mean, drugs that made me feel like a Friday night at ISU.  Drugs that made me not think so much of the pain, but to become obsessed with the fact that I was sitting in an ER and there was french onion dip and rippled potato chips at home that I really wanted.

Bottom line, I need to lift Austin with my knees and not my back/chest muscles.  Or better yet, I should just have Jim do it.  Lesson learned.

How I know that I am getting old...

You know how I know I am getting old?  Because my husband's Friday night store run was for antacid, not pizza and beer.  And then I ate a grilled cheese, sent him to the bar, and I am going to crawl into bed and watch So You Think You Can Dance.

And....by the way....I could totally dance like them if I wanted to.   I could!

You know WHAT?!?!?!?!

It's this S#!T that makes me angry.  It's what keeps me from going to the doctor when I know I should.  It's what made me almost starve myself during my pregnancy with Abigail for fear of even gaining one pound.  My doctor at that time told me that I shouldn't gain a pound.  Not a single pound.  Which, essentially, means that you should loose weight because you are gaining the water, placenta, and, oh, right, a BABY!  I gained 8 pounds during that pregnancy, and I used to fast for almost 48 hours prior to each appointment because I was so worried about it.  THAT was unhealthy.  THAT was unsafe for my baby.  And it makes me ANGRY.

Obese fetus?

Yes, being obese is hard on your health, and it probably is hard on the health of a fetus.  Don't you think that we already know that?  It's like when a doctor says, "Hey, your BMI is 2384032 and you are obese."  One time, just one time, I want to look at them, drop my jaw, and say, "Really?  I had no idea!  When did that happen?"


Whatever.....

All I got...

This is all I got....

It's been one of those weeks months where you give until you have no more to spare....and that's about where I am now.  Somethings have GOT to change somewhere...and we are taking small steps towards a big change...  Until then....I will try to come up with a more witty post for the next time...

The power of touch...

I don't think that I will ever forget the first time that I was able to hold each of my children.  Ever.  They brought Lilli into me as I was still groggy and shaking from the c-section.  This teeny-tiny little ball of red skin and bright eyes.  Jim and my Dad were in the room, and I was totally overwhelmed.  TOTALLY.  She was mine.  My baby.  My baby girl.  I silently whispered to her, as I would to all three the first time I held them, that I loved them for a long time already, that I would always love them, and that I would never leave them.  When Abigail was born, her heart was not beating properly, and she was whisked away to the NICU.  She would stay there for about 48 hours, and my arms ached to hold her.  I was first able to hold her in the Mom's room, and Jim and I stayed there until they told us she needed to go back into her "hut".  Austin was the longest wait, three days.  They attempted to let me hold him on the 2nd day, but within seconds his stats dropped and bells and whistles went off.  He went back into his hut, too.  I would sit on the side of his incubator, placing my hand through the little hole and just stroking his tiny, ultrasoft leg.  When I was able to really hold him, along with his oxygen, it was the best feeling ever.  So tiny, so trusting, so depending on me.

I am lucky that I have children who love to snuggle, perhaps because I rarely put them down as babies and we had a awesome daycare that did the same.  Even Lilli, who is almost 5, wants to be picked up when she is tired to rest her head on my shoulder or against my cheek.  Austin just wants to snuggle, to play with a necklace or an earring, or pick your nose (I know, right).  And Abigail is ATTACHED at my hip, and on my leg, and usually pulling on an arm.

And I love it.  I love being a Mom.  For as many days as I whine and complain and moan about it, there are double that in times that I stand in their rooms at night, watching them sleep, and get teary eyed.  I love them, more than I ever thought I would be able to love anything.

Lillianne Julia

Born and held June 20, 2006

(and would like it to be known that this picture

was take at about midnight after a 6AM induction

and then c-section at 7PM.  I am normally much cuter.)

Abigail Helen

Born June 18, 2007

Held June 20, 2007

Austin Matthew

Born July 25, 2009

Held July 28, 2009

Cannot rejoice in someone else's death....

Almost everyone on Facebook is overwhelmed with the joy of the murder of Osama.  And I am disturbed by it.  While I understand what Osama did was HORRIBLE and UNFORGIVABLE, and has caused more pain and suffering than anyone could ever comprehend, but is it really justified?  Do people know that he, too, had young children?  Somewhere there are daughters and sons mourning the loss of their father.  (Insert the standard reaction of..."How many sons and daughters over here cried when he killed their parents?  How many sons and daughters were born afterwards that never met their parents?)  I get it....I just don't believe that one death (or thousands of deaths) justifies another.  And do we really think that it is "over" now?  I fear this is only the beginning...that we are walking down a very unstable bridge and it will break. 
And what are we teaching the next generation?  What will you tell your children about this?  Will we say that "This time it was ok to hit back because he hit us first?"  I am sad.  Really, really sad.

UPDATED....Thank you Schevone

"I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that." --Martin Luther King, Jr.