Sleep in Oceanly Peace

This morning as I sat in a peaceful daze reading post after post in my Google reader, cereal bowl empty beside me, a jarring thought suddenly occurred to me:  

"Why am I not vacuuming?"

(And why is Backyardigans still on if Sam is at Preschool?)  

Then I remembered, "Oh!  I'm not vacuuming because Gabey is still asleep and I don't want to wake him up!" (guilt assuaged) Followed immediately by "Why is Gabey still asleep?  It's 9a.m.!?!?  What if the monitor isn't on and he's been crying for an hour!"  (panic) at which point I turned up the monitor sitting right next to me to hear...

Seagulls.  

And crashing waves.  

See, two nights ago we set-up this little gadget:

the HoMedics Sound Spa ($24.99 at Target.com) in the hopes that Gabey's sleep wouldn't be so often interrupted by noisy brothers.  (Evidently Doug set it to Ocean last night.)  It seems to be working!  It is now 9:05 and he's still asleep.

Praise Be and Hallelujah!

While I could use this time to, say, fold laundry, I think I'll keep reading.  You shouldn't turn up your nose at little blessings!  

Even if they come by way of Seagulls!

P.S.  It's now 9:25.  Gabey is just waking up (possibly a new record) and making a squawking sound.  I think he's talking to the Seagulls.

david after the dentist

I think this is a pretty good representation of me on Percoset...just before passing out!

Complimented a Kid Lately?

L-R Uncle Mack, Effie, (Fae's Paternal Grandma) Aunt Sylvia, My mom holding her baby brother Duane, My mom's mom Joann.

When my mom was a little girl who still went by La Fae, her paternal Grandma, Effie Barson, lived in a little cottage in their backyard. Grandma Barson was always sewing and one day dropped a needle. My mom found it and Grandma exclaimed "You've got Eagle Eyes! You found that for me! Thank you!" My mom said "when you're the middle child of seven, you don't get many compliments. So I always remembered that."

------------------

Once when I was a little girl, I remember being at the dinner table at the Dimicks--my mom's best friend. I was probably being babysat. One of the kids next to me reached for something and knocked a jar which started to tip over. My hand shot out and caught it before it fell. Larry (the dad) said "Wow Emily! You have quick reflexes!" I don't know if I blushed, but I was very pleased with the unexpected compliment. (Obviously, I never forgot it and probably believed him for a long time until my clumsiness proved him wrong.)

------------------

A few weeks ago, we had a big snow storm on a Friday night. Saturday morning found all the kids and a handful of parents outside playing in the snow. Max was up at the neighbors helping them build a giant snow man. That night I climbed up on the top bunk to give Max a good cuddle before bed. It was quite for a minute and then Max said "Aaron's dad said I'm the best boy."

"What Sweetie? When did he say that?"

"I was helping him build the snow man and he said I'm 'the best boy in the whole world!'"

Max's eyes were wide and his face--with little half smile--was practically glowing.

------------------

Max is a very busy boy. He's pretty hyper and smart and mischievous and tends to instigate mischief. This means he's getting reprimanded far more often than he's being praised for his good behavior. His comment made me a little heart-sick as I wondered how often he's been complimented by an adult other than his parents. It sorta made me want to go give Aaron's dad a big old squeeze. (But that would have been a bit awkward. We're not that close. Though I did tell him later how much I appreciated it.)

So do me a favor. Next time you're around the neighborhood trouble maker, (or any kid for that matter) try to catch him or her doing something good and pay a sincere compliment.

They just might remember it for a life time.

What a Difference an Hour Makes!

I honestly don't know why Doug thought I needed it.  

Maybe it's because since my convalescence, my skin tone is 4 shades lighter than my make-up.  (And I keep whining about it.)

Maybe it's because my voice completely disappeared on Monday (yes, my birthday) and is only half back leaving me sounding like Golem.  (I've been doing a lot of tongue clicking, snapping, clapping, and mock-signing to communicate this week...My Precious!)

Maybe it's because I have no energy (WHY?  BECAUSE IT'S BLOODY FEBRUARY AND IT'S COLD AND GRAY AND BLEAK HERE!!!) and have been skulking around the house complaining about having no energy.  (And it's possible I keep whining about this too.)

Maybe it's because I look like this:  

(Don't ever accuse me of putting only flattering pictures of myself on this blog!  Take a gander at THIS one.)

(And yes.  This is my mousy washed-out dishwater natural hair color.  HAPPY NOW, DOUG?!?!?!?!)

Anyway, like I said, I don't know why Doug called The Health and Wellness Center (called The Hawk) but he did.  And he made me an appointment to sit in a message chair under a "natural light" lamp for an hour.

So, being the dutiful wife I am, I went over this afternoon while he was home for lunch.  I was ushered into a small room and told I could take off my coat.  Then the lady (in Camo) set The Light for 30 minutes, adjusted the stereo, and closed the door.  I sat down in the big black leather chair and pushed the button for "Full Body Treatment".  And oh boy, did I get a full body treatment.  Those chairs are miracle machines!  

You know what I'm talking about right?  The chairs on display in the front of The Sharper Image?  The ones you're not allowed to sit in if you're prego cause they might cause Excessively Jiggled and Pummeled Baby Syndrome?  (Called EJPBS for short.)

Yeah.  That's the one.

It's heaven.  It's THE CHAIR of my dreams.

It actually feels like someone is giving you a really great massage! 

{Insert a mental image of a big-strapping-Swedish-Masseur-with-his-shirt-off here.  But don't try to find a picture of one on-line.  You wont like the results of your Google Search.}

 

I mean, -like- even better than the average really great massage.  (Possibly even better than the massages I give!)

Anyway, I played with a few different options...set it to "lower back", "legs and hips" and "seat"  (couldn't resist.) and finally to "bedtime".  After 30 minutes the Natural Light-light clicked off.  Sometime after that, THE CHAIR finished it's bedtime ritual and clicked off.  Unfortunately, I missed the ending.  I was already asleep.  

At 12:00 sharp the broadcast strains of Edelweiss trickled in through the window (from off-base) and I snapped back to reality barely making it home in time for Doug to get back to work.

All this for free.  

Chalk up another benefit to being in the military!  (Can I get one of those HOO-AH yell things here?  No?  That's okay.)

The best part?

When I came home I looked like this:

Yep.  It gave me big lips and dimples.  

That Doug is one smart cookie.

It's My Birthday and I'll Blog if I Want to!

I meant to blog the other day about the Snow Festival, but I really wanted to get caught up and blog about our trip to Aomori first.  But to do that, I had to show this video.  And to do that, I had to MAKE this video.  So, I'm a bit behind, but IT'S MY BIRTHDAY so I can do what I want!  Don't boss me!!!

Anyway, I'm getting faster and more proficient with this video stuff.  It's becoming quite fun, in fact.  

But before you watch, here's a little background on our adventure:  Misawa is in the Aomori Prefecture.  The city of Aomori is the capital of the Aomori prefecture.  (A prefecture could be compared to a State in the U.S.)  It's about 1.5-2 hours north of us (depending on the weather--it was quite snowy when we went.) and houses the Aomori Art Museum.  

We were invited by some church friends (we'll call them the Eff family) to caravan with them to visit the museum because the wife knows I like art.  She has a master's degree in Watercolor (how cool is THAT?  I'm going to take lessons!!!)  and he is the new E.R. Doc.  (They got here just a few weeks before we did.)  They have two really cute little kids, a boy and a girl.

Anyway, we drove on up and were impressed with the cool modern-y building the museum was housed in.  Unfortunately, we weren't as impressed with the contents.  Mostly because there just wasn't very much to see.

The first gallery was awesome and held three huge canvases painted by Marc Chagall that were used as backdrops by the New York ballet.  But other than that, there weren't many offerings from well known artists and the things they had by local artists were just sorta..."eh!"

i.e.:

But I still enjoyed it and maybe sometime they'll have an awesome exhibition and we'll go again!

Enjoy the movie!  If nothing else, I know you'll love the song!  (Unless you're my mom.  She's more into Josh Groban than Coldplay.) 

Anyway, here you go:

 

P.S.  It's my Birthday so LEAVE A COMMENT!!!

I'm BaaaaaaAhhhhhck!

For the most part.

My mom thought maybe excessive itching wasn't a normal side affect of Percoset and maybe I was allergic, (I may or may not have spoken to her via Skype, while stoned and using a jimmy-rigged fork on a stick to scratch myself excessively) which made me feel down-right indignant that Doug was standing idly by while I was itching to death which led to me guilt him (Doug) into calling the nurse who was like "yada yada" but also gave him a prescription for Tylenol with Codeine which he (Doug) immediately switched me too--to appease me {and my mother}, eliminate the itching, and--as a bonus--prevent his wife [me] from becoming a drug-addicted junkie.  (I was like, "pa-sha!").  

In Doug's defense, he's not medically daft.  He just didn't think I was allergic because I had no hives and my throat wasn't closing.  Luckily, my mom was there to say "What ev!  Get that girl off the Percoset!"  So he did.  

(But then I was like "ow!  this isn't as strong!  Give me back the good stuff!"  --But he didn't.)

Anyway, that was two days ago and I've slowly been coming back from the living dead since then.  More hours of actual consciousness, less scratching.  And yes, I am pooping again now.  Thanks for asking!  (What?  You didn't ask?  Tough.  My blog!) 

In fact, yesterday, I felt so good/foolishly optimistic/bored/stir crazy, that I said "YES!  Let's go to the Snow Festival!  I feel fine!  I'm up for it!"  (lies.)  

But more about that tomorrow.

But really, being drugged out of your gourd does have it's advantages.  For example, I love to sleep.  And I've gotten to do lots of it.  Granted, the dreams weren't the best and some were down-right scary, but on the upside, I've written numerous songs, poems and touching soliloquies in my sleep!  No matter I couldn't remember any of them when I woke up.  I know they were good and Abraham Lincoln, (who was with me when I wrote them,) also knows they were good.  And that's somethin'!

Also, I haven't had to do a dang thing around the house or solve a single little boy dilemma or do a single errand or church assignment or anything.  (Note to self:  re-start Percoset.)

The down side is, tonight when Doug left to take Maxwell to piano, Gabe cried "DA-DAHHHH!" for -like- 10 minutes.  Not having seen me much for a week evidently led him to forget that I'M the one who pushed the little sucker from MY BIRTH CANAL!!!  (Over sharing again?  Sorry, but again...tough.)

So anyway, I suppose my drug vacation is over.   

I've got to go brain-wash Gabe now.

See you tomorrow.

 

Tonsillectomy at 30. (Plus, I have an ingrown toe-nail.)

Oowwwwwwwwah! My throat hurts! Is it time for meds yet???
(All of this is being scribbled, by me, on a white board and thrust at Doug.)

D: "Yep! Here ya go!"

Every 4 hours, I have 20 lucid minutes

When the pain starts, It means the medicine is wearing off. It also means, I'm slightly sane.
And I can walk.
But I can't talk.

So I leave my bedroom. Go to the bathroom. Do a quick survey of the house... (Cleaner than usual, dang that Domestic Doug.)

Enough of that. I take the medicine.

2 tsp liquid Perc. and 2 tsp antibiodic. The first, really nasty. The second, sorta bubblegum-ish. I'm down 5 minutes and have about 15 left.

Soon, the pain in my throat lessens. It's not that bad, really. Not any worse than my usual multi-annual cases of Tonsilitis. Not nearly as bad as I was warned it would be!

The medicine works fast. I can whisper now, but I still avoid swallowing as much as possible. (I may or may not be spitting into the waste basket at this point.

Time to sit down. My legs are definitely wobbly. I grab the lap top and climb back into bed. Time is short. I can talk a little, but quietly. The boys ask if I'm all better now. For a second, I think I am.

I check my e-mail...
Check!
Check my blog for comments...
Check! (not enough)
Check Google Reader for new posts to read...
Read!
I read. I try to leave a comment or two. My vision is getting blurry and my skin is getting itchy. So so so itchy. My thoughts that seemed so clear moments ago are already getting cloudy. It's hard to type. I've made some spelling errors, but don't have the will to correct them. The room is slowly starting to spin.
I hope I sound normal in the comments.
I have a feeling I don't sound normal.
I'm drifting in and out.

The last sentence took 5 minutes to finish. The laptop feels like it's burning through the sheets and scorching my legs. I shove it off of my lap and try to roll to my left side. Must sleep on left side. Oh no! Light on. Getting to the light switch is out of the question. I barely manage to kneel on my bed and pull the chain then fall in a heap. The last thing I remember I'm scratching my legs but they're only itching worse. And then I'm on to dream land to view tortured scenes from a "Lost" and "Scrubs" hybrid (the last two shows I've watched) set to a real-life sound track of boys yelling downstairs which even numerous doors and pillows can't drown out.

This is the life!

See you in another 4 hours.

Why All the Kids Were in the Tub This Evening...

D: I’m done. You have until tonight to get better.

E: (whispers) It was poop wasn’t it? One poop incident will do that to a parent...

D: It wasn’t an ‘incident’. It was terrorism. Poop terrorism!