The Story of Deedle

My youngest, know here as the Deedle was born 2 years ago today. In all that time I have never taken the time to record his birth story. With The K-Man I did it right away, because I belonged to an on-line group and we did that sort of thing. But with the Deedle I was more involved with IRL moms, so that story was passed verbally. You know like the Iliad. Also, the Deedle was born 2 weeks before his due date and totally caught everyone off guard. Hell, I am still catching up! So here is goes. As best as I can remember it. This is how we got the Deedle.

On Tuesday, February 26th 2008, I was 8 1/2 months pregnant with my second child. We did not know what we were having, but of course we were very excited. Our first was born right on time and at my last doctors appointment I showed no signs of being anywhere ready to give birth. So, when I started spotting a little that evening it caught my attention. I did not do this with the K Man until the morning he was born and while I was in no pain I thought I ought to call my doctor.

She sent me into Labor and Delivery for an evaluation. So after calling a couple of friends to watch the K-Man and finally getting the best neighbor ever to come over, we headed to the hospital. They check me out and found nothing going on. I was not further dilated than I had been at my last doctor's appointment. I was not having contractions. Nothing, nada, thanks for stopping by and head on home. Home we went. Our best neighbor ever said, 'I think I will see you later' when she left our house that night. We laughed and settled in to watch a DVD on Lamaze breathing techniques assured that our new little baby would not be out and about for at least another week or so.

At around 2am my uterus awakes me. Stupid damn uterus has not gotten that wait 2 weeks memo. I tracked my contractions in the dark writing the contraction times down on a little post-it note. After about an hour, I decided that I should move out to the living room. The contractions were getting closer together and I needed the light to see my little post it note. And lets face it, body rocking pain is always easier to take with the TV on. I woke up my husband and we went out to the living room to further track my misery. You see at this point I was coming around to the notion that this baby was going to force its way out of that night (day), but my husband was still not so sure. So we timed things for almost another hour. At some point my gut wrenching pain became clear enough even to convince the most un-convincable that I was indeed in active labor. The husband rushed off to shower and grab the bags. I called the doctor and suggested strongly that she met me at the hospital with an epidural. We called back the best neighbor ever...Who I am now convinced is a fetus whisperer. I spend several agonizing minutes leaned over the car yelling at my husband to hurry up while he tells the best neighbor ever how to serve the then 2 1/2 year old K-Man yogurt. And off we go to the hospital.

It is now close to 5am and I am in the transition labor, in the car, on the highway. I am griped with an intense fear that my child will be delivered on the side of the road. Luckily we made it that in one piece with the baby still on the inside. We go straight in, leaving our bag and camera in the car. The nurses buzz us in and one immediately begins to explain that they will need to check my cervix because I might not really be in labor and therefore might need to go back home. She most likely said that because I was taking off my clothes as we went down the hall. Once in the room, the nurse discovers that she cannot find my cervix. After establishing that I had not dropped on the way in, it was determined that I was 10 cm dilated (and just in case you are wondering at 10cm dilated you can have shit for your pain--kiss the fucking epidural good-bye). It is at this point that Nurse You Might Not Be in Labor decides to call my doctor in. I then have to wait for her arrival. I do so by screaming, panting and asking such questions as: How close does the doctor live to the hospital? Does she drive a very fast car? Can't all doctors deliver babies? Y'all look like you could catch a baby. Okay, that last one was more of a statement.

The doctor arrives and dons her haze mat suit complete with welding helmet. She breaks my water and all fucking hell breaks loose. Seriously, someone unleashed the fires of hell deep within my Va-Jay-Jay. They don't call it the Burning Ring of Fire for nothing. I immediately and seemingly reasonably decided that I did not want to do this anymore. I suggested rather forcefully that a C-Section might be in order. I even went so far as to offer to be gassed in order to make this happen. Amazingly enough my doctor, the many nurses in the room, my husband all think this is a rotten idea. They tell me to keep pushing. They tell me that the worst will be over once the head is out and that I am doing a bang up job. I quickly realize that they are all out to kill me and my only way free of the pain is to push the damn kid out as quickly as possible. By the way, don't reach down to check your own pushing progress. The doctor, nurses and husband will assume that you have gone insane. Also, you might not want to suggest that your doctor is full of shit when she tells you that you are doing great pushing the baby out. I mean she did not shove the kid back in or anything, but still it was embarrassing when I had to see her later. So, after like two pushes head is out and I announce that I am done and that the doctor can just yank the baby the rest of the way out. HA! Not even! I had to push one more time. And let me tell you. That was best feeling of my life. Nothing ever has felt so fabulous, not before or after. It was like shitting a couch. Sure it hurt while I was doing it, but once it was over the release was overwhelming.

And there was the Deedle. In all his Deedle glory! And believe me when I say that this child has kept me on my toes ever since. And of course I love him more that words can say. He greets me each day with a smile, fills my life with joy, hugs and kisses.

Thick and Rich as Melted Chocolate Bars

Rich Homemade Hot Cocoa
Because I am really nice person I thought I would share with y'all my recipe for Homemade Hot Cocoa.  It is very delicious and just what everyone in the Northeast needs at the moment.  Oh and I have also entered this recipe into the Foodista cookbook contest.  So you must also vote for it.  Just click on the lovely hot cocoa pic above and you will find the recipe (you can vote there too--wink, wink, nudge, nudge). 

And because I am also a bitch I feel I have to tell you that it is currently 58 degrees here in Northern California.  And just to rub salt in this already very large wound, I would like to add that everyone here is bitching about the cold.   They will all be stoking up their fireplaces tonight.  I will not because I don't know how to open the flue and I am pretty sure that the whole house would burn down if I even tried.  

So Why Can't You Transplant a Uterus?

Seriously, does anyone know why you can't.  I offered my uterus up for sale in this post.  This was of course a joke brought on by my serious desire for my freaking periods to stop.  I would not sell an organ or suggest that anyone else do so, but it did make me wonder.  Why can't I donate my uterus? You know,  to someone who could actually use it, for something other than periods and IUD storage. 

You can transplant hearts, lungs, kidneys, parts of livers, corneas, and other various tissues.  I am living proof of this fact, considering I am walking around on a "borrowed" ACL.  I prefer the term borrowed to the term cadavar tissue(insert shudder here).  So, why not uteruses?  Or is that uterii. 

I can understand not transplanting ovaries or testes because they contain direct baby making genetic materials.  But a uterus is just another organ.  It is a very nice organ.  It does a very great and amazing thing, but I really do not need it anymore.  I should be able to pass it along to someone who does need it and does want it.  If you can pump a 22 year old full of hormones and harvest her ovum, then why can't they transplant a uterus into someone who needs one.  There should be no moral delimna there.  I can only assume that there is some medical delimna.  Maybe you cannot do it because of some medical thing.  This may be the case, but then I suggest that doctors get cracking and make this happen!  This could help a lot of people.  A win-win for all involved.

Wordless Wednesday-Time Machine Addition

Two years ago today, I looked like this.  I should warn you.  Watermelon seeds should be spit out, not swallowed.

Dot Com

I did it.  I ditched the blogspot.  Thanks to all who voted in my poll, I was able to chose a name without actually thinking or making a decision for myself.  Yeah Democracy! 

The winner was

http://http://www.theconfessionsofastayathomemom.com/

So I have ditched the blogspot and the dashes-----

You should not notice a thing.  Blogger does all the work.  If you have bookmarked you can change it and if you have button you might want to grab it again.  But it not, you should still be redirected.

The Blues, the Mean Reds and the Black Dog

Oh shit I don't care what you call it. I have been down right depressed lately. I say lately, but I have seriously down in the dumps since Christmas. I am not sure why, but at the same time I think I know why. I am just unable to state out loud why. Very healthy, no? In case you have not noticed the Mom is an uptight WASP at heart. Don't let my conversion to Catholicism and my Hungarian last name fool you. I am all white bread and wound as tightly as a dolphins ass (and obviously metaphorically challenged). So, instead of dealing with my anger, I internalize my anger and beat myself up via depression.


Now, now, don't worry. The Mom is made of some strong shit. I know this too shall pass. I just need to grit my teeth, gird my loins and I will get through it. I can tell this not the need meds, stat kind of depression that followed the arrival of the deedle. This is the things change, and sometimes life gets your down kind of depression. I still bathe every day, leave the house and have fun with, but underneath it is there. Lurking like, well like a mean red, blue and black dog!

Part of my problem is that I have never really fit in. I have always been that person who just was not what other people where. Always sort of on the outside, looking in. Never really part of a group. My parents were older when they had me and my only sibling is 18 years my senior. As a result I have never really learned how to deal with my own kind, so to speak. I am always more comfortable with people almost twice my age. Combine an upbringing as basically an only child with an over developed knowledge of all things Artie Shaw and you have got yourself someone who does not always play well with others. Hey, it is not like have not turned out well. I am happily married and I do have friends. I even have some friends who do not yet collect social security. I just tend to isolate and that often leads to over thinking which then leads to the blues, the mean reds and the black dog. And this is why I am a cat person.

The Mom Manifesto

I thought since every other douche bag has a manifesto then I ought to have one, too.  No wait.  Hold on.  I do not mean to imply that I am a douche bag.  I am not a douche bag.   Since we have that cleared up, let's move on to my manifesto. 

This is my manifesto:

 I proclaim that I am a mom and that I have two children.  I proclaim that children should be allowed to be children.  They should not be forced into adult activities or past times.  They should not be over scheduled.  They should be allowed to goof off, make noise and lolly-gag. 

I also proclaim that I do not want to clean the house or do laundry anymore. 

This is possibly the worst manifest ever.

Zombies: You know like the real kind.

This has been a rough couple of weeks for me.  First I came down (or up) with a kidney infection that left me feverish and dealing with the most God awful back pains in my life.  Antibiotics are wonderful things, but they sure can screw you up in other ways.  This particular antibiotic had to be taken 4 hours before or 4 hours after the consumption of diary rich foods like cheese, milk or yogurt.  Now, I am a firm believe that cheese make life worth living, so this was a hard rule to follow because of course that guideline made me want cheese and milk constantly.  Well, I should have thought about eating some yogurt instead of pining away for cheese because I ended up with a yeast infection.  To make matters that much worse my period starts.  So basically my lady parts are being put through the wringer.  Actually going through the wringer might be a vast improvement. 

Last night while settling in for a long not so winter-y winter's nap I realized that I forgotten to use my yeast infection medication.  I began to lament the condition of being a female vs. being a male.  My husband being the only other creature in the room capable of speech was forced to engage with me in conversation. 

Me: It sucks to be a woman, but at least I don't have to worry about being kicked in the balls all the time.

The Husband: True and with the Deedle around that happens a lot. 

Me: What else about being a female is physically better than being a man?  Mmmm. Well if we were camping and we had to pee and while we were peeing a Zombie attacked us; you would get killed before me.  Oh no wait, I would have to pull up my pants before I could run.  That was a bad example.  I would totally get killed first.  Wait! What am I saying, you don't know how to kill a Zombie.  I could totally use that to my advantage. 

The Husband:  What? 

Me: You don't know how to kill a Zombie.

The Husband: Yes I do. You drive a wooden stake through it's heart. Right?

Me: (sighing heavily) No, you shot it in the head. 

The Husband: Why the head? 

Me: Because that is the way it is done.  See you would totally be dead and it would not matter that I had pants around my ankle. 

The Husband: Ah, okay.

Me: Of course by Zombie I mean a real Zombie.  Not one of those fake Zombies.

The Husband: Fake Zombie?

Me: You know.  Like in that movie from the 80's.  You know it had something about a rainbow and maybe a serpent in the title.

The Husband: You mean the "Serpent and the Rainbow". Those people just took a drug that made them appear dead.

Me:  I know.  That is what I am saying.  They were not real Zombies.  You don't really need to worry about the drug induced Zombies.  Just the viral Zombies.  You know.  The ones that became Zombies because of an infected Zombies. 

The Husband: Oh Sure. That makes sense. 

You see what I did not tell him was that I would just have to kill him too.  You know when a viral Zombie does attack him.  I just can't take the risk that he might bite one of the kids. I probably should have told him, but that is not the kind of thing you tell people right before they fall asleep especially when you share a bed. Anyway, this is the reason why I don't go camping. 

Wordless Wednesday

Don't let the sweet curls fool you.  He is more devil than cherub. 

Ice Skating, Sparkles and Bob Costas?

I prefer the Winter Olympics to the Summer Olympics.  The only Summer Olympics I watched thoroughly were those held in Atlanta and that was only because it was my hometown's pride on the line and all.  Go Izzy!  Best Mascot Ever!   I used to watch just about everything that the Winter Olympics had to offer, as a Southern I was fascinated by all the winter sports.  You see in GA our idea of a winter sport if sledding down a hill on a trash can lid in 1 inch of snow.  As the years progressed and husband and children arrived I found that I only had the time and energy to expend on my most favorite things.  In the case of Winter Olympics this is figure skating.  What can I say? I love sparkly twirly things. 

I can remember tucking in for an evening and just watching the coverage from start to finish with my mom or friends.  Well, those days are over and not because I have misplaced my mom or my friends.  They are over because to the way that Olympic coverage is handles now a days.  First you have to watch Bob Costas drone on about some inspiration something for 20 minutes, then you have to watch some other person yuke it up with polar bears, and then you get to watch one pair or one person skate.  Then back to Bob who then tells you that you will right back to skating after you watching something else for 30 minutes.  Now, I do not begrudge these other sports.  They are great and I used to take the time to watch the skiing and the sledding and the luging.  But now I have limited amount of time between cooking, cleaning, and parenting.  So, in my free time I want to see what I want to see.  So, why can't I see the whole thing?  I want the whole thing, at once.  Not in pieces. 

So cut out the polar bear stuff, put some tape on Bob's mouth and lets just watch the sports in blocks not all chopped up.  Because I am sure that the skiing fans are sick and tired of seeing people in sparkly costumes twirls around.

Happy President's Day

"Four score and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation: conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war. . .testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated. . . can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war.

We have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate. . .we cannot consecrate. . . we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember, what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced.

It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us. . .that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion. . . that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain. . . that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom. . . and that government of the people. . .by the people. . .for the people. . . shall not perish from the earth. "

~Abraham Lincoln

 16th President of the United States of America

Happy Valentine's Day

Now you will feel no rain,

For each of you will be shelter for the other.

Now you will feel no cold,

For each of you will be warmth for the other. 

Now there is no more loneliness.

Now you are two persons,

But here is only one life before you.

Go now to your dwelling place,

To enter into the days of your togetherness,

And may your days be good and long upon this earth

~Washoe Indian Wedding Prayer

Greek God+Mortal Gal=Latest Teen Movie Craze

I must admit I am always just a little behind when these things start.  I got into Harry Potter about 3 books in and I did not pick up book one of the Twilight Series until the last one was released.  This is not to say that I did not enjoy those books, I did.  I am not one of haters who disses what everyone else is into just so that I can make myself appear cooler. Unless we are talking about music.  In which case I will mock you for watching American Idol or listening to American Idol winners or American Idol losers or American Idol placers.  Right it is like a horserace...win, place or draw. 

But, I must admit that the premise behind this Percy Jackson movie and book are a bit disturbing to say the least.  At least disturbing to those of use who studied or read anything about Greek Mythology.   These Greek Gods were not known for their gentle wooing skills.  I mean Leda was not enjoying herself.  She was not some Swan-loving sex fend.  She was raped.  By a swan, (honk, honk) and then she had to lay eggs because of course the Zeus-Swan knocked her up.  And Apollo, what an ass he was?  He was supposed to be wicked handsome, so he did not have resort to shape shifting, but he was certainly known to give chase and forcible subdue.  Once he got you, you had better not cross him either.  He did not take kindly to rejection.

Now things were better for those mortal men who were bedded by the Greek Goddesses, but even those couplings did not end well.  Look at Achilles, Immortal mother and mortal father and while he was a great warrior he was also one poutie whiney bitch.  Well, that may have been a parenting issue, but a problem nonetheless. 

It just leaves me wondering what has been done to sanitize these legends and is it as bad as the movie about the Trojan War that completely removed Cassandra from the tale (you will find Cassandra under the heading of women how ticked of Apollo, only you won't believe it once you read it-LOL).  Oh God, I just made a Greek Myth joke.  I understand if you have to leave now, but just please turn off the light before you go.

Helpful Hints for Gossipers

We all know someone who gossips.  Dare I suggest that we also participate in some gossip from time to time?  Everyone does it, so don't set there and act like you don't.  Cus you do. Hey even the Pope gossips.  He is always talking about stuff that Jesus told him and stuff that Jesus did.  It is Jesus, this and Jesus, that. 

After much thought and consideration I have put together some hints for gossipers.  Be consistent, otherwise things are going to get confusing. Plus it makes you look more like a Jealous Harpie then just a gossip when you jump around like that. Check your facts, there can be a fine line between gossip and libel.  You cannot say that you think someone's husband is a perv unless you proof. You don't want to get sued!  Keep it out of print. Don't post is on your blog or send it via email.  Someone is going to forward that shit right on.  Please know that this information is going to make it back to those you are talking about.  It always happens.  One day some ignorant dumbass is checking their email totally thinking they have real friends and all when BAM-O.  The email always starts with: did you see this?  or is this about you? and always ends with someone crying.  Also, please note that those you gossip with are just turning around and gossiping about you.  It multiplies and spreads like a cancer virus in a dockworker's lung...there is no stopping it.    So, never think you are secure because you are not. 

So that should do it.  I hope it helps.  Next week, how to help tax cheaters not get caught.

All Apologies

My dearest interweb, 

I have been ignoring you.  I have not posted for almost a week.  I feel that I have let you down and that I own you an explanation. Here are some viable if no reasonable excuses as to why I have not posted anything to this blog since last week. 

• My foot was caught in something.
• The cat ate my homework.
• The dentist forbid me from typing.
• The dog ate my homework.
• Someone has been pooping on my front lawn everyday.  I suspect an over achieving blogger.
• The eggs were yelling at me.
• I was caught up in the culinary chain letter that is Amish Friendship Bread. 
• I ate so much Amish Friendship Bread that I had a compulsion to go on Rumspringa and I have been in Ensenada drinking and dancing topless. 
• I had this weird taste in my mouth.
• I have been working tirelessly to find out WHY you cannot transplant a uterus?  Seriously, why can't you?
• Someone stolded all my wires.
• Some smart fucker just told me that Stolded was not a word.  Asshole. 

Party Report

Sadly, I have no pictures to share with you.  I mean I have pictures, but I am saving them in case I ever need to blackmail anyone.  This might not be a good idea considering the 200 pictures currently being held by the Girl Formerly Know as Pissed and Pregnant.  On second thought I have no photos.  They are all gone.  Except for this one. 

A group of judgemental toys look on as we dance.

Okay, no photos, but here are the facts:

3000 sq ft~ The size of the hole made in the Ozone layer from this party.  Who knew they still made Aquanet?

50lbs~ The amount of blue eyeshadow used by party participants. 

75~ The number of jello shots consumed by theMom at the party.

1~Number of people who completed their Preppy Outfit with a tennis racket.  I totally rocked that tennis racket thank you very much.

1~Number of people who breakdanced at the party...is that right breakdanced.....

1~Number of incoherent messages on the Venti Vixen's puffy paint covered tank top party keepsake...sorry about that.  It seemed really funny at the time.  I blame Tammy Faye Baker. 

3~Number of vodka shots consumed by TheMom at the party.

1,000~ Number of times I almost peed my pants while laughing with friends at the party. 

8~Number of times I actually peed my pants at the party.

My Bumb Thumb

So, y'all know I have this cooking blog, My Veggie Table.  I have probably mentioned it like 1 million times a couple of times in passing or something like that.  Anyway, I cut my finger while trying to dice an onion.  It was not bad enough to need stiches, but it was bad enough to need to wrapped in a paper towel and bound with a hair rubber band thingy.  It bled and it hurst so I got lots of sympathy from husband and sons.  Well the Deedle is only 2 so sympathy is not something he does well at all. But The K Man was totally sympathetic.  He even gave my thumb a kiss, a hug and a high five.  Admittedly the high five hurt like a motherfuck, but I kept that to myself.  You know cus it is the thought that counts and high fives are big praise indeed from a 4 year old boy. 

So let this be a lesson to you.  Onions are very rolly and most likely part of an evil plot put forth by Satan to make me look like a moron.