Fannee Doolee

More Signs

More words of wisdom from a nearby church marquee:

"Pray hardest when it's hardest to pray."

Amen.

Mental Notes

As I am now going on my fifth straight day of keeping my food down, I think I can safely say I'm done puking and ready to get back to blogging.  Even the past week or so has been a big improvement, enough so that I've at least been able to get out and experience life, take pictures and otherwise capture in random thoughts and words rambling around in my head many "bloggable" moments.  In an effort to clear my mental pallet, and because I realize I'm never going to have time to go back and develop these into the full-blown posts that they might have been, I'm going to attempt to tackle this all in one mish-mash multi-category post so we can all move on.  Here goes.

Why Is It Always My Shoes?

Kiki, having fully recovered from hives and completed her course of steroids such that she has now returned to her normal spunky, adorable self, is making leaps and bounds in the world of potty training.  Going #2 on the indoor plumbing is a regular occurrence for her, however, getting the timing down on #1 is still a bit of a mystery.  She also on occasion enjoys trying on my shoes.  During a recent underwear-clad moment, she wound up testing the watertightness of a brand-spankin' new pair of Etienne Aigner pumps.  She'd done this one other time with a brand-spankin' new pair of Bandelino pumps.  And, while I'm happy to report that you could confidently sip champagne out of either pair, you probably don't want to at this point. 

Emotional Jail

Logan, ah Logan, I love you buddy, and you certainly have become quite a "man" since turning six - from making pee standing up "like a real man" to trying new foods and getting yourself dressed, you're really growing up.  And yet, we still have the occasional emotional overload.  SOMETHING happened at church recently that set you off - I didn't see it, but the mom of the 2-year old who was involved insisted that he apologize to you.  I tried to get you to talk about it:

"Can you tell me what upset you?"

"NO!"

"Talking about it might make you feel better."

"NEVER!"

"Well, could I just say a little prayer that you'll feel better?"

"NO WAY.   PUT AWAY THOSE PRAYER HANDS!"

"I'm not going to say anything out loud, I'm just going to think a prayer for you in my heart."

"NO!  MOMMY  - YOU ARE GOING TO JAIL!"

"Jail?  Why am I going to jail?"

"FOR PRAYING!"

FANNEE MEETS GRACE

What do you get when you mix 2 lbs.  butter that's not even close to room temperature, a bag and a half of Hershey's dark chocolate chips and remaining cookie ingredients, and the energetic offspring of Fanneedoolee and Grace?  Chocolate chip crepes, and a lot of fun! 

Click here for more baking fun photos in my flickr photostream. 

H.B. MARIE!

Damn!  Where ARE those pictures?  You know the ones - with the lipstick and the tacky luggage?  They must be lost in my mom's basement somewhere.  I vow someday to find them and post them, hopefully before your next birthday.  Until then, this blast from the past will have to suffice:

Nice midriff.

High School Revisited

Congratulations to An, who once again received a top rating when performing with her school choir at a regional festival.  They advance to the state competition in May!  And thanks to An for my best people watching experience to date - sitting in the high school cafeteria after the performance, watching all the students from the various schools in their mix of formal singing attire and flip-flops.  From the fashions to the hairstyles to the social graces, high school is a social time capsule that remains unchanged.

The Many Faces of Logan

all aboard!

{More Photos To Come . . . }

Better Late than Never

Just found these pics from last Christmas of a post-holiday dinner with my Dad's side - Grandma Rosemary, my Dad's sister Karen, her husband Jim and my cousins Ashley and Nicole, and Nicole's fiancee, Sandeep.  But the guest of honor was my dear Aunt Marylin, wife of my late Uncle Gene who inspired this post. 

Next Up: Boils, Locusts

Yes - still here, still nauseous, and still tentatively peeking around every corner wondering what the next calamity will be. 

Up until last week, I had been incredibly thankful that the stream of maladies that has been besieging our house seemed to be primarily focused on me.  But, unfortunately, that ended last Monday with Logan spiking a fever off and on for a few days.  Then, on Saturday, Kiki woke up with a splotchy, red rash all over her torso, arms and legs.  She'd only experienced a similar condition once before when she was an infant and I tried feeding her avocado.  Coincidentally, we had Chipotle for dinner Friday night, and Kiki had some of my veggie burrito with extra guacamole.  I dosed her up with some Benadryl, and she seemed to do better.

Until night time, of course.  Then, she began running a fever, and the hives got much worse.  By the next morning, they had spread to her face, her eyes became puffy, and her little fingers and toes swelled up like cherry tomatoes.  Fortunately, we were able to get her to an urgent care facility, where they administered some oral steroids that have her quite on the mend.  But I will never forget what she looked like, all pink and swollen, and her little voice as she said to the registration clerk:  "My name is Kiki.  I two.  I sick!" 

In the midst of reflecting on the past several weeks in my martyr-like, pity-party way, I began to think about the bible story from Exodus about all of the plagues upon Egypt.  When I first read Exodus 7-11, I found it strangely entertaining.  You can click on the link to read it as told by Eugene Peterson in The Message courtesy of Biblegateway.com (or dial up the NIV or some other version - it's a pretty cool site) - but the story basically goes like this:  Moses and his brother, Aaron, are enslaved in Egypt along with all of the other Jews, and they keep going to the Pharaoh and saying "Let My People Go!" but the Pharaoh won't listen, so then God sends down all of these plagues on Egypt that only Aaron and Moses can cure, in hopes of convincing the Pharaoh that the Jewish god is great and powerful and that the Jews should be free.  The plagues are (in order):  1) All the water in the Nile turns to blood and all the fish die; 2) the Nile teems with frogs that invade the city; 3) a plague of gnats; 4) ditto with flies; 5) all the livestock dies; 6) my personal favorite - a plague of festering boils; 7) hail; 8) locusts; 9) darkness - and then, depending on which version you read, the story leads into the plague on the firstborn and the basis for the Jewish tradition of Passover. 

I know - you're thinking, "she finds this strangely entertaining because???"  Well, the funny part to me is that each time Egypt is hit with one of these plagues, the Pharaoh is all "Yes, Moses & Aaron - make it go away and I will let your people go," but then of course when things are all fine and good, Pharaoh changes his mind.  As the plagues get worse and worse, however, the Pharaoh seems more and more persuaded, but somehow always goes back on his word.  Finally, it's the locusts that put Pharaoh to the point of saying, "That's it!  I'm letting you go - I want the whole lot of you out of Egypt because of all this bad luck you're bringing," but, of course, even that falls through.

So what does the story of the plagues on Egypt have to do with what's been going on in my house these past few weeks?  Is there some sort of spritual/psycho-analogy from which I can pull great wisdom and insight?  Well, if there is, I'm not seeing it.  I just thought of the story, and it made me want to chuckle.  And stock up on bug spray. 

The Third Nipple

Yes, I'm still here, still alive, still plucking along through every nausea-filled moment, and actually managing to take some pictures here and there, which I promise to post soon:  more pictures of the kids playing "dress-up"; pictures of Logan's and Patrick's several birthday celebrations; pictures of Phil's new leaves.  But it might take me a while - it's kind of hard to post with my head down the toilet.

So, here I am, teetering on the edge of the topic I know too well that I shouldn't even begin writing about, and yet I can't fight this urge to get it out of my system.  It's not as if there aren't so many more pleasant, worthwhile things that I could write about - the weather, the kids, my deeply moving experience singing at "Rock n Roll Church" again on Saturday, An's continued amazing successes at school and hunt for the perfect prom dress - but it's hard to stay focused on these pleasant things when the inside of my mouth constantly tastes like the armpit of a seasoned Amsterdam hooker.

Or a sweaty jock-strap.  Or some other equally-disgusting and offensive odor/flavor combination, but definitely one that suggests the primordial ooze from which we all come.  I can only imagine that my body is so steeped in this primordial baby-making ooze that it can't help but back-up into my esophagus. 

So yes, there's the nausea.  Then, there was the week or so of the stomach flu, which necessitated a course of antibiotics, which quite naturally brings on - say it with me, ladies - well, if you can say it with me then perhaps I can spare those unaffiliated with this burning phenomenon from too much information.  Let's just say, I'm gettin' no relief here, people.

During my last equally-sufferable pregnancy, I discovered this book,  Pregnancy Sucks, which is the first pregnancy-related book I read that was not entirely devoted to the "wonders" of pregnancy, the beauty of childbirth, and the ever-importance of maintaining your pregnant body as a drug-free vessel of purity for your unborn child, despite any mild discomforts.  Rather, Pregnancy Sucks had it all - the real deal on all the unpleasantness I had been experiencing, and even a few things I hadn't.

I specifically remember the author's discussion of a particularly terrifying condition where some pregnant women experience such high levels of hormones that their bodies are carried back several evolutionary phases and manage to resurrect the feeding system of our ancestors, which, not unlike that of cats, dogs, and other mammals, included multiple teats for multiple offspring.  In other words, these poor women actually developed additional nipples on their abdomens during pregnancy - not fully-functioning, lactating nipples, but nonetheless visible protrusions echoing the primary pair. 

My saving grace throughout my second pregnancy - the mantra I would always chant when things were going bad - was "at least I don't have a third nipple.  At least I don't have a third nipple." 

I'm a bit afraid to look down these days, however.  I'm not so sure I'll be as lucky this time around.