Friday, February 23, 2007
I walked into the dining room to find
cute little boy
three year old fisted hand turning Ninja Turtles green
As I passed by the precious person I heard him say in his so tiny voice...
more to the turtles than to me
"I tee-teed in a boot."
I looked past the paper turtles to the open door behind my child
a boot that had indeed been peed in and upon
I walked, dumbfounded, back to the child whose chubby fingers held the green and said,
"Did you tee-tee in that boot?"
He did not look up.
He did not stop.
He was drawing lines on the turtle ninja's head and said...
I called for Aaron.
I said, "Will you tell your Daddy what you did?"
I think Aaron was expecting to hear something related to arts and crafts.
Ashton kept working
Creating away in his race car underwear.
White, pudgy baby legs sticking out begging to be squeezed.
Studying Raphael Ashton answered his dad...
"I tee-teed in a boot."
Father wondering if he should discipline this child.
Ashton transforming turtles from gray to green.
Kids have a way of turning a gray world green.
That's life with boys.
Life with boots.
Life with tee tee and the various "What in the world were you thinking?" places to put it.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
I just woke up from a NAP!!!
A real one!
For TWO WHOLE hours!!
I had to stop typing and clap!
No one in my house woke me up.
No criminals knocked on my front door wanting me to buy magazines from them.
The telephone did not ring. Now that Homie is "gone" and can't possibly eat them, I always put all the phones on the back porch when I attempt a nap stunt like I did today...but I still kind of hear them. I do all this because I can't figure out how to turn the ringers off.
I tried to take a nap today and I actually succeeded!
I know the motto goes, "When at first you don't succeed, try, try again..." WHATEVER! The exclusion clause for that motto is napping. Instead, my nap motto is, "You never succeed, so just forget it and fold some laundry."
I am feeling so fine because I not only got to get in the bed, but I actually fell asleep in it!
I know I fell asleep because I had a dream about hanging signs on people. I think their signs had their addresses on them. I've been looking at too many MLS listings.
The nap was excessively lovely.
The constellation of just the right elements has not lined up for me in about the last six months to ensure a nap of this magnitude.
Sometimes on Thursdays, I try to take a nap, but then come the criminals...or Ashton suddenly boycotts his nap for the day...or I begin decorating my friend's houses in my mind, choosing paint colors and knocking down some of their walls...or I start going through all the cabinets of a house I lived in when I was in second grade, remembering where we kept the Q-tips and the Dippity Doo. I know. Weird.
But today...oh bliss...today...the heavens smiled down upon me.
Granted, being sick may have helped the falling asleep part. I have a mini version of what Aaron and Anson sneezed into my strawberry salad.
And, taking 1 caplet of medication that actually contains the knock you out serum helped too.
Aaron had to buy it behind the counter and sign a piece of paper that said he is indeed a grown man, who promises not to make drugs or talk to anyone who does...or look at them...or think about them.
Buying the good drugs is now a lot like doing your taxes.
But all the paperwork was worth it for my two hours of unconsciousness and weird daytime dreams.
I already told the box of medication thank you…but now I’m going to go and tell the phones, the front door and squeeze all my kids for not having any emergencies. Right after I drifted off, no one came to tell me their hair was hurting (one of Hayden's favorites) or that they did something in the bathroom that requires my immediate attention.
This is such a great moment for me, I actually hear the Globetrotter’s theme song playing while I’m typing this.
My head is turned to one side…
Ah…my life is good…real good.I love green liquid gel caps and naps...and convicted criminals staying away for a couple hours...and kids staying in their beds...and satellite sellers not calling me.
This is such a big deal! I wish I had a better way to celebrate than eating a bunch of my Whitman's Sampler and chanting, "I feel good, oh I feel so good...(grunt and arm gesture)."
But I guess those will have to do.
I'm set for the next six months.
Friday, February 16, 2007
I love a day set aside to celebrate all the people
you get to love every day anyway.
A day for extra kisses and extra hugs.
A day to say, "I love you" even more than you normally do.
A day for sweets for all the sweet people in my house.
I love you boys... All 6 of you!
Do you know what we ate for breakfast?
Do you know what we'll eat for lunch?
Do you know what we'll eat for snack?
Do you know what we'll eat for supper?
Supper, silly. They have to calm down some time!
VALENTINE'S CANDY BREAKFAST
Nothing says love like a new toothbrush.
I'm not kidding. It's exactly what I wanted!
when I'm going to eat my weight in chocolate candies.
I meant every word about wonderful Whitman
that was in the skit last weekend.
Here's to no mouth surprises! I love that Whitman
and the man who bought me his sampler!
My favorites are the teeny-tiny Skor bars. Yum!
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
We are boycotting Valentines Day in the Hendrick house today.
Yep. We up and moved it.
I LOVE this holiday.
But not today.
Danny and Hayden are both still very sick.
Hayden went back to the Amazing Dr. Bacak today.
They don't even feel like eating candy.
We can't have Valentines Day with out lots of hugs, kisses and candy consumption.
Right now, with snot running down their face and fever, they are keeping their love and their faces to themselves.
So Friday will be the day we wake up and eat candy in our cereal.
Friday will be the day that Aaron buys me chocolate and tells me how much he loves me.
Friday will be the day that we make sweet cards to give to our friends.
Friday will be the day when I get Aaron a gift rated, "M" for married.
So we are ignoring all the red and pink hearts we see today.
They mean nothing to us.
The Hendrick lovefest will be on Friday.
So no one wish us Happy Valentines Day.
We will look at you like you're crazy...because you obviously forgot when Valentines Day actually is....
Saturday, February 10, 2007
The plague has visited our house this month.
It started three weeks ago with Ashton saying his mouth hurt.
This is why most people get a flu shot, I’m sure.
We didn’t get flu shots because we’ve never had the flu.
We will get two every year from now on.
Good thing we learned this lesson with flu shots instead of fire insurance.
Aaron doesn’t have the flu, but he broke his back and has a fountain of mucus coming out of every hole in his face.
He sneezed in my Laynes box the other day.
I saw the snot hit my chicken finger.
I closed the box and put it away.
It’s a sad, sad day when a mother walks around getting on to every male in sight using phrases like this:
“Keep your snot to yourself.”
“Blow your nose, hearing you breathe is making me gag.”
“Don’t wipe your snot on your brother.”
“Cover your cough, oh my gosh, cover your cough.”
“Get away. Get away!”
“I’m about to shove the vacuum cleaner attachment up your nose and turn it on.”
I’ve been at home for three weeks.
Today when Hayden woke up with a high fever, I thought I was going to run away and join the soupus.
That’s when I decided that I needed to get over feeling sorry for myself.
The cure for flu blues is…
To get the flu shot like responsible people… Man!
Or, I could remember all the things I have to be thankful for in my life.
Sure, I have snot all over my shoulders, but what does that matter when there is cream cheese?
The world really is a better place because of this white rectangle. I’ve included two delicious recipes in the comment section using this divine gift from the heavens.
And who cares that Aaron wasn’t the only person to sneeze on my food. Anson also sneezed right into my lunch. But who gives a flip when that lunch was Strawberry salad.
I eat it every day for some meal.
My aunt makes this stuff in a way that makes me feel like I’m levitating when I eat it, but here is Kirby's ghetto version for every day consumption.
Strawberries cut in slices
Brianna’s Home Style Blush Wine Vinaigrette Dressing
If you close your eyes, you can pretend all the snot monkeys in your house have magically disappeared and you are sitting at Maddens.
And, after a long hard day of telling Anson that if he doesn’t take his medicine, I’m taking him to the hospital and letting them stab him with needles so he won’t die, I can forget about all that while I eat:
Ashton said my cereal looks like Pop Tarts. It does. It’s so yum.
And even though I’m having to hold my kids down to get them to drink liquids…so much so that when they go tee-tee twice a day, the smell makes me practically pass out…I can forget about the funk and be thankful that for an early Valentines Day present, my husband bought me….drum roll…
No more falling asleep while I take my children’s temperatures in the middle of the night.
No more adding a degree.
No more sticking a freezing cold metal thing under their tiny arm that wants to be left alone.
Aaron knows that with so many kids in the house, that if I could do simple math and actually manage to add it up, the time I spend sitting and waiting for a thermometer to beep is pretty high.
But now, all I do is rub this thing on their forehead and in a second I know if I have to sit on them to get their medicine down their throat. I love this thing!
I’ve taken the temperature of everything in our house today. My stove. My laundry. My hair.
It’s not really that big of a deal that Anson’s nose has been so noticeable to him the last 7 days that he has now become obsessed with his nose hairs. He can’t stop talking about them. But that doesn’t matter when I have Sonic cups.
They are a perfect creation. Insulated, tall and cup holder shaped. The perfect device to hold water. I try to drink coke in them, because that sounds so cool...to get a coke. But really, I just like the cups with water in them. I try to be hip with my beverage, but I just can't. Water makes my mouth happy. Water from a Sonic cup makes my mouth love being a mouth.
Sonic cups to me are like cows to people in India. They are sacred. I care for them with great love and adoration. They have their own cabinet. I wash them in the dishwasher. I grieve when I lose one of them.
And who cares if my kids only cough when they can do it right in my face. That’s all meaningless when I remember that I have an electric blanket.
Imagine a picture here, cause I messed up...and no way am I doing this all over again.
My in-laws got this for me for Christmas. God love ‘em. It’s the best gift ever. The older I get, the colder I get. Before bedtime, I turn my side of the bed on and it heats it up like an inferno. Then I get in and thaw out. I get under my covers and rub my arms and legs all around and chant, “I love this. I love this. I love this.”
Then, Aaron gets in the bed. He isn’t a fan of my electric blanket, even though it has dual controls, so his side never has to be on. Apparently, the older Aaron gets, the more dramatic he gets. Every night, he gets in bed and within a few minutes says something like this…and he says it very loudly…just like Napoleon Dynamite…
“I hate that thing. It feels like hell’s flames are hitting my legs.”
Then he throws the covers off and complains that my blanket burnt off all his leg hairs or something. This does not faze me. I love my blanket and he can’t make me stop. I wake up drenched with sweat in the middle of the night, but by golly, I still love it.
And who cares if the flu lasts an eternity, is contagious, but takes its good old time making its rounds through all the bodies in our house. 7 people, all get the flu, a week a part for a week each…I can’t do math, but if I could, I think this means we are going to be sick until July. But that doesn’t matter when I have proactive.
This stuff is simply amazing. When I turned thirty, I found out that zits are not just for seventh graders, and that I love Jessica Simpson. Maybe I am a seventh grader.
And what do I care if having sick kids has made it even harder to keep a house in tip top condition while realtors show it to potential buyers? When someone doesn’t like it, I think, “Well, we probably gave you the flu.” That makes me smile. And, so does my coffee grinder.
Kaycee got it for me for my birthday. The first time I drank homemade, fresh ground coffee, I felt like I was on the Truman show. Except my name is Heather and it was the Heather show. All of a sudden, I realized that my previous coffee drinking world was all sad and made up. Really, there was a whole new world out there…with beans and sharp blades that chopped them up. It’s like I woke up out of a deep sleep. I look at my old red Folgers container with contempt now...like it was keeping something wonderful from me...that big, fat, red phoney head.
And what does it matter, really, in the grand scheme of things that taking care of sick people for three weeks has made me absolutely exhausted when I have my favorite socks.
A huge part of my marriage to Aaron is the game we play with these socks. We fight over them. We hide them from each other. We are ruthless. It’s so fun.
The flu may stink, but life is so good when I turn on my electric blanket on my bed, grab some of my favorite socks that I hid so Aaron couldn’t have them…stick those socks in the bed under my electric blanket and then come back a few minutes later and slip those hell-heated socks on my feet while I’m tucking in sick children and forcing my invalid husband to take some medicine before bed.
I feel so sorry for all my sick babies.
The flu is so crappy, but not much else in my life is.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
We can’t go into any detail for confidentiality reasons, but we can ask you to pray.
We believe the Lord has made it very clear to us what will be in the best interest of these precious children.
Please specifically pray for Mark and Melodi and my brother, Jason.
Pray that God would give them the exact words to say when the time comes for them to speak.
Saturday, February 03, 2007
Unmarried men may not want to read this nor may any woman who has not had a baby, but doesn’t want to be terrified to do so one day.
A bitty baby is here and I still wake up every morning and put on my cool jeans.
After I birth a baby, I always make it a point to immediately dye my hair some insane color. My strategy is simple. A flaming hair color draws attention to my head and away from my line backer backside. My hair is the same color today as it was on Monday. Get out!
The first night this little one was here, Jenn came over to bring him some pacifiers. We were sitting on my bed. She was folding laundry. I was holding the baby and sitting in the same position I always sit when I'm feeding one of my own babies in my bed. Jenn and I were talking and having a good old time. All of a sudden I said, “Wow. It’s so fun to be sitting here holding this barely born baby, talking to you…and I don’t have an ice pack in my panties.” Word up.
See…right here if you are an unmarried man, you are in a state of confusion and maybe even feel a little nauseous. Some of you may be thinking, “As gruesome as it sounds, I wish I had some idea what she was talking about.” The funny thing is, I know if EJ reads this, he’s the only person who will come right out and demand clarification on all these horrifying mysteries.
I got the hippest diaper bag from Target and got another opportunity to go into the store, Gymboree. That store is way too expensive for every day shopping, but I just don’t think a baby can be born and not have a Gymboree outfit and matching blanket. It’s a rule.
Although I am incredibly tired, I am so grateful to be a part of this new child’s first days in this world. What a privilege. I have broken down and wept with joy and thanksgiving just to be allowed to witness new life…to celebrate it…to welcome it…to let new life sleep in my room. I’ve done that with all my kids at some point, but I thought it was just because they were mine. It’s not. New life is a miraculous event. Just being entrusted with another human being’s survival…to care for them is so humbling and beautiful. I have told the Lord over and over while holding this sweet baby… “I can do nothing but worship you right now. The smell of this baby…it’s fingers, its toes…they testify to who you are, God…and it’s too much for me.” My senses have overloaded with admiration of the Lord because of this child.
People keep bringing food. Now that part is a perk. Woo-who for food and people bringing it. Living Hope is so awesome, it makes me insane with gratitude sometimes! I tried to tell them not to, but they insist on being super duper.
Thanks for the enchiladas last night, Pauline…they were so yum.
Anyway…these people keep bringing good food. After birthing a baby, I tell myself that I can eat what I want…I’m breastfeeding for crying out loud. I’m working out in my rocking chair. Well, I’ve been eating the same amount I normally do after one of my babies get here, but I’m not burning any breastfeeding calories. I also can’t go to the gym until this baby is 6 weeks old. Eating like a breastfeeding mother when I’m not one + no cardio for six weeks = I’m going to look like a manatee.
I don’t think Aaron realized until now how much me breastfeeding contributed to the amount of children we have in our home. I won’t go into details, but this new baby has made it very obvious that one of the main reasons we have several children has more to do with the fact that my breasts quadruple in size and that they remain quite visible for months while I nourish our newborn child than it does that Aaron just loves being sleepy. I think Aaron feels incredibly jipped that my shirt has consistently remained in the on position.
Biracial babies look like white babies when they are born and get darker every day. Kyle, why didn’t you tell me this? This has to freak out some parents in the hospital.
Bottles have so many parts, they make me want to cry sometimes. They are the equivalent of legos. The parts are everywhere, and I wish there were a class I could have taken called, “Making a Bottle in the Middle of the Night.” I should have practiced blindfolded and perfected my time before a bottle-fed baby arrived here. Right now I stink at it. When the baby is crying and I’m trying to make a bottle, I feel like I do when I’m having to order under pressure at Freebirds or Jason’s Deli. I get sweaty.
Formula looks like coffee creamer.