Introducing....

The newest member of the Gumpert household.

Eva Gabor - age 8 weeks.



Eva was my Christmas present per se. We adopted her through a rescue group out of Bremerton. She was part of a litter that was born to an outside-only cat and with the snowy conditions they were taken in by Collar of Hope.

She was the only Tortie of the bunch.

Considering the fact that we already have two Torties - Magda and Zsa Zsa - and know how quirky they can be and the various medical problems they can possess -we decided "what the hell" and brought the little furball home on Christmas Eve.

It was perhaps one of the best decisions we could have made. Both Zsa Zsa and Magda took to her within a day. She is the perfect combination of both their personalities and can hold her own.

Zsa Zsa has not eaten plastic since Eva has been here. She's too busy following her around like a mother hen.

We even caught Zsa Zsa and Eva snuggling last night on the bed.



And unlike when we adopted the older girls 3 years ago, we are very happy with the rescue group Collar of Hope.
The director Theresa was great to deal with and even drove through crazy snow to hand-deliver Eva to us.
Eva came to us happy and healthy unlike Zsa Zsa and Magda who were not only kept in disgusting conditions but came so ill that we found ourselves with nearly $500 in medical bills for them within the first week.

All I can say is I am relieved the place we got Zsa Zsa and Magda from is no longer part of Pet Finder.

And while you may hear my husband grumbling about the fact we have another kitten, when no one is watching he's cuddling, baby talking and playing with her.

Whose Christmas present was she again?

When the weather outside is frightful.....

Let me just say it.

Snow blows more than hooker playing the trumpet.

It's cold.
It's wet.
It's slippery.
And most of all it has the capabilities of making me willingly commit myself to an institution after a matter of days.

This past week we received nearly a foot and a half- if not more- of snow at our house.



Being that we live on a gravel road outside the city limits, plows are only a figment of the imagination. They do not exist for those who choose to shun cookie cutter subdivisions and say no to paying the city for utilities.

With so much snow and ice I was literally stuck in the house with a stir-crazy toddler for ONE WEEK. Add my husband into the mix for five of those days and I seriously was ready to flee to Mexico.

Despite my best cleaning efforts, my house is now trashier than a trailer park on the Fourth of July.

I mop the floors, my husband walks over it with is muddy boots.
I do the dishes, my husband leaves his all over the counter.
I pick up toys, my toddler dumps them as soon as I leave the room.
I fold laundry, my toddler dumps it and my husband tosses it back into the baskets for ME to re-fold.

Yeah snow just doesn't work for me.

Letting myself go.....

Things have been a bit nuts here in the Moose household for the past few weeks.

An unexpected visit from my husband at Thanksgiving was great but threw our toddler's schedule into a such a tizzy it's left mommy a sleep-deprived shrieking shrew the past few weeks.

Nothing says Suzy Homemaker like two hours of sleep with a side of night terrors for two weeks straight.

So what do I do with myself during these sleepless hours?

Clean - NO
Crochet - NO
Compose symphonies in sync with my toddler's tantrums - NO

Instead, I read useless celebrity gossip on the computer.
Why?
Because it makes me feel somewhat better about my pathetic existence. Nothing makes me better to be a chubby housewife than reading about Madonna's 76 million dollar divorce or what Nick Lachey and his family ate for dinner at a restaurant

But there are times when I come across something that just makes my chubtastic butt madder than a neutered Charlie Sheen.

A few days ago I came across a People Magazine article about Michael Phelps. Being a former competitive swimmer plus the fact that well.... hell.... he's just plain HOT, I of course couldn't resist reading it.

Unfortunately, instead of leaving me feeling giddier than Nicole Richie eating a cheeseburger, this article made me feel like poo.

According to People, Michael Phelps is "Letting himself go."

Why?

Because the fat ass is apparently tipping the scales at 205 pounds and taking "a break" from his training schedule.

WTH?!!

If Michael Phelps, a 6 ft plus swimmer is letting himself go at 205 pounds than I - a 5-ft-3-inch 203-pounds SAHM - have not only let myself go, I've hailed a cab and found myself sipping Mai Tais and scarfing down pizza in Blubberville.

It's bad enough I feel like the wart on the underside of a Monkey's ding dong most days when I look in the mirror. It's even worse when I read things like this, condemning someone for actually looking NORMAL.

Weight is only a number.
Just because Phelps isn't at the peak of Olympic fitness right now doesn't mean he's an overweight lazybutt.

He's probably in better shape at 205 pounds than I ever was at 135 pounds. I could only dream to have that kind of physical fitness.

I'm slowly working on getting in better shape. It's going to be a long haul and filled with frustration and probably a few french fries, but I'm not going to let articles like this eat at my confidence anymore.

I'm fat.
I know it.
I'm dealing with it.
Get over it.

Bravery in a glass.....

It's 7 p.m. and a Saturday.
The kiddo is asleep.
Hubby is at sea.
The house is a mess.

So what am I doing?

Drinking a glass of wine.

I never drink. I think aside from a few sips of wine while visiting my parents in July this is my first glass in a long time. I'm maybe only a third in and wow am I feeling all warm and fuzzy.

I also consider it liquid bravery with a shot of reality.

Given that I've been having baby fever lately, a ton of people I know including several friends are pregnant and the fact that my mom dropped the "I want another granddaughter card" tonight, I feel it's time to get my arse in gear.

Realistically I know I need to lose around 20-30 pounds to have a safer and healthier "baking" time. And given that baby-planning also depends on the hubby's sub schedule, that means I don't have a whole lot of leeway in terms of turning my blubber butt into something resembling Beyonce's backside.
And considering the fact that my toddler son can outrun me better than Al Roker chasing a spare rib, getting pregnant now is just asking for trouble.

So as a way to motivate myself I"m posting these pics I took just after the first of the year. I've since gained four pounds since this oh-so-chubtastic photo shoot.





Granted I won't be drinking after tonight so don't expect progress pics in the same state of undress, but I figure gym clothes will have to do for future sessions.

What was your rock-bottom moment in terms of getting it together?

Moose Musings......Again

Coordinating a group of adults is like trying to herd a group of Rollie Pollie's. There are those that cooperate, those that fail to pay attention - thus getting stepped on or over, and then those that curl into a protective ball with the hopes that noone will notice them.

It's amazing how much grown adults revert to the behavoir of their children when it comes to living up to their responsibilites. To me, ignoring e-mails and phone calls is akin to covering your ears and shouting "LA LALALALALALALLA" at the top of your lungs. It only makes you looks stupid and it sure doesn't take the focus off of you.

After many headaches, heartaches and just plain drama I have determined that belonging to a group of women is like attempting to shove 20 cats into a pickle jar. The claws come out, hissing insues and it just gets plain ugly. And besides, some are already so full of piss and vinegar that a pickle jar would just seem like a trip to the spa.

I am officially changing my name to Murphy.
It never fails that every patrol period crazy things happen to me in three's. After the teeth incident I was just waiting for the other two to mozy on through. And of course they arrived this past Wednesday.

No. 2 was my discovery that somewhere during my errands in my husband's brand new truck another car decided it couldn't resist it's lust for my ruby-red hunk of a man-mobile and "hugged and kissed" it.
The drivers side wheel well is scratched up, the headlight scraped and dinged and of course dented. And would you know it..... the estimates were $936.... and our deductable (set by my lovely husband) is 1K.
Finding that out was like taking the bandages off after a boob job to discover you now have pieces of pepperoni instead of nipples.

No. 3 was just a few hours later on Wednesday when my million-dollar kitty decided to get off her cute butt and earn her name.
Ms. Zsa Zsa Gabor starting tossing her cookies all over the house (namely the kiddo's bedroom) Along with said cookies she also produced pieces of vinyl as well as plastic bags.
Off to the vet we went where my little darling racked up a $700 bill complete with near surgery and lots of x-rays from the load of plastic and other junk she's eaten. She also required an overnight stay, where they pumped her full of fluids to move this junk through her system. All the while her sister Magda tried to smother me in my sleep from neediness.
How do I get it through her furry brain that she's a cat NOT a garbage disposal.
All I can say it she's lucky she's cute and she's lucky she can cuddle better than the rest of them.

Moose Musings

Why is it when you want to sleep in the kiddos wake up at the butt crack of dawn?

Binkies aren't just meant for chewing or sucking on, they are in fact the latest in James Bond-esque technology. A binkie can be used as a baseball, shotput, to knock an unattainable object off the top of a shelf, to blind your opponent with a poke in the eye and if strategically placed on a stair step - cause your foes to take a tumble.

Why is is that trying to go pee at 3 a.m is harder to do alone than going pee during regular daylight hours? I walk into the bathroom in the afternoon, no one in my household cares. I make the same trip in the wee - no pun intended - hours of the morning and it's like performing for a pair of acrobatic groupies at an AC/DC concert.
Being the curious kitties they are, ZZ and Maggie feel the need to jump on my lap, climb on my shoulders, stick their noses in my ears, or just play a game of flying monkey grab ass while attacking the toilet paper. All while I'm trying to do my business.
Then after being such an attentive audience they will then proceed to race me up or down the stairs, attack my ankles or meow worse than Jessica Simpson during a suppossed love song.
Why? - because good kitties deserve good rewards .........canned food with a side of treats.

The secrets of a stress eater

How I reached 200 pounds.

Growing up I never really had a weight problem that I could remember. I fluctuated but I was always pretty athletic and lean. I was a competitive swimmer who dabbled in other sports. And loved anything that involved activity or exercise.

Basically I liked showing up my male friends/athletes.

I was a size 10 at my largest. A 4 at my slimmest - depending on my activities and schedule. My relationship with food was a healthy one. I stopped when I was full. I never deprived myself or thought I was fat.

Life was good.

But then things went very very wrong. What you will read has taken me a LONG time to come to terms with. And I must say that for those that urged me to go to therapy, I thank you.

When I graduated college in 2001. I was at a point where I was happy, I was self-confident and I felt the most beautiful than I ever had in my life. I had friends in all social circles - athletes, geeks, jocks, etc. There was never a place on campus I didn't feel I fit in. I even had dated a few well-known guys on campus who always treated with me respect and one in particular who never let me doubt my self-confidence or ability to achieve my dreams.

I had a degree in communications witih a focus on sports journalism. I wasn't afraid to tackle a "man's world." I was excited about life.

But then I moved to start my first job - as a copy editor at a newspaper near another college town that was halfway between my alama mater and my parents home.

Perfect I thought. Only an hour drive either way to see family or friends and a foot in the door for my industry.

But then I moved and started working.

Within a few weeks of working at the paper, I got a bit homesick, but some coworkers my age befriended me and started to introduce me to some other local journalist types.

I became fast friends with one, a sports writer for a dinky publication in the area. He was funny and reminded me of a few of my best guy friends from college.

I felt a bit better knowing some people in the area.

But the more we started to hang out - always in groups, the more I started to be around this guy the more I started to get the feeling that something wasn't quite the same.

My comfort level was starting to mimic that of Shaquille O'Neil in stripper heels and a tutu.

You're not a fan of it, but you can't look away either.

He first started by putting my writing skills down. He would look at my articles from college and pick then to pieces, telling me it was crappy writing and that I was kidding myself.

Then he would poke fun at my body, offering to go jogging with me to get the chub I guess I was developing off.....

And did I mention we WERE'NT dating. But for some odd reason I didn't stop hanging out with him either.

Then it happened. Me being the idiot who always lives by a three-strikes and your out rule - went over to his house one night to hang out and watch movies.

I was under the impression his roomates would be there as well - only they weren't

When I walked in he seemed "off" His eyes were dialted and he seemed like he was on something. I was sitting next to him on the couch, when he basically jumped on me and started groping and trying to kiss me. He called me a tease and knowing I was a virgin tried attacking my values as well. He was determined.

I still have a hard time acknowloding it happened.

Thankfully I managed to get out of the situation before anything worse happened, though when I think back, I'm not sure how I did.

All I remember is getting home and calling my best friend Paul. A friend I've had since we were 13, who was a groomsmen in my eventual wedding to my husband, and someone I knew who would listen to me. I was hysterical.

He immediatly drove up to stay with me, because the guy kept calling me and knew where I lived. T his went on for a week.

It was then that I stopped exercising,I was afraid to leave the house, I started eating for comfort and from stress and the pounds just kept on coming. I withdrew from friends and stopped going out. I eventually decided to get a new job and move back home -though no one new it wasn't so I could write sports, but to just get away.

In my mind I thought I had brought this on myself. That I wasn't smart enough to listen to my gut instincts. And when I discovered he was bad-mouthing me to the small college community where we lived and to my coworkers all I wanted to do was get away.

I didn't think to defend myself. I didn't think to tell anyone what he did. All I knew was I didn't want to be attatcked again - even verbally.

My self-confidence was gone and I started sinking into a depression that until a few months ago, I had become an expert at covering up from those around me. I lost value in myself and found myself in either dating relationships or friendships where I was a giver and never a taker.

I have found that since that incident I turn to food in times of high stress. I tend to hole up in my house and just eat crap. I don't crave it, I don't want it but for some reason I think it will make me feel better.

Today I ate cereal, homemade pizza, chicken nuggets... and it's not even 3 p.m. yet. I'm not hungry but I'm typing here in an effort to acknowledge my problem and keep my from shoving food into my mouth.

I hate myself and the way I look for eating like this, but then I eat like this because I hate myself and the way I look.

I'm like a goldfish swimming in circles, everytime I think I have it figured out I'm back at where I started.

Toddlers, Teeth and Me.....

Having a toddler is like playing Russion Roulette. It's riskier than a blind man trimming his nether regions.

The hubby has offically been gone a month "playing in the water" as I sometimes tell our two-year-old. Of course being an Electrician's Mate aka Nuke, us Navy gals know that explanation is about as far-off as saying Ashlee Simpson is the next Virgin Mary.

It never fails that as soon as patrol starts the drama begins. My friend Christine says that the stuff that happens to me during patrols is so crazy that I can't make this stuff up.

Here are a few examples of patrols past:

* 1 week before they are slated to leave, the hubby flies home and sees his grandma just 15 minutes before she passes. Five days later, my grandfather passes. The next day the hubby leave on a 90-day patrol.
* While driving down for the funerals, the splash guard of my car comes off. We 9brother and I) proceed to drive with it crammed in the back through two states with an overloaded car and screming toddler
* The kiddo develops a double ear and eye infection the day before the funerals. He has such a bad reaction to the meds that I miss both funerals.....

Yeah, I know..... there's more.....

The house repairs we started before the hubby left, overlaps into the patrol. 7K worth of work turns into nearly 16K due to uncovered rot and other damage.

That's just ONE patrol folks.

This is now patrol No. 5 and just three-weeks into it the drama began.

I've come to the conclusion that the U.S. military should start using toddlers as secret weapons. If anyone has ever seen a toddler in full on tantrum mode then you know what I mean.

BAD THINGS ARE ABOUT TO GO DOWN.

There is nothing more scary or dangerous than a hungry, tired, pissed off toddler. And trying to gain control of one during this state is like trying to put a diaper on a doberman.... you just don't do it.

After three hours of wonderful bliss spent at a local pumpkin farm, some friends and I decided to push our luck and go eat. My son's eyes were a bit droopy, his face a bit pouty, but I was hungry darnit.

And nothing comes between a PMSing mom than a burger and fries....nothing but a tantruming toddler that is.

Right outside the restaurant my son starts having a fit. He throws himself on the ground, he arches his back. He kicks his legs. He was giving the best performance of this short little life.

And by short little life, I mean short..... he's lucky I didn't decide right then and there to sell him on the black market.

I bent down to pick him up and BAM! His huge noggin connected with my chin. There was a moment of shock, then a moment of.....WHAT THE.....

Yep, in one second my son managed to turn my smile from pretty and pearly to gnarly and gapped.

My front top teeth were chipped, a premolar was half gone and two of my eye teeth were dinged. He sure doesn't do anything halfway.

This was a Sunday afternoon.

A few phone calls later and I found myself making three differnt trips to the dentist over the next few days. Thank god the hubby got his bonus. I know he wanted to marry a women like his mother... but I'm not sure he was referring to her dentures.

I love you Georgia!

*If it wasn't for my mother-in-law's uncanny wit and ability to make me laugh at such a situation (heck she raised my husband after all) I would be in in a dark closet rocking back and forth harder than a cat doing a calculus problem.

Did I mention we were only a MONTH into patrol.......

Moose Musings

Why is it that when it comes to volunteering I have this horrible habit of saying yes, faster than Angelina Jolie collects children.

Whoever said that "it's all worth it in the end" is the person who does about as much work as a babboon scratching his butt.

Why is it that a basket of folded laundry is much more appealing to a toddler than a basket of unfolded laundry?
Leave the kid alone for two seconds and he can unfold, scatter and destroy four loads of neatly folded clothing while somehow managing to turn the basket into a a device used to obtain the one dangerous object in the room. 007 ain't got nothing on the Moose.

Ignore your dirty couch and nothing happens to it. Wash your couch cushions and within the hour they will be either peed on, become the next Picasso painting in highlighter hues, or torn apart for the sole purpose of toddler couch surfing.
(picture crowd surfing, only with a toddler teetering on the edge of the couch, launching him self up and out several feet with the hopes that the pile of cushions he has assembled will break his fall ---- without breaking his arm)

He's only 2 1/2 folks..... come the teenaged years I'll be in a nice padded room with CLEAN white walls.....

Why is it that when you need to get a hold of a person they don't respond. But the minute you give up and do the project yourself they call right in the middle of it?


Binkies are harder to get rid of than cockroaches. My son has this uncannny ability to pull a binky out of thin air better than a dog can lick his own beans. You don't know how they do it, but they do.

Why is it when you get a spark of creative genius (aka come up with a great new pattern for Moose Threads) all your free time gets tied up worse than a dominatrix in a duct tape dibacle.

Moose MADNESS!!!

People should be thankful I'm a writer.

Why?

Because when I'm really really pissed I choose to usually write about it rather than start something in public. My mom just raised me with too many manners....

Here are the few things that make me REALLY mad - they kind that burns a scar into my brain where a once favorable impression of something once was.

1. If you attack my child verbally or physically.
2. If you attack any member of my family verbally or physically.
3. If you go after something I worked hard for.

In the past few months I've dealt with all three of these situations.

I've had my 2 1/2 year old child called a bully
I've had people close to me bad mouthed by other people I thought were close to me.
And just recently I've had someone blatently say they were stealing one of my Moose Threads designs.

Yep, you read that correctly.

This person posted a pic of one of my skorts, noted how beautiful it was and the proceeded to state that they were going to make it for thier "daughter".

IN A PUBLIC CHAT ROOM

This lady was more bold than Rosie O'Donnell sporting a string bikini in a wind storm.

First off lady....

That's great you find inspiration in my work, but don't come out and tell me to my face that you are just going to steal the design.

Secondly...
If you like it so much just buy it.

Third.....
You sell items in the same genre. I'm not stupid.

At first when I read that I thought my boiling anger was a result of having PMS without an accessible chocolate source nearby. When I have a chocolate craving I'm like Janice Dickenson looking for a shot of Botox. I need my fix or else I'll start to fall apart.

But then... after scarfing down a bowl of Coco Puffs.... the blood and sugar began to return to my brain.

I started to think I was overreacting. I started to wonder if my eyes has deceived me, that in fact I didn't read what I thought I did.

But after I checked with a few of my fellow Homefronters they confirmed I wasn't nuttier than a bunch of drag queens in a thong competition.

It just goes to show you that you never know what type of characters you'll meet in life....

Moose Musings

It's time for another random list of things that plague my mind.....


Mexican food and two-year-olds don't mix.
Not only does David go nuts and try to cram chips into the salsa bowl faster than a chubby kid eating cheetos, he only likes one thing.

Chicken.

He loves loves loves the marinated chicken that goes inside all the items that call for it. I've finally learned to just order him some on the side instead of participating in the tortilla frisbee Olympics.

The only problem is, this type of chicken causes my son to have more gas than the Hindenburg.

The rest of the day the poor kid sounded like I shoved bubble wrap up his ass.



Now that I've fully entered the toddler wars I've decided who I want to be my general.

My friend Jessica is amazing. Not only did this woman manage to wade through JoAnn's fabrics with me on a day when it was more crowded than Pamela Anderson's bra cups, she did so with two toddlers in tow.

Imagine David times two.
Yep, she is super woman. Not once did she have to raise her voice, threaten bodily harm or drag them out of the store. Instead, she showed me what type of mom I would like to be - especially in public.

Daddy adoration is cute at first when you have a toddler. But when that adoration turns into "cant-sleep-unless-I'm -snuggling-with-daddy-in-mommy-and-daddy's-bed" it becomes more annoying than Jessica Simpson.

The past few nights David has been unable to go to sleep unless he is snuggled up on his daddy. Unfortunatly, this means mommy has been banished to a tiny sliver of bed, that my my pinkie toe barely fits on, much less my ginormous tush.

I woke up this morning unable to feel my arms (since I was sleeping on them) and needing to pee like a racehorse whose weiner's been taped to his leg.

I swear my husband must have thought I was having a seizure as I sat there trying to get my pants off to do my business.

They all filter through

If there is one thing I have noticed during the past few months of this emotional roller coaster ride, it is that true friends float to the surface during times of turmoil, while others just sink, never to be heard from again.

I am by no means perfect or easy to deal with in general - especially right now.

When you look at the past two years of my life, mentally I have dealt with more drama than an episode of 90210.

I'm tired of rearranging my life for other people because "it's the right thing to do."
I'm tired of listening and supporting other people, only to not have the sentiment returned.
I'm tired of holding in my feelings.
I'm tired being dammed for holding those feeling in and then dammed for letting those feelings out.

All in all I'm just plain tired.

Thankfully what has kept me going recently have been little things.

A phone call from a person I admire and respect. Someone who I feel really listens to me instead of pumps me for gossip.

A playdate with another person who always knows how to make me feel normal and squash my fears of being a bad parent.

A lunch date with an amazing person who not only gets me, but truly makes me feel better about myself.

An e-mail from a person who understands my craving for yarn and my passion for finding a balance between sanity and social acceptance.

And then of course there were the unexpected get-togethers with the one person who gets my situation - being a submariner's wife. This person I can not only talk to, but can depend on for a swift kick in my expanding rear when times get tough.


These things are what made me realize that I don't need to be part of a "social" posse" that can rival Mariah Carey's makeup crew. Instead, all I need are a small group of friends I can connect with in whatever way we choose.

Friendship is about being there for someone, not being with someone.

Now if only I can remember to remind myself of that when times get tough....

Spinning around and around....

It's a wonder how I made it through school with honors because I have not been doing very well with my therapy homework this week.

My homework was to try and write everyday..... and almost a week later and I've written squat.

Oh trust me I've had PLENTY to write about. I just haven't found the time or had the brain power to do so.

Over the last two weeks I have had a lot of high and low points in terms of my self-esteem and my overall opinion of myself as a mother. I've second-guessed my tiny desire to have a second child, questioned my commitment to losing weight, and contemplated saying goodbye to Moose Threads.

For those of you that know me the last one was my wake-up call.

For me to want to give up on Moose Threads is like Dolly Parton going in for a breast reduction - somethings not right if you want to say goodbye to the one thing you're known for.

Nothing bad happened to make me feel this way. In fact, I had one of the BEST weeks I've ever had with Moose Threads. Three custom hat orders, a sold applique, two applique inquiries had put me on cloud nine.

It was everything else in my life that was made that cloud evaporate. When I'm stressed the last thing I want to do is crochet and be creative and when your business thrives on that it's not good.

Robert is in what we term refit hell right now at work. It's that lovely month-long turnover period on the sub where long hours are rampant and days off are nonexistent. This in turn has caused a domino effect in our household.

Long hours and no days off = daddy not being home = daddy-obsessed toddler acting out = stressed out mom = rude people = low self esteem and confidence.

Let me break it down for you.

David's finally at an age where he KNOWS when daddy is gone. He KNOWS when he wants daddy and he WILL act out if I can't suddenly produce him like P. Diddy produces bad albums.

This in turn has resulted in my child showing his stubborn streak in the worst way - IN PUBLIC.

During a get-together with his future preschool class, David threw a temper tantrum better than Mariah Carey backstage at the MTV movie awards. He was throwing things, rolling on the floor, pointing, yelling NO! and STOP! When he got into a tiff over a toy and pushed another child I about died.

Where did my cute baby go?

Fast forward a week to yesterday. There we are sitting in one of our favorite coffee places. I think we visit them two to three times a week. Why? Because they have always been kid friendly.

Well.... someone should have told the owner (who is never there) she's viewed as kid-friendly. There I was sitting a a table with a few other moms and their kids. David is in his stroller. He belts out what I deem a "dino roar" I address the problem and he calms down. Five minutes later..... ROAR.

And then it happened.

Faster than Lindsey Lohan on a first date the owner was right next to me and in my face. With her nose just inches from mine she told me that I need to calm my kid down and perhaps leave because she had people working there and he was a distraction.

I was mortified. The place was packed. People were either on computers, cell phones, chatting loudly. Blenders were going. And I was kicked out of a place I've been a steady customer at for a dino ROAR.

I then went next door to perhaps calm myself down with a little yarn therapy.

Forget it. David was not interested in sitting in the stroller. Instead he was throwing a fit because he wanted to push the stroller himself. I then again found myself in a situation where my parenting skills were questioned and a backhanded comment was "mentioned" regarding toddler discipline. Let's just say I didn't stay long enough to take part in that discussion.

If I had I think I would have cried worse than Perez Hilton after a computer crash.

I don't know what's worse, comments made directly to you, or comments made "at" you by way of "topic discussion"

Our day continued with a successful trip to Ms. Liz for a big-boy haircut, but it was only the eye of the storm.

Not even 10 minutes after the haircut I found myself dragging David out of UPS, Moose Threads orders still in hand, because he was not only talking back, but kicking screaming and just downright being defiant.

I promptly got in my car, drove him home and proceeded to just cry. How the heck could I even think about having another child when I couldn't even control the one I did have? How did I become one of THOSE parents. The ones that people smirk at in stores and think "my child would never do that" or "her brat is so spoiled etc."

I've even had someone say once "It's called a spanking lady."

Umm yeah. Live with my child for a while and you'll soon learn that he is very much his father's little boy.

According to my mother in law, Robert was not only curious, strong, indignant and fearless, he also was impossible to dicipline normally.

Timeouts he used to plot his next attack. Spankings he laughed at. If you took a toy away he found some other way to have fun....

Now I know why she said she cried almost her entire pregnancy with my brother-in-law. She was terrified. She could barely handle one Robert, much less another version.

How my husband grew up to be a very well-mannered adult I will never know.

I think call to his mom may be in order....

Introducing Clyde the Camel

It's been an insane week in life and in the land of Moose Threads.

Considering that in the year I have been selling on ETSY most of my sales have been locally word-of-mouth and not always translated to online.

If I sold one thing a month I was happy.

Well this week I ran a Monday Madness Special of 20% off and free shipping. To some it would seem a bit extreme but in reality I was still making money off each item, just not as much as I normally would.


To my surprise I ended up with four custom hat orders, some inquiries about custom applique's and then I also sold an applique.

I was in shock and my husband thrilled because he is not only supportive of what I do but he knows how giddy I get when it comes to custom orders. I LOVE THEM.

One such order was from someone wanting a brimmed beanie for her camel-obsessed toddler.

He calls them "Clyde" and it had to have one hump - not two.

I was excited for the challenge and this weekend went about creating "Clyde."

Getting the overall shape was pretty simple, thanks to a rough sketch from my husband. I tried adding blue hair to the hump and it just didn't work. I tried to add hair to his head and he morphed into a deformed horse.

Finally I settled for a blue tuft of hair on his tail.

Let me know what you think. A for right now I'm starting to like the little bugger.

Moose Musings

Here are silly annoying things that keep the hamster from calling it quits at night.

Cups

Yep... Cups.

Any cup without a lid or sippy attachment would drive me to drink if alcohol didn't make my face resemble that of a puffer fish.

My son is 2 1/2 and can use a fork better than George Hamilton uses self-tanner.
He can run faster than a crowd fleeing a Jessica Simpson concert and climb higher than the Snoop Dogg after a three-day bender.

Yet how is it that I can't get him to drink out of a cup without dumping it down the front of him, or drink out of a straw without deciding it serves a better purpose as a chew toy?


Laundry

Yep... Laundry is the bane of my existence.

I swear it breeds at night. I swear the socks all line up like little soldiers and decide who will sacrifice themselves in the dryer for the sake of all laundry piles everywhere.

I believe that if I did not do laundry everyday that it would eventually smother me in my sleep.


Feet

Yep....feet

Forget weapons development by the government. Just find a way to bottle up the stench that my husband and son's feet emit after a day of shoe wearing and we'll have one of the deadliest weapons known to man.
I swear I've seen flies just up and kill themselves versus coming near a pair of my husband's socks.

He once lovingly forgot his gym clothes in the car for two weeks. When he delivered them to me I thought for sure they'd taken on a life of their own. I swear that gym bag smelled worse than a monkey's butt after an all-day rotten banana binge.

That's just wrong.....

One step forward

I don't know what it is but I feel like I've been on the go the past few weeks.

I don't think there has been one day where I haven't had to be somewhere or was doing something.

In a way it feels pretty good. It tells me that I don't need so-called social groups to make me feel worthy or popular. But in other ways it's just dang exhausting! I can not get enough sleep!


But what's been the best part about all of this is that I'm finding myself less self-critical during this time and more socially outgoing. I'm not so afraid anymore of meeting new people, though you can bet your bum that I'm not going to stick myself right into the fire.

Though I like the warmth that a good friendship can provide... I'm not too fond of getting burned.

Ding Dong the Witch is Dead.....

Well actually the one project that gave me a run for my money is.

My dear friend Fray aka Liz ordered a helicopter sweater for her son. It was an applique sweater - my specialty - no problem right?

WRONG

I don't know if it's because of how I've been feeling emotionally lately, or that I hadn't had a sweater commissioned in nearly 10 months, but darnit to Pete this sweater took me forever to get it right.





I had to do the hood three times, undo the trim once. Redo most of the sweater's body once. (please exuse my gross double chin in this picture..... I've hit th bon bons more than the barbells lately)




Why? Because it wasn't perfect and well when it comes to my craft, my friends who respect my craft and well all of my customers in general I refuse to send something out with my Moose Threads name on it unless it's PERFECT

I just hope Fray thinks it's perfect as well.

So please leave your comments and let me know what you think. I'm sending it off to her in Germany later today.

I finally did it

I actually dialed the phone and scheduled an appointment with a therapist.

Why?

Because I was tired of feeling like I was riding a rollercoaster 24/7.

After so many highs and lows you find that either want to hurl or just get off the ride in general. Well since I hate throwing up - spewing my bad moods on all my friends- I figured a therapist was my best bet.

I've chosen to look at the therapist as a ride operator. Sometimes you just have to hand over the controls to someone else for a while in order to help things come to a stop.

I had a bit of an epiphany this weekend in terms of realizing that I couldn't get through this alone.

I found myself miles from home, camping with people I barely knew and a child who was testing my mental capacity with the upmost effort.

The moment came when David threw the biggest tantrum of his short life. Someone needed to move my car. With David standing next to me, watching the car inch away, the flip out began.

"Daddy?"
"Truck"
"Daddy...Bye?"
"Daddy"
"Daddy"
"DADDY"
DADDY!!!!!!"
"DADDY DADDY DADDY!!!!!"

For ONE HOUR he sat by the side of the car not wanting me to touch or talk to him. His body was rigid and kicking. He was screaming and crying. Nothing I could do or say made it better. And I didn't have anyone to help me through it.

I wanted to break down and cry. I felt like I couldn't breathe and I realized there was nothing I could do about it. He needed to WANT my help in order to feel better.

Though I've recognized I've been depressed I never really acknowledged that I had to really WANT help for it. To me, WANTING help was somehow acknowleding that I was a failure and somehow damaged.

It's funny that it took my two year old to help put things into perspective for me.

Hopefully this therapist will help me realize that I'm not as pathetic as I think I am.

Moose Musings

How do you know you've had TOO MUCH sleep?

When you wake up from a dream that was a wierd combination of Psycho meets, Grandma's Boy, meets Hot Fuzz.

My dream was very disturbing to say the least, but I actually woke up laughing. Partially from the absurdity of the whole situation, and partially because in some odd way I could see how my little spitfire of a Sicilian grandmother would be perfect for a role like this.

What was the dream?

Well, my dad and I were visiting my grandmother and her neighbors mysteriously start dissapearing.

The annoying teenager playing his drums in the garage across the street = stabbed to death with a fork in his ear.
The jerk with the junk cars and other assorted mess in his front yard = found run over by his lawnmower (it's amazing the details you remember when you aren't tired)
And lastly, the extremely overweight man next door found choked to death on a plate of meatballs.

Yeah trust me I was scratching my head too.

The kicker was that somehow I found myself the next target from my grandmother and woke up to her chasing me with a wrench because ....well I can't remember.

How absurd is that?

Note to self: do not drink or eat anything odd or new before going to bed.


Potty training and smart ass are not words you want to put together.
Why?
Because it makes you realize that you've been outsmarted by a 2 1/2 year old and well....that's not really a confidence booster.

David's shown some interest in the potty lately. Mainly because his cousin who is the same age and nearly potty trained have been spending a lot of time together.
Nothing in a two year old's mind is cooler than having more stickers up your arm than Tommy Lee has tattoos - for doing your business.

The other day he picked out Lightning McQueen underwear. He was so excited and couldn't wait to wear them, shouting "YEAH YEAH YEAH"
I proceeded to put the undies on him with the explanation that we couldn't get McQueen dirty. I said that if he had to go pee pee or poo poo we had to do it on the potty.

(it's amazing how basic a college-educated woman's vocabulary gets when she has a toddler)

He yells out "OK" and proceeds to go play. Ten minutes later he says he has to pee pee. The hubby puts him on the toilet and after 15 minutes............. nothing.
David shouts "ALL DONE" and proceeds to put his undies back on and return to playing. HOWEVER, 5 minutes later, he decides he really needs to go, and rather than taking a break from his playing he goes into the kitchen, PULLS DOWN HIS UNDERWEAR, and proceeds to pee all over the floor.

The kicker is, as soon as he was done. He PULLS HIS UNDIES BACK UP, runs over to me and shouts "MAMA, PEE PEE, MACKEEN ALL CLEAN"

If he keeps this up he'll be heading to college pampers in tow.


What do you get when you take two cranky toddlers, two very hungry and tired moms and lack of sleep?
Two large cocktails from Red Robin.

My friend Beth and I have wonderful adventures together. The things Timothy and David can get into are boundless. David is notorious for being fine and then throwing a meltdown that can make the devil seem more frigid then Donna Martin.

Yesterday, was no exception as we found ourselves on the losing end of what I deemed Toddler Wars.

After David, threw, rolled, kicked, screamed, arched and climbed his way into the tantrum record books we found ourselves on the muggy back patio of Red Robin, with crappy service playing the "do not touch, throw, hit" Olympics.

I was starting to seriously contimplate handing David over to the Army Recruiter at the next table after my son managed to wack the guy twice in a row with various objects. (my Navy recruiter husband would have been proud).

Finally, about mid meal, Beth and I are exhausted and we haven't even gotton to the errands we needed to run that day. Our nerves are frazzles, the kids are covered in macaroni and cheese and well..... it's just plain hot.

You know it's bad when two women who NEVER drink order a round at 1 in the afternoon.

Sometimes you have to do what you have to do. I wonder if that's why my parents have such an extensive wine collection.........?

I can't let it get to me

So I finally got my referral to make an appointment with a counselor.

I've been staring at if for the past week and wavering back and forth as to when to call.

While I want to talk to someone who is a professional and unbiased I also am very cynical. Several fake friendships and a few trust betrayals have left me a bit lacking in the "openess" department.

A lot of why I'm hesistating is fear. I don't want to be made to think that what I'm feeling is trivial, all in my head, or just deemed anxiety and given Prozac as a quick-fix bandaid.

After having some good weeks I had a bit of a backslide in the confidence and depression department.

I stopped exercising. I starting sleeping a lot and I found myself dwelling on my failed friendships and the feeling of abandoment that comes along with those type of situations.

That, coupled with having Moose Threads subtly dissed by a few people, left me a little shaken and sad.

My husband has actually been a huge help in making sure I don't slide as far back into depression as I was a few months ago. He's been a good sounding board for when I'm feeling a bit lost and confused. He's backed up my decisions regarding taking stock in my relationships with people and helping me figure out what I need and how not to let myself get hurt again.

My big problem is that I came from a family where I was taught to be open and welcoming. I try to be there for people and show them the kind of support and treatment I would want out of life.

Unfortunatly, what tends to happen is I get used. People take take take and then ditch me once they get what they need.

But while my husband has helped me realize this, he's not a therapist and I shouldn't expect him to be.

One thing I did do the other day is make a point in deleting e-mails from people I no longer want anything to do with. I have to say, when once these mere simple little messages would have made me feel sad and a bit anxious, they now have no impact on me because I refuse to let them.

I cleaned out my Myspace page which I now think is pretty dumb to have at my age. I went through and deleted people I 1) don't talk to, 2) Don't care to talk to 3) Don't relate to. It was quite a liberating feeling.

I need to stop being angry and take charge of my own life and feelings. However, it's going to take a few falls before I learn how to ride that bike again.

Helicopter Help

Ok so I have a TON of stuff to blog about but that will have to wait as I promised and promised I'd post pics of my friend Fray's sweater.

Yet for some reason this sweater has been the biggest obstacle. I've never had trouble designing, sizing or creating but this sucker is testing my confidence and sanity.



I've had to rip and redo the hood three times. This is attempt NO.3 and I am scared it's too small when it used to be too big. I'll find out when my little guy can model it for everyone. He's about the same size at Fray's handsome man.



THEN I'm afraid the rest of the sweater is too big. It's longer than the measurements she gave me in the arms and the length, but I did that on purpose to attribute for crazy toddler growth spurts. And I made it a little roomier around just to account for layering.

UGGGGGGGGGGGG

NOTE: I have yet to tuck in my ends and to apply the applique design or add the rest of the snaps.

Dinosaur Jr

So I went ahead and attempted a brimmed beanie again.

Considering that my Homefront girls Twoseasidebabes and Beth rock at them, but don't do appliques I figured I wasn't stepping on any toes.

Well the beanie came out ok, not perfect, but hell is works right?

BUT.... when I went to put the blue dinosaur applique on it I discovered it was way too big. Trying to position this applique on the hat to where it didn't resemble some sort of alien foot was impossible.

Thus a miniaturized version of this new applique design was born. I think it turned out ok, but I'm going to have to figure out what to do with it's big brother version.

Oh crap

Yep.

That's pretty much sums up what I think about my house right now. I can't figure out how it got like this or even where to start the whole decrapping process.

I'm one of those people who can't focus, think, or much less distinguish my ass from my elbow when I'm surrounded by a sea of clutter.

And considering that Moose Threads is dependant upon my sense of creativity, staring at a mess that looks like Geoffry the Giraffe from Toys R Us went on a three-day bender and used my house as his toilet is a bit counterproductive.

(can we say run-on sentence?)

Anyone else ever feel like this?

Attack of the applique's

So I had some time finally to sit down and figure out some new boy designs. I have so many girly hats and not too many boy ones. I figure it's about time I even everything out.

Here are the two designs I came up with. A dinosaur and a snake. I decided to add the eyeballs to give them a more cartoony look.

I still think I need a few more designs. If you have any suggestions for what I can try to make let me know. I love challenges

Moose Musings

When crocheting with Navy Blue wool yarn it it probably best to not do so with a cat in your lap. This yarn attracts cat hair better than Britney Spears' crotch attracts the paparazzi. It's everywhere.

WARNING CRUDE COMMENT AHEAD

Nothing is more hysterical than watching your husband get....ahem...."cock-blocked" by a "pussy" aka Zsa Zsa Gabor.
All my poor husband tried to do was put his arm around me when ZOOM!!!! ZZ - with her super hearing - was up the stairs, through our door and on our bed in what seemed like 10 seconds. She then proceeded to plant herself directly between us, with her nose pressed to mine and her butt shoved in my husband's face.

"Kiss my ass Mr. she's MINE" I could almost hear her saying.

Laundry is not meant to be folded for the purpose of being put away neatly into drawers. Instead it is meant for toddlers to lay, roll, throw, dump and scatter, thus allowing the now empty laundry basket to be used as a fort, step stool, race car..... you get the picture.

Technology is a wonderful thing. Cell phones I believe were made for one purpose - to warn people of your impending arrival upon their doorstep.
If you wish to pay me a visit please call first. Otherwise I can't guarantee that you won't find me sans pants, chasing David while attempting to find my car keys and shoes.
With my child's recent facination with laundry, getting dressed in the morning, especially if I don't want to look like I'm color-blind and cross-eyed, is more like reenacting a scene out of an Indiana Jones movie.
Obstables abound if I want to find the perfect outfit.
The other day I actually found one shoe in the bathtub, with the other hidden under the office bed.


My husband made a comment last night that made me feel so proud that my head grew larger than J Lo's booty after a five-day brownie-fest. I was sitting in the recliner, attempting to create a helicopter. My first attempt sucked, my second just looked like I put it together after an all-night bender. My third, however, I think looked pretty cool.
Upon looking at my third attempt my husband proceeded to look at his parents and say "Isn't she freaking talented! She can make anything. It's amazing!"


Poor guy, breaks out a comment like that only to be "cocked-blocked by a pussy" that night.

Sorry it's so funny I had to say it again.

Can you tell me what this is?

If you think it's a helicopter WHEW!

This was one request that was driving me nuts.

I need opinions on this design. What do you like? Suggestions?

Ahoy Matey!

So I had the wonderful request from my dear girl Tulip to make her daughter a sub hat. Yet the coolest part was that she wanted the sub to be black and the rest to be hot pink.

I think this turned out amazing!

What do you think?

How do I love thee.....

Let me NOT count the ways.....


Ok so I picked up this sock yarn about two months ago at my local LYS (little yarn store). It was being clearanced out and was the same company as who made that crazy artist yarn my sister-in-law picked out. A nice wool from Germany.

I thought the color-way might be interesting etc and I have two huge 400 yard + skeins of this.


Well and let's face it... it was discounted crack.

Last night I didn't even use half a skein (dispite losing some yarn from a failed frogging) and I whipped out these pair of socks.

The yarn isn't as giving as the merino wool and I found that while it worked great when I made the adult socks for some reason when I shrunk the pattern down it was a pretty snug fit. There isn't a lot of room for stretch.

I then decided to try a different cuff and added 6 rows of a shell stitching at the top, which I then folded down into a cuff.

Needless to say I'm not thrilled and am not sure where to go from here.

Do I list it on Etsy? Do I ask a friend to have their child test-drive it? I'd hate to sell it only for the person not to be able to get it over their foot.

Plus I'm not sure the socks are even cute. The colors just don't "do" it for me.

The pen is mightier then the sword?

I must say that although I have always been one of those annoying talkers -- you know the ones that tell you their life story within 2 seconds of meeting them. The ones that talk to much you want to staple their lips together -- that I am NOT someone who can verbally explain my feelings.

My mother always said that on paper I had a way with words that was incomparable to anything or anyone she's ever encountered. My sense of humor and perspective on the world are so different from the norm that if I were to express some of the thoughts that come to my mind out loud I'd either be labeled a geek, freak or sent in for a psychiatric evaluation.

I mean come on, who else (other than Two) uses the phrase Monkey Butt as much as I do?

I write this now because while I have an appointment next week to receive a referral to a counselor, I wonder if "talking" about my feeling is going to really help me.

In the past month or so I've been writing on this blog, I have had more relief, laughter, tears and support than I think I ever had in my life.

The people who read my crazy ramblings "get" me.

There aren't any fake smiles with blank eyes. Smug looks meant to say "she is such a loser" There aren't the people who claim to be here for you only to be the first to gossip.

But the one thing I love most about writing is there is an edit button. I can go over my thoughts before letting the world know them. Thus saving me from some pretty embarrassing moments.

Have you ever witnessed someone erupt in a display of verbal sewage?
It's quite a site.

It's like pulling the cork out of a farting elephant's rear. You're not quite sure why you did it, but all of your attempts to correct the situation either leave you stinking so bad even the flies won't touch you, or backpedaling so fast you find yourself in another zip code.

That's perhaps why I've never felt "at home" with any type of women's group. Despite claiming they are here to support and accept you I feel they are a lot of times a front for those who have nothing better to do than label, manipulate or ostracize anyone who isn't part of the "norm." The people who never left high school behind.

One wrong move, one awkward pause after an awkward sentence and the damage is done.

So in the end I DO think the pen is mightier than the sword.
Why? Because while I may in person sounds like Gomer Pyle's "special" cousin, on paper I'm kicking monkey butt and taking names.

On a lighter note, David decided to pursue his dream of becoming the next Picasso/Miami Ink protegee.

Luckily it wasn't permanent.

Just a few new pics

Ok so I really don't have a post but since I needed a quick way to show people what David's new socks look like in action I decided to throw them on here.

For a child I can't keep regular socks or slippers on he just loves these. Notice how he's "posing" for the camera.

Moose Musings

Here's another round of stupid thoughts that run through my head.

Strep Throat and air travel don't mix - unless you want to feel like your head is going to pop worse than a zit on Britni Spears bikini line - just don't do it.

How is it that days worth of 2-mile hikes and drinking tons of water makes me gain weight, when mindless junk-food induced eating causes me to lose a few? Maybe I should write a book titled "The iced tea and chocolate covered gummy bears diet - lose 10 pounds in 10 days" Well duh! With that amount of sugar I'd be more wired than a fly drowning in a sea of Red Bull.

Who needs a guard dog when I have the ultimate guard cat.
Kathy Bates character in Misery had nothing on my cat ZZ. I was gone for two weeks and since we've been home, not only does the booger practically try to smother me every second she's sadistically subtle about it.

1. At night she buries her head in the crook of my neck, purring adoringly, only with her little paws on either shoulder- claws out - just barely digging into my skin (Just enough pain to provide a silent warning)

2. If I try to get up and go to the bathroom, she's right there with me, even going as far as getting onto my lap while I'm attempting to do my business. I don't pee well with an audience, especially one that meows during the entire production.

3. If I'm walking down the stairs she's right at my heels. I secretly think she's trying to trip me as payback for being gone so long.

4. A stranger comes to the door she's growling, fur on end before they even reach the front steps

5. If I try to type of check my e-mail she gets either on the keyboard so I can't type. In my face so I can't see or lays on my hand and then gets in my face so I can't do either.

If I go missing interrogate the cat.

Somehow my son had developed more fashion sense than Paris Hilton in a dark closet.
Not only is he obsessed with picking out his own shoes and clothes, half the time he ends up resembling a color-blind Picasso. It sure doesn't match but hey it works right? Or at least that's what I tell myself amid the odd looks.

When I die forget burying me in a coffin. Just wrap me up mummy style in all the yarn I own. Now wouldn't that be a site? Not only would I be recycling but let's face it..... I'm Sicilian and married to a Jew...... CHEAP


Sometimes the best products come from the oddest color choices. The picture I've included is the pair of socks I made for my sister-in-law Tara. She picked this wacky colorway of a nice wool sock yarn from Germany. The company dyes its yarn based on the color patterns of famous painters. This one was an abstract artist. Looking at the skein wound you would never have known they'd much such fun socks.

The other is of my little guy sitting on my parents front porch in the foothills of Amador County. He's watching a group of deer eat on the front lawn as well as a pack of wild turkeys.

When all you can do is wait

Last night was one of the most frustrating and worrisome experiences of my life.

We spent nearly 4 hours in a small ER in a small hospital in a small town on one of the busiest weekends of the year.

I'm not sure what it is about the 4th of July but it tends to bring out the people who don't know their brain from their bum. Independance Day does not mean "act like a moron and expect people to understand you were 'just having fun'"

At 3 a.m. July 5 David woke up screaming and crying. He was warm with a slight temperature. We've been here before and so we gave a bit of tylenol and he went back to sleep.

However, throughout the day his temperature never broke. Instead it just rose. He was hotter than Angelina Jolie in a string bikini (or so my husband says) and very lethargic.

At 9 p.m. his temperature was over 101. It was at that point we realized that a "Trip to Tylenol Land" was not going to help this situation.

It took nearly a half hour to reach the ER and it was a zoo. The tiny room was packed with what looked like the remnants (and I apologize for writing this) of a home-tattoo and dentistry convention.

The poor nurse behind the desk was appreciative of three things when I approached her to sign in.

1. Even though I was out of state I had been there before, thus making the admittance process easier, including having all my insurance info just in case.
2. I spoke english not profanity
3. Though I was worried I was kind and respectful, knowing that me acting like I had a bug up my ass would no sooner get my son help then if he had the bug up his ass himself.

While we waited here is what we witnessed.

A very dirty, very young couple with a a one year old girl dressed in just a dirty diaper and no clothes. The dad was drunk and the girlfriend started yelling at him to just go sit in the "f-ing" car. The girl's mom was no better since she managed to have enough forethought to pack 6 cans of soda in her purse and a pack of cigarettes but not bring any diapers or clothes for the little one. It made my heart hurt for that little girl as her mom just sat there shoving magazines at her daughter in an attempt to not deal with her.

There was the group of dumb teen and twenty-somthings who thought it was an amazing idea to drink and then go "cliff diving" in the dark. How the heck were they to know there were rocks down there?

The young teenaged girl (and I feel horrible for her), who was with her father and sister at a remote campsite for a bbq. She bent down to pet the pitbull someone had brought and it proceeded to rip a huge chunk out of her upper lip and chin.
Not only did it take them an hour to reach the ER but unfortunatly, because of how slammed they were she was also not high on the priority list.
To watch her sit there for three hours with an icepack to her face, tears in her eyes was heartbreaking.

I do have to give credit to her father for his quick thinking as well as cool head. As his daughter apologized to him he said with tears in his eyes "This is not the time to be sorry. That's not important. What's important is making sure you are ok."

There was the teenager who was so hungover she needed an IV, the twenty-something who as she walked out of the ER, bragging about how she convinced them to give her pain meds, which she only wanted for a high. Her friend then shouted "awesome whoo hoo as she lit up a cigarette before they even made it out the door."

The pregnant teen wearing pajama pants and a t-shirt saying "I'm not fat, just knocked up."

Do I need to go on?

I never realized how much a trip to the ER can really open your eyes to what's going on around you. We too often tend to gloss over the things we don't understand or don't want to see. We don't want to acknowledge the poverty, the ill education, the heartbreak around us. But when you are in a situation where all you can do is wait... and wait.. and wait. It makes you really look around you and pay attention.

Finally we eventually were called back to an exam room where we discovered David's temp had skyrocketed to 104. A huge dose of Motrin helped bring it down, but we were still left waiting in the room for over an hour.

In the meantime they had placed this contraption over his wee-wee to get a urine sample. It hurt me and I don't even have the same plumbing.

When he finally did go pee and the nurse ripped the thing (which was adhered to his beans and the area just below his belly button) off, I thought my husband was going to pass out. Thankfully David took it like a champ.

As were waiting we heard a horrible retching noise coming from the next room. A nurse started yelling to a doctor...."Room 4 is vomiting uncontrollably." only for the doc to yell back "So.... turn her on her side. What do you want from me?"

Lo and behold he said his as he was walking into OUR room.

He took one look at David, said "it's probably viral but I guess I can check his ears."

What do you know he had an ear infection.

The doc then said he doesn't understand why parents bring thier kids in for stuff like this. He had three of his own and if they get like that he doesn't even take thier temp he instead "gives them a trip to Tylenol Land."

He then wrote a prescription for an antibiotic and before we were even out of the exam room they were arguing over who they would shove in behind us.

It was one of the oddest moments of my life.

David still had a temp this morning but after taking a dose of his medicine - which I can only akin to being somewhat similar to wrestling a spitting, greased pig - is feeling better.

Thank God.

When life hands you stress....make socks!

Every since I discovered you can crochet socks I've become that lady.

You know the one you see either on the bus, the subway, the local little league game...driving down the road....holding knitting needles with a ball of yarn trailing behind her.

I'm hooked literally on this new discovery and I can't stop.

If I didn't have enough other types of yarn already I am now collecting sock yarn faster than my belly button collects lint.

Luckily, my family and friends aren't annoyed with this latest obsession. Instead, they love it. Because instead of the boring socks everyone hates getting for Christmas, these socks are what my sister-in-law Tara deemed "funky and fun."

It's amazing how many textures, colors and color combos true sock yarn comes in. My friend Kim received a pair featuring calming shades of greens and browns. My friend Beth picked out some funky yarns in bright hues of orange, green and blue complete with odd squiggly appendages woven into the yarn.

I just completed a pair for my mom that she is in love with. Bright pinks with a smattering of white, lavender, light green and yellow adorn these tootsie toasters.

And the list goes on.
I have so many people who have asked me to make them socks I'm not sure when I'm going to have time to make some for me.

Luckily though I still have a sensible (scrooge) side. I realized that I can't afford to "foot" the bill for all of this sock yarn and instead have agreed to make socks in exchange for the purchase of sock yarn.

It's amazing what we yarn-a-holics will do for a little taste of what we like.

It's not going away overnight

One thing I'm realizing with depression is that it's not something that just magically goes away.
You can't just wipe the slate clean or erase the things that hurt you or make you upset.
Though there have been events and people who I have met or encountered in the recent years that have left me bruised and wounded I would never choose to erase these events.
The scarring left behind is part of me. It's who I am. These experiences have become a reminder of what I want and don't want out of life.

I have also realized that I do not want to be someone who blames everyone else for my problems or miserable moods.
Relationships are two-fold.
My inability to handle stress or to stand up for myself have played just as much a part in my recent moods as the people I have failed to defend myself against.

When did I become such a people-pleaser? Why do I care how people view me as a mother - a friend? When did I become a giver and never a taker?

If you give everything away without taking anything in return eventually you have nothing.

In reality the only person who really matters in terms of me caring what they think is my son.
If he grows up to be a well-adjusted respectful adult, who knows he is loved unconditionally by his parents, then I have done my job.

There are going to be mistakes made along the way. I'm not going to do everything by the book and I don't care if you think my child is a bully or a baby.
So what if you do things this way or that. Who cares if you hover more than a UFO in a cornfield over your child's every move.

I am my child's mother and will do what's best for him.

That includes getting healthy both mentally and physically.

And I'd like to think that by acknowlodging that I need to fix these things in my life, is a HUGE step in the right direction.

Moose Musings

Just random thoughts.....

I can find a yarn store in the middle of nowhere better than a dog can find his own beans. Thank god my sister in law was with me, otherwise I would still be there.

Nothing makes a chubby girl run faster than coming face to face with a coyote at 7 a.m. I think the glare of the morning sun off my white legs scared it off.

The best dog training for a hyperactive terrier is a visit from my son David. Just one hour of my Moose chasing that yapper around the house screaming "PUPPY!!!! PUPPY!!!" was enough to quiet the poor beast for three days. I don't think he crawled out from under the couch the entire time we were there.
Well yeah he did, but as soon as David woke up, he booked it across the house faster than me running after a bag of chocolate covered gummy bears.

David can walk farther than David Carridine's character in Kung Fu. My poor sister-in-law got sucked in by his baby blues and thus got the workout of her life. The image of the two hand in hand walking into the sunset is still fresh in my mind.
Although this sunset wasn't so romantic given it was set against the icky backdrop of Tracy, CA in the summer, rundown houses, cracked sidewalks and dead lawns.

Sexy!

Two 20 oz Creme' Brulee iced lattes in the span of 4 hours is NOT a good idea.

How is it that my son can sleep like the dead while visiting relatives, but wake up 10 times a night at home?

If the Binky Shotput was an event at the Olympics David would hold the world record. I must take this time to apologize to the poor man on the other side of the coffee shop who received a Bink to the back of the head during one of David's "episodes"

Lastly, getting away does wonders for helping you realize just who you want in your life and who you can live without. Amazing.

Flight of the "Nag-a-gator"

Today was one for the history books.

My husband and I took a flight together
With a 2-year-old.

It's bad enough that my husband and I, after 6 years of coupledom have never taken on the challenge of aiport travel (a good possibility why we're still happily married). But the fact that we took on this challenge by tossing our cranky two-year-old into the mix on an early flight stands to prove that despite everything Robert is the guy for me.

We made it to CA and I'm still alive right?

Yesterday was the start of my poor husband's decent into hell aka Kristin is stressed.

Not only was I trying to pack our toddler, myself and clean the house. I also had to make sure the cats were taken care of, the fridge was empty etc etc.

I was possessed.

Laundry was flying faster than Lighting McQueen on jet fuel. Clothes were being sorted, brooms were being weilded and my poor husband was being ordered around like a POW in a prison camp.

Imagine a very shrill voice shrieking "Robert! Can you sweep the kitchen?" "Robert! Can you put this in the garbage?" "Robert! Can you....." Robert! Robert! Robert?...."

I'm surprised he didn't take off for Mexico by that point.

At one point we took a break and took David to the park. It was wonderful. We went to eat, because, well, we didn't want to clean the kitchen.

And then all was lost.

As soon as I walk in the door it hit me. The smell of kitty pee.
After so many problems with ZZ in the past I can smell cat pee better than a bloodhound can sniff out a bag of doobie shoved up the butt of a monkey in Africa.
(ok I have an issue with Monkey's and butts don't I?)

I JUST KNOW

And lo and behold.... She peed alright... IN MY FRIGGING JUST WASHED AND FOLDED LAUNDRY!!!!!

Ohhhhhhh she was so lucky she's cute... that and we have more money invested in her than the real Zsa Zsa does in her shoe wardrobe.

Enter the return of the "Nag-a-gator"

By the time everything was said and done it was past midnight. The kiddo was asleep on the couch, my husband was watching Sports Center and I was wrapping up all the packing.

Unfortunatly, we had to get up at 4:30 a.m., leave by 5:30 a.m. to catch a 6 a.m. shuttle that takes 2 hours to get to the airport.

We were zombies.

David was not happy with being disturbed so early and went into full raging temper-tantrum mode. Why? He didn't want to change out of the dirty shirt he was wearing. (he's become so particular about his clothing lately)

So we gave up the good fight and off we went, dirty shirt and all to the airport.

David was great and slept the entire way, but as per the actual flight HA HA HA.

He was so hyper and animated about all the planes and trucks in sight, you would have thought we fed him 100 pixie sticks.

We took precautions and put him in an overnight diaper. The flight was just over and hour. I had two new Thomas engines, coloring supplies, goldfish, Nilla Wafers, juice, water.... we were set.

Expect for the fact he didn't want to be buckled in.

Note that this entire time the "Nag-a-gator" was in full swing.

"Robert can you...Robert do....Robert... Robert....Robert."

But I was issued some payback.

At one point as I was picking up one of the trains David had dropped the snot discovered the tray.

CLUNK! as it came crashing down on my head. SMASH!!! as he then grabbed it and slammed it back down on my head laughing hysterically.

I had barely recovered from that attack when I received a diecast (metal and heavy) train in my face.

I was shocked my nose wasn't bleeding or broken.

David then proceeded to go YEAH YEAH YEAH and chuck his binkie into the lap of the person sitting two rows in front of us....

Should I go on?

Well I know I should because it gets better.

Really.

The plane finally landed and we waited until almost all the passengers had deboarded to get our little guy and carryons off the plane. He was finally doing good.

And then I picked him up.

All I can say is that how the hell can an overnight diaper hold enough pee for 8 hours, when a kid is sleeping, yet fail after only an 1 1/2 hours when he's awake.

I apologize to whoever had David's seat on the next flight..... That dampness is from sweat.... honest.