It's three-fifteen in the morning

And I'm wide awake.

I'm dressed. My shoes are on. I have a backpack slung across my shoulders and a blanket draped over my arm.

I'm waiting to see headlights.

Sure enough, Laura's Montero pulls to the curb in front of my house five minutes later. I ease the front door open, slip out of the house, and skip down to hop into her toasty warm vehicle.

It's the day after Thanksgiving. And we're going shopping.

Laura is virtually bouncing in her seat behind the wheel as we make our way across town to pick up a fellow crazy Mommy, our girlfriend Nicole. It's three forty a.m. when we merge onto the freeway and head towards Portland.

Contrary to popular belief, we're not crazy. At least, not in the normal sense. We're just three moms with nine children between us who need to make sure that this coming Christmas is on par with every other Christmas in the past. And with the economy slowly but surely sliding further downhill, finding the deals seemed even more important this year.

As usual, I appoint myself to deer watch duty as Laura navigates the dark highway through the Gorge. It's Nicole's first time shopping on Black Friday, but Laura and I have braved the crowds before. We go over our strategy on the 80 mile trip into the city.

At 4:45 we pull into the Walmart parking lot outside of Wood Village, Oregon. Or rather, we pull into line to pull into the parking lot. The crowd is unreal - bigger than any Black Friday I've ever seen. The adrenaline starts pumping as the three of us join the masses.

We start creeping steadily towards the entrance at 5:03. Before we make it to the door, the first lucky shoppers are already coming out with carts laden with everything from four dollar pajamas to big screen TVs. After what feels like forever the harsh fluorescent lights wash over us and we confront the churning sea of wall-to-wall bodies head on. Clinging to our cart for dear life, we begin to canvass the store, trying not to roll over any one's toes and occasionally getting bumped in the rear by someone who isn't so considerate.

After almost an hour, we throw in the towel. The crowd is just too damn big, and it's starting to get cranky. Even though none of us manage to get everything we were hoping for, we all manage to score some great deals.

And so we check out.

And then we load up.

And ten minutes later, we're in line at Target in time for their six o'clock opening. Further shopping madness ensues before we decide that it's finally time for breakfast. The day feels like it's already been going on forever and it's only eight a.m!

We sit, we eat, and then we head out to do it some more. Fifteen hours from the time Laura picked me up, she drops me off at home just in time to take my kids to the Starlight Parade.




What.A.Day. Just call me Santa.

Gobble Gobble, Friends and Loved Ones

(That's Chunk's "Where's the turkey?" face.)

So in case I didn't talk to you today during the FEAST OF EATING, I hope you had a warm, safe, and overall splendid Thanksgiving. We here in the W household had a genuinely fantastic day!

Turkey Day began like it always does - with the parade. While the kiddos and I sat on the couch in our PJs watching the Buzz Lightyear balloon float across the screen followed by a much-too-obviously lip-syncing Miley Cyrus, Skippy wrestled his 20 pound bird into the oven, slathered in white wine garlic butter and ready to roast throughout the afternoon.

The kids and I stayed warm and snug in a nest a blankets until close to the end of the parade, when a truly blissful holiday event took place - all of my children took naps at the same time. This miraculous and heavenly event gave me the opportunity to run to the grocery store for (only) the forty second time this week before attempting to find an available copy of Wal-E somewhere around town. Defeated on the movie front, I did at least manage to make it back home with the last necessary ingredients for our Thanksgiving Day Feast.

Skippy and I puttered around the house until sometime in the early afternoon when our kiddos roused themselves from their assorted beds and we all shared a snack while we enjoyed another Thanksgiving tradition - watching the Dog Show. We LOOOOOOVE the dog show in the W house. Skippy and I debate the merits of all of the pooches and the kids laugh at me while I watch each and every commercial despite the glory of the DVR. I am completely and irrevocably addicted to dog commercials. Skippy calls it "The Amy Demographic" - if a commercial has a dog in it I immediately love it, no questions asked.

The bonanza of four legged fur kept us busy for most of the afternoon. Then around three the bird came out to rest on top of the stove and a bunch of wonderful-smelling side dishes went in to heat up. Green bean casserole (blech) bubbled alongside an old OHS Drama Club staple, cheesy potato casserole while we all changed into our dinner duds and started ferrying stuff out to the car.


And at four p.m. sharp, we drove up the hill to share dinner with some very dear friends, the B Family. Katy and Aaron were gracious hosts, Kat had a beautifully elegant table set, and we all enjoyed spending a few hours eating and visiting with each other while we sipped on apple cranberry cider and found extra room for dessert. The highlight of the evening (other than Skippy's unreal turkey) was when we asked all of the kids to share what they were thankful for. My girls were fairly predictable - friends, school, mom and dad. But bless the little B man, who without hesitation announced his never ending thanks for a world that included Bon Jovi music to dance to.

Before we knew it, the kiddos wound down and it was time to head home. The munchkins were in bed by eight and Skippy and I were left to reflect on what a wonderful day it had been before I caved in and crashed early along with the kids.

It really was a perfect day. We've been through a lot in our (almost) seven year marriage but on days like Thanksgiving, I reflect on how far we've come and I think that we are stronger than ever. My children are the greatest blessing I could ever ask for. And on Thanksgiving, it's easy to let go of the bad stuff because I feel so especially thankful for all of the good. I can only hope that your day was as nice as mine!

Did you know?

My Kbear turned FIVE! Five....that's slowly but surely moving out of little kid territory and into big kid land. Five means that she can go to Kindergarten. Five means that when someone asks her how old she is, this is the last year she'll only use one hand to show them.

Five is a big girl.

Kbear's birthday rocked this year. I am so proud of the party we put together. In between all of the stress over Chunker's surgery I wasn't sure I could pull it off but in the end, it was fabulous.

A few months ago, I asked K what kind of birthday party she wanted. I had already decided that I would take the plunge and invite all of her pre-school classmates - usually I just pull together a list of all of our adult friends, with kids and without and we go from there. But everyone is busy with the holidays coming, and I thought it would be fun to let K decide who came.

It was....an adventure. LOL



Anyway, Kbear had asked for a "Puppy and Kitty" party. And during our brainstorming session, she had an epiphany that only a four year old would have - "Let's get presents for kitties and doggies, Mom!"

I was intrigued. With Christmas right around the corner, complete with it's influx of STUFF, I certainly knew that the last thing we needed was more toys for me to trip over in the middle of the night, but I wasn't sure how to turn the concept into a party. Finally, the light bulb came on.

On Sunday (the day before Chunk's hospital visit), we welcomed all of Kbear's friends to "Dr. K's Pet Clinic" and had a blast. We had asked each guest to bring their favorite "stuffed animal pet" for a check up and instead of gifts for the birthday girl, we asked each family to contribute something that the local animal shelter could use. The response was absolutely awesome - I was blown away by every one's generosity.



This year I decided not to even contemplate having a dozen kids at my house. We reserved a community room in town and it was the best move I've ever made, birthday party wise. When our mini-guests arrived, we had name tags ready for them that signified them as "Guest Vets" for the day. We read the book "I Want to be a Vet" and then sent them on their way - The kids made collars for their pets out of paper and stickers, they colored pictures for the animal shelter, and we had an exam station set up - complete with charts and checklists for each pet, measuring tapes, a scale, gauze, and an assortment of toy doctor odds and ends. We all snacked on "rabbit food" (a veggie tray), "Lizard dip" (spinach dip and crackers), and "Kitty Kat Crunchies (pretzels).

The kids played "bandage the puppy" where they wrapped each other up in toilet paper and then they raced to see who could push kitty jingle bells across their room first - using only their noses! We had a cake shaped like a bone (courtesy of the forever-creative Skippy) and ice cream and orange soda.

We had 14 kids in attendance, and it was loud and crazy and fun. I think that K had a fantastic time. And when it was all over, we had a TON of stuff for the animal shelter. Many of K's friends were sweet enough to include stickers or small gift cards or five bucks in her card as well, so she still got a little bit of loot but the majority of her haul was for the animal shelter. It was a blast.



Her party was on Sunday. Monday was Chunk's whirlwind day at the hospital, and then Tuesday, K got the spotlight again when we celebrated her actual birthday. After we dropped off all of her shelter donations (much to the overwhelming delight of the staff) we had lunch at Google and then she had her hair cut. She requested spaghetti for dinner, we opened presents from family, and then we ate cupcakes.

The two days combined to make a memorable and fun herald to my little (big) girl's fifth birthday. We can't thank her friends enough for helping us pull it off with their wonderful contributions, but most importantly, my kid had a great time.

THE CHUNK UPDATE

I seriously needed 24 hours to recover from yesterday. Twenty four hours that included at least ten hours of sleep (I got eight) and at least four advil (I took six).

It was without a doubt one of the longest and most stressful overly emotional days of my parenting career. This is the stuff they don't talk to you about before you have kids - moments like the one when they wheel your baby's metal hospital crib away from you towards the operating room.

I cried, of course. I do that. I'm a crier. But Skippy told me that all things considered, I did very well. Thank goodness he was there to keep me under control. He is the reason I was a pudding-like mess instead of a plain old puddle of snot. And in the midst of all of the emotional angst, I gained a new appreciation for the overall health of my kids. Some people there have been through hell, and I have so much admiration for them, although I know that they are just doing what they have to do. This was our first visit to a children's hospital, and the chances were excellent that it would be our only one. Some of these people consider it a second home, and even though your heart breaks for them, you feel so blessed.

But anyway, here's how it all went down at Emanuel Children's yesterday.

We hit the road at about 5:40. We needed to check in at 7:30, and it's a long dark drive through the Gorge before sunrise. Skippy took the wheel while I self appointed myself to deer duty, much to my husband's annoyance. But seriously, not too long ago he took out not one Bambi, and not two Bambis, but THREE so I wasn't taking any chances, since he appears to be some sort of cosmic deer magnet. Luckily, traffic was heavier and it was no longer mating season, so I guess the combination of cars and the lack of hormones kept the deer snug in the woods doing whatever deer do. For his part, Chunk seemed puzzled about the entire endeavor, but pleased to be spending some one on one time with mom and dad. He chattered at us for the first bit of the trip and then settled into his seat to watch the scenery go by (and presumably to help me watch for deer, of course).

We checked in on time at the hospital (a major feat for us, we are notoriously late) and for the next few hours we proceeded to bounce between Chunk's room (shared with three other cribs), pre-op preparations, and the kids' playroom. He looked adorable in his hospital-issue jammies and he was in high spirits, but I couldn't quite shake the butterflies in my stomach. And then suddenly, they were ready for him.

When we brought him back to his room for his first doses of medicine, he was absolutely WOUND from the lack of sleep and the excitement of the morning. But we got him to lie down and he impressed the nurses with his stellar medicine-taking skills - Chunk takes meds better than any baby I've ever seen. They told us that within the next five to ten minutes, the liquid valium would kick in and he would start to get woozy. At that point, we accompanied him and his crib down to the waiting area for surgery, kind of a crib holding pattern if you will.

This was when I started to struggle. I knew that they would be coming to get him, and I knew that I'd have to let them. This was for the GOOD of my baby, no matter how much I hated the thought of them putting that big plastic mask over his face and then sticking stuff down his throat. Skippy kept on calmly reassuring me that we were doing everything right, and that everything would be fine. We distracted ourselves with amusement when Chunk's meds kicked in full time and you could tell he was seeing three sets of mommies and daddies instead of one. By the time his surgical team arrived, Chunk was resting comfortably in his crib counting ceiling tiles or possibly doing calculus in his head.

And just like that, they wheeled him away and we were ushered to the waiting room. The assured us that the meds would keep the baby from remembering much of anything - even leaving us, but I think I'll always remember that one single split second when I wanted to jump up, yank his crib rail down, and sprint away with him while yelling "MINE!!!"

I fidgeted in the waiting room. They told us that it would be about 45 minutes. So when our surgeon showed up after only 30 minutes, my initial thought was pure panic. He must have seen it in my eyes, because he very quickly flashed us a big smile and said that "sometimes, you find what you're looking for pretty quickly."

The verdict: A "mushy trachea" Obviously, that's not a medical term, but that's the way it was explained to us. Basically, when Chunk's windpipe developed, the cartilage down near the bottom never firmed up as fully as it should have. As a result, it's not as strong or as dense as it should be and when he breathes, sometimes the air gets pushed through there and that's when we hear that wheezy rattling noise. To further validate me, the doctor went on to say that the reason Chunk seems to get hit so hard whenever he gets sick is that it's much easier for that area to get swollen or irritated whenever he catches a bug, and that's what produces that horribly croupy cough and the more intense illnesses.

The good news (hell, the GREAT news) is that all of this is something that he should outgrow by the time he is three. Four years old, tops. If he DOESN'T outgrow it, we may have to do it all over again, but it doesn't sound like that's likely. Basically, short of the surgeon coming out and telling us that there was absolutely nothing wrong, this was the best possible outcome AND now we know exactly what the issue is, and how to deal with it more proactively when Chunk gets sick while we wait and see if he outgrows it all together.

Naturally, we were thrilled and relieved with all of this news. We settled back into our chairs to wait until they came to grab us after Chunk woke up. I was antsy. I wanted to see my baby. Little did I know how rough it was going to get!

An hour later, they finally came to retrieve us. The nurse cautioned me that he was still very much out of it, but I really wasn't prepared for how awful it was. The poor boy was sweaty and disoriented, with his wrist all bandaged up around an IV and half-open, tired eyes. I stroked his matted hair away from his face and tried to soothe him, and he broke my heart when he barely croaked out a "maaaaaa" for me.

Then he realized his IV was still in and he decided that he had absolutely had enough of this hospital crap. He got.........mad.

No, to say he got mad really doesn't do justice to it. He became somewhat possessed by the devil. Basically, they had given him some pretty neat feel-good medicine and he had taken a nap and then woken up feeling like crap with the worst sore throat of his life and a needle stuck in his hand. Face it, you'd be pissed off too.

We weren't really prepared for how bad that part would be. Back in his room, Chunk proceeded to throw himself around his crib like a mini sumo wrestler who had just been told that the all you can eat buffet was closed for the night. Our nurse arrived in our room, appraised the situation in about four seconds, and quickly moved in to take out the IV. An for the next hour, we did all we could to calm him down. You couldn't touch him. You couldn't hold him. You couldn't even LOOK at him without sending him into a renewed baby-rage. It was insanely and horribly awful.

Finally, he worked it all out (or detoxed, whatever you prefer) and he fell asleep. When he woke up, he was ready for apple juice, a fresh diaper, and we hit the road for home.

Today he did extremely well. His fever is gone, his IV site looks great, and his voice has lost most of his hoarseness. If he was a little bit more cuddly than usual, I can't say I blame him. We celebrated Kbear's birthday with a quiet night at home and he went to bed without a peep until I came in here to blog. As I sit, he's peering at me over the crib rail, occasionally sharing some deep thought with me, and I simply don't have the heart to lay him back down just yet.

I am just so happy that he is healthy, and that it's over. Validation is not a bad thing after having two doctors blow us off shortly after Chunk was born, but mostly I'm just thrilled that we got good news, and grateful to the wonderful staff at Emanuel for taking such good care of my little man.

Kendall's birthday blog will be up tomorrow. For now, someone needs to go to SLEEP!

Mini Update

We've been on the go since 5:15 this morning. I am TIRED.

We are home and all is well. We got some answers, and it's all good news.

An update is coming but right now, my baby and my couch are both calling my name, one figuritivly and one literally!

I'm staying busy

This week has been hectic for me. I've been trying to keep busy, mostly with housecleaning and catching up on laundry. I tell myself it's because I want a clean house for the weekend, when my mother-in-law comes up for Kbear's birthday, but a lot of it is just fluff...I know that she doesn't care about the state of my house. When she's here I have to chase her away from the washing machine. Really, I'm staying busy because I'm stressed out about next Monday.

As usual, I'm stressed out about other things too. I'm a worrier. It's a crappy habit that I got from my Dad, and I'll probably be trying to break it for the rest of my life. There's just so much going on! Banana's family tree project is due next week and we are a bit behind on our work. But really, I know that we'll get it done. I'm stressed because Kbear's birthday party is on Sunday, and I have no idea what to expect. I'm stressed because my husband is out of town. And because I'm tired of the rain and I want to mow my grass one last time this year. And because I'm trying to get laundry done and clean my house around three small children who constantly seem determined to mess it up right behind me. Dog hair. Dog hair stresses me out. I love my dog, but GOD, the hair...I could build a small poodle.

But really, underneath it all I am stressed out because next Monday we have to bring our baby boy in to one of the children's hospitals in Portland to see if we can find out why the munchkin has been such a noisy, wheezy breather for his entire little life.

A little background on our Chunker - he was born slightly ahead of schedule but otherwise healthy, aside from the fact that he is LOUD. When he was a newborn we would lay in bed and listen to him wheeze and gurgle from his bassinet a few feet away. Our first two doctors told us that some babies are just noisy and that he would outgrow it. Then he started getting sick. And forget the usual round of baby ear aches and runny noses - Chunker gets croup and chest infections regularly, and was treated for both pneumonia and hospitalized for RSV last year. It just seems to hit him really hard in the upper chest region. Our current ped took one look at him and asked me, "Does he always sound like that?" Before I knew it, we had a referral to an ENT specialist in Portland and my baby was being scheduled for a bronchoscopy and a larynxoscopy. Big words = nervous Mama.

Now as any parent knows, the internet is a strange beast. And by the internet, of course I mean Google. (As if any other search engine would do!) When you need the phone number for the Chinese restaurant in town, it's great. I use it all the time to check the weather, catch up on news, and find recipes when I need a new way to make chicken breasts. But when you want to get some basic information about a medical procedure, Dr. Google can be a scary and often all-too-knowledgeable source of facts and figures.

If Skippy were here, he'd fix me with a stern eye and tell me to get the hell off of the computer. A few days ago my Mom told me that it was no good to worry about something you couldn't know anything about until it's on top of you. They would both be right. And yet, I Google. I tell myself I want to be prepared for every possibility. This is my BABY that we are talking about. They are going to take him away from me and knock him out and stick a camera down his throat and I'm sorry but as a mama bear, that is scary.

In my deepest heart of hearts, I genuinely believe that everything will be just fine. The doctor is going to come out and tell us that our kid is just noisy, he'll outgrow it, and that as soon as he wakes up we can take him home. I KNOW that is what will happen.

But underneath all of that, I can't shake that small twinge in the pit of my stomach. I worry. I think that once you become a mother, worrying becomes an integral part of who you are. I try not to let it control me. Most of the time I succeed. But tonight, sitting here typing away while my son wheezes just a few feet away....I worry.

We are not the most religious people. We don't attend church. Most of the time we seem to find ourselves with more questions than answers. But we believe in SOMETHING. Something that is inherently good. We are raising our children to have open minds so that they can form their own opinions as they grow. But that doesn't mean we can't use your good thoughts, well wishes, and prayers.

I'm going to try to make it back to the computer this weekend to tell you all about Kbear's birthday party - it is going to rock the house. But just in case that has to wait until next week, please keep our boy in your thoughts. We will update just as soon as we can, and I'm sure it will be good news.

Land of the free

On Monday Banana bounded off the bus with extra flair and excitedly informed me that she had no school the next day, because it was "Veterinarian's Day."

After I swallowed a chuckle that would have surely embarrassed her, prompting a series of eye rolls and "Moooo-oooom" groans, I tactfully corrected my girl, explaining that the following day was VETERAN'S day - a day when we take special notice of all of the men and women who have fought in wars and kept us all safe and free.

She thought about this, (Banana is my deep thinker) while Kbear piped up from her booster seat, "Being free means like....getting to drive wherever you want right? And being allowed to buy whatever you want at the grocery store, right Mama?"

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. In a way, I suppose she wasn't too far off.

Anyway, today was Veteran's Day. I personally took a private moment to think about the people in my life, and in Skippy's, who have fought for our country. But in general this year's Vet's Day seemed somehow more poignant, perhaps because of the recent election -- the changing of the guard so to speak.

Late this morning I met up with my girlfriend Laura. Laura has three boys. She is a saint and she makes me feel so.damn.normal. As a fellow Mom, she is one of my true parenting soul mates. We parked at "The Place With The Golden Arches That Must Not be Named" and claimed some curb space next to an elderly couple and their pomeranian to watch our very small town's very small parade.

It lasted about eight minutes.

Seriously, it was the local police, some of our local veteran's, a couple of horses, and of course, the fire truck. At first, I was somewhat disenchanted. I guess I had been expecting more.

But then, I noticed the older lady that we were sharing the sidewalk with...the one sitting next to the man wearing the peaked hat that signified his service.

She was crying.

Not just looking teary eyed, but full-on shoulder shaking, wiping her eyes and sniffling crying.

And then I took a new look at my kids, and at Laura's kids. They were waving and jumping up and down and I heard Brianna saying "Thank you! Thank you!" to those wonderful brave old men going by.

I took a new look at the parade. It was a good parade. A GREAT parade even.

Wait....what? Halloween?

Oh yeah. I promised pictures didn't I? Sadly, this year's Halloween does not represent my finest picture-taking moments. Pathetically, that shot right there is one of the best I got all day, where Banana is missing part of her costume, Kbear looks exhausted, and Chunk is eating a sucker that he stealthily unwrapped while people watching. But hell, they still look cute.

Well shoot, what can I say? Things got busy. And I got sick. And people, I NEVER get sick. I'm the one who takes care of everyone ELSE when they get sick. So when the icky karma bug finally gets a hold of me, it chomps down hard. I must say however, that Skippy is a kickass nursemaid.


So Halloween came and went. I am really rather disappointed in myself this year because I just didn't take the pictures like I normally do. And I was insanely proud of the costumes that I made for the kids so really, what gives?

Honestly, I'm not sure. All I know is that by the time it was trick-or-treat time, I was already beat and it took everything in me to take the kiddos out around town until it was Dad's turn to take over. And holy crap did they bring in some mad crazy loot. We (I mean THEY) are still eating it. Thankfully, we are starting to get to the whoppers and smarties and other crud that no one really eats, so this weekend I'm pitching whatever is left in the bowl. Although I must say, it has come in handy for getting the girls to keep their room cleaned up!

After last year's costume making extravaganza, I swore I would never EVER put myself through that velcro hell again. But as September waned into October, the glue gun started to call my name from the dusty depths of the craft closet. And finally, I gave in.


Banana was a kitty cat this year.

Easiest.costume.EVER.

She wore black tights, a leopard print skirt, a leopard print leotard (both fabulous hand-me-downs from my Aunt Jane) and a black long sleeved t-shirt. I bought her a set of fuzzy ears and a tail but kept back the bow tie - I wasn't dressing a damn play-boy bunny for goodness' sake. Skippy painted whiskers on her face and she was ready to go. Way simple and way cute. Unfortunately I never got a good picture of her - all I have is one that I took that morning at school when I went to see her receive "The Fantastic Friend" award. By the time she got home on the bus that afternoon, she had realized that her ears were long forgotten at school, but we soldiered on. So forgive the horrible picture quality, just admire my cute cat!





Kbear's costume required a little bit more creativity this year. One night in Walgreen's, she spied a "fairy" costume on the rack. It wasn't really much of anything - just a frilly white dress with wings. But she WAAAANTED it. Mean mommy that I am, I said no - after all, it wasn't really ANYTHING.

A few days later I was back in Walgreens and I saw the dang costume again. This time it was marked down to ten bucks. So being the mean-yet-soft-pushover mommy that I am, I bought it for her. The next day we spread it out on the coffee table and I asked her what she thought it could be.

My little costume genius pondered for a few minutes before blurting out "A snowflake fairy!!!"

So just like that, we ran off to the Dollar Store. The one and only perk to retail stores dragging out the Christmas cack in August is that you can spend a few bucks and make your kid into a totally adorable snowflake. She loved that she "was all sparklies" and everyone we saw thought it was adorable. I sewed snowflakes on the sleeves of an old white shirt, made her a garland out of an old headband, and sewed a big foam flake in her front. DONE. And PERFECT.




That left the Chunker. Or as we constantly call him, "The Stinker" The only logical costume was of course, a skunk.

In case you haven't noticed, I have a complete and utter inability to sew. It's actually quite embarrassing. Someday I am going to learn. My crafty goddess girlfriend Charlotte can sew anything. But me.....I've got a glue gun.

So we took a little black sweat suit and a little winter hat, added in some felt and some fake fur, and worked some magic. Then, because I wanted a tail that he could sit in a stroller with, we went the "no-sew fleece blanket" route. When all was said and done, I realized that I could have saved myself a lot of stress and emotional angst, because he would have been stinkin' cute no matter WHAT I did.



And that was that. Hours of glue-gun burned hands and needle-pricked fingertips. We went trick or treating. We went for pizza. We went for MORE trick or treating. We carved pumpkins. And then we collapsed. It was a GOOD day.

I think next year I'll buy costumes.