Inconceivable! Incontinent! Inconvenient!

When I was a stoodent teacher, won of my biggest pet peaves was when an educater would send out a newsletter too parents and it would be full of typos. You would be suprized by how many people goof up common words or terms. Too, to, two, their, they're, there, etc. Teechers are no acception- but we don't want to have to wonder if our childs teachers is capable of correcting there work. They should of double checked. So since this seems to be pet peeve weak for Mean Mommy (see my whining about back seat artists below)- hear's a great article to check out. (Thanks, Tori!)



http://encarta.msn.com/encnet/Features/Columns/?article=EmbarrassingWriting&GT1=27004



Now we can all check areselves for correct grammer and spelling- and can laugh at others, too. To. Two. Hurray for the Society for the Promotion of Good Grammar (SPOGG)!



http://www.spogg.org/



*Mean Mommy reserves the right to disregard any and all comments that will be made on how many spelling and grammar mistakes she's made in her blog, both intentional and accidental. I am, after all, perfect. My sister says so.

The Anaphylaxis Chronicles...

Well, most of you know that during the last two months, in between end of school functions and blog posts and t-ball games and house keeping and bill paying and cooking and boob-tube watching and picking my nose, we've had quite the eventful and frightening time with Mr. Jakers. He had developed this little habit of wheezing. Sometimes it was just a little whistling breathing and sometimes it was an all out, tummy muscles squeezing to get air, low oxygen rate, limp baby kind of wheezing. So we've had three emergency room runs, two unecessary runs of meds for pneumonia, a laryngoscopy/bronchoscopy, and a million different theories on what's ailing him, but yesterday we finally got our answer: asthma and food allergies. Jake is severely allergic to milk, eggs, and peanuts. Each time we'd gone to the ER he'd actually been experiencing anaphylaxis- and it was the steroid treatments that were enabling him to get better until they wore off and we'd start the same routine all over again. And there I was, not knowing, and giving him scrambled eggs and peanutbutter sandwiches- sometimes even right after an ER visit or a doctor's appointment as a quick and easy meal for him. I don't have munchausen syndrome, I promise!!!

So today was the first day of knowing and being able to have a sense of control over his health and how to care for him. The only problem- all day I felt frustrated and scared and a little bit self-pitying, thinking what in the world do I feed this kid?!? I know what not to feed him, but it's rather difficult to figure out what he can have. It would be so simple if labels simply said "milk" or "egg" or "peanut," but instead it's "casien" or "albumin" or "hydrolized vegetable protein" along with dozens of other descriptors that all mean the same thing: Danger. And did you know that refrigerated chicken and beef stocks contain milk products? And even saltine crackers can be cross contaminated with milk? And pastas that don't contain egg can still be contaminated with egg protein from the factory? And that even the term "caramel flavoring" means it contains milk? Since we don't know how he'll react, we have to avoid it all- especially since allergic reactions can happen faster and become more severe with each exposure. So Mean Mommy is becoming Neurotic Mommy and surfing the web, looking for semi-decent sounding recipes that don't require $479 worth of groceries to fix one simple meal for a baby. Just as grocery costs are shooting way up, we're shopping the expensive aisles for odd-ball items. $12 for a gallon of rice milk as opposed to $3.50 for a gallon of regular milk. And if I have to drive to Anchorage to go to a specialty food place, add another $20-25 worth of gas to the total. Ay-yi-yi-yi-yi....

Oh- and did I mention that I have to eat this way, too, since I'm still nursing him? I could just quit- but he's the caboose baby and he's not quite ready (neither am I, to tell you the truth). Add to that the fact that breast milk helps develop the brain, boost immunity and prevent allergies, and you've got a mommy who's not gonna quit just yet. Hey, maybe it'll help me finally start losing some weight! No ice cream, no butter, no cheese, no chocolate... I'm on to something.

But even though I've spent all day lamenting about how hard this is going to be, and boo-hooing over not getting to eat that last bit of butterfinger ice cream in the freezer, and getting carried away visualizing resentful parents in his kindergarten class packing a peanutbutter sandwich for their kid in the next seat anyway (insert horrible visualization of my son gasping, ambulance being called, epi pens jabbing...), I'm ultimately very grateful. I'm grateful that each time this has happened, we've been observant and responsive- and so were his doctors. I'm grateful that we live close to a hospital and that even though the doctors thought it was something else, he happened to recieve the helpful treatment he needed as a coincidence. I'm thankful for our neighbors who played ambulance driver for our last visit when Paulo didn't have keys and I didn't have my cell phone. I'm thankful that a little voice (mommy instincts? the Holy Spirit?) whispered in my ear to hold off on immunizations for a while (two of them are incubated in egg and could have caused big problems). I'm thankful that with all of his odd-ball symptoms, nobody gave up on my child and figured I was just a hypochondriac. I'm grateful that we figured this out quickly. And most of all, I'm thankful that Jacob is okay- he's happy and healthy and thriving, and he'll rise up to the challenge of living with this little quirk. And because I love him- so will his mommy.

Art Appreciation 101

You all know I love art. I love to paint, to draw, to throw pots (duck!), to scrapbook, to decorate cakes and rooms and all sorts of things. I just love to create something and leave my mark and one of my biggest pet peeves is when someone tries to change what I've done. It's not that I believe I'm such a wonderful artist that my stuff is perfect. Not at all- it's that when someone changes what you've done it says that your ideas or view of the world is not as significant as theirs. I'm viciously protective of my kids' opportunities to create what's in their own little hearts. There is nothing so irritating to me as to watch another adult "edit" a child's attempt at creating something wonderful. Let them make a mess! Mixing the paint together doesn't just "make brown muck," it is what teaches them to experiment and to learn how colors mix and blend and change hues. Piling on "too many" bits of this and that helps them to learn how to leave exposed what they want someone to see. The most important part of creating art is the process, not the finished product. Color outside the lines, by all means. Why does a tree have to be a green triangle and a sun have to be a yellow circle with straight perpendicular lines all around? How kids really see the world and the interesting ways they find to express it is so amazing when we pull back and observe.

I wish I had more time and energy to really delve into creating artwork, but for now I steal little pieces of time to satisfy that urge to make something from nothing, and I try to facilitate those opportunities for my kids to have some creative fun. And I spend a lot of time getting inspired and enjoying other artists work. One of my favorite paintings is The Kiss, by Gustav Klimt. Why do I love it? First of all, because it is romantic and reminds me of my hubby. But also for its technical skill, rich colors, interesting textures and mosaic style, and the emotion that is represented. Klimt, during the art nouveau period of the early 1900s, was known for incorporating symbolism into his paintings. Here is a great summary of what the artist represented in this painting:

"The Kiss is a fascinating icon of the loss of self that lovers experience. Only the faces and hands of this couple are visible; all the rest is great swirl of gold, studded with colored rectangles as if to express visually the emotional and physical explosion of erotic love. (Nicolas Pioch)"

Can you imagine how this piece would lose its meaning if someone were to have edited Klimt's ideas for him... "No, no. It's too gaudy, you need to tone it down a little. It's out of proportion. You need more detail in the background. Make their figures more defined- it just looks like a big blob. Maybe you shouldn't even paint a picture of two lovers- that's not proper! Put them in separate beds!" It might be a great realistic/photographic representation of two people lying side by side- but it wouldn't carry the same symbolic strength and emotion as Klimt's original idea.

It is said that art is a means of personal expression. The next time you see a work of art that you enjoy, stop and ponder what it is that draws you to the piece. Then look a little deeper, and maybe you'll find something else the artist intended for you to see. Or maybe you'll find your own meaning! And give your kiddos a chance to express themselves without being "edited" down. Let them wow you with their quirky or moody or whistful or frightening or joyful style- who knows, you may have a future Master painter on training wheels.

Mrs. Brown Thumbs

I'm at it again- attempting to grow something other than giant babies. My first attempt, two years ago, was summed up as a "learning experience." Let's just say that being pregnant doesn't mesh well with gardening duties. I spent more time snoozing on the couch or stuffing my face with graham crackers and chocolate milk than I did actually watering the garden or pulling weeds. I ended up with itty bitty 2" baby broccoli and pencil thin carrots and super spicy-hot radishes that had worms in them (we dubbed them "mexican jumping worms" because they jumped out of the radishes when we sliced them- but they were apparently rootworms). Ironically, the baby ended up 10 lb. 8 oz. Maybe I should have fertilized the garden with chocolate milk and graham cracker crumbs (and macaroni and cheese, and pizza, and coco puffs, and ice cream, and spaghetti, and cookies.)

Then last year it sounded so much more appealing to grow weeds than to even attempt to try a vegetable garden with a newborn, a toddler, a preschooler, a husband, a house to clean, bills to pay, and a tired rear end to plop on the couch (when it got the chance). So my "gardening" last summer consisted of swiping rhubarb and chives from my neighbor's back yard (Tammi: "I have chives?") The boys had fun for a full year, running their Tonka trucks through the weeds and creating roads and rivers in the "mud pit." It made for a lovely time of tilling for Paulo this last month. But my hero tilled it all up for me- by hand, and it was ready to go by the official start of the growing season here in the valley- Memorial Day.

I planted what I've noticed grows well around here- spinach, lettuce, zucchini, carrots, onions (at least I think these might do okay), beets, dill, beans and snow peas. Paulo also bought a few starts- two giant cabbages and two zucchini (what faith he has in me). They're in the ground and being watered well, so we'll cross our brown thumbs and see what happens by the end of summer!

The kids are waiting anxiously for the plants to grow so they can help harvest. Isaiah saw the seed packets and said, "MOM! I didn't know you could grow SAUSAGES!!!" Here's the packet of sausage seeds:

I'm even attempting to try gardening according to the moon cycles... Always plant when the moon is full.

If all goes well, you, too, could be the lucky recipient of a whole bunch of dill and sausage plants.

Love and Adoration.

Baby neck nuzzles, tiny squeeks and sighs, ten perfectly scrumptious toesies, squishy baby bum... A little piece of heaven on earth. Congratulations to my sweet friend, Ali! And isn't she a beautiful mommy?

I love Paul Harvey!

My mom sent this, by Paul Harvey:

We tried so hard to make things better for our kids that we made them worse. For my grandchildren, I'd like better.

I'd really like for them to know about hand me down clothes and homemade ice cream and leftover meat loaf sandwiches. I really would.

I hope you learn humility by being humiliated, and that you learn honesty by being cheated.

I hope you learn to make your own bed and mow the lawn and wash the car. And I really hope nobody gives you a brand new car when you are sixteen.

It will be good if at least one time you can see puppies born and your old dog put to sleep.

I hope you get a black eye fighting for something you believe in.

I hope you have to share a bedroom with your younger brother/sister. And it's all right if you have to draw a line down the middle of the room, but when he wants to crawl under the covers with you because he' s scared, I hope you let him. When you want to see a movie and your little brother/sister wants to tag along, I hope you'll let him/her.

I hope you have to walk uphill to school with your friends and that you live in a town where you can do it safely.

On rainy days when you have to catch a ride, I hope you don't ask your driver to drop you two blocks away so you won't be seen riding with someone as uncool as your Mom. If you want a slingshot, I hope your Dad teaches you how to make one instead of buying one.

I hope you learn to dig in the dirt and read books. When you learn to use computers, I hope you also learn to add and subtract in your head.

I hope you get teased by your friends when you have your first crush on a boy/girl, and when you talk back to your mother that you learn what ivory soap tastes like.

May you skin your knee climbing a mountain, burn your hand on a stove and stick your tongue on a frozen flagpole.

I don't care if you try a beer once, but I hope you don't like it. And if a friend offers you dope or a joint, I hope you realize he is not your friend.

I sure hope you make time to sit on a porch with your Grandma/Grandpa and go fishing with your Uncle.

May you feel sorrow at a funeral and joy during the holidays.

I hope your mother punishes you when you throw a baseball through your neighbor's window and that she hugs you and kisses you at Hannukah/Christmas time when you give her a plaster mold of your hand.

These things I wish for you- tough times and disappointment, hard work and happiness. To me, it's the only way to appreciate life.

Written with a pen. Sealed with a kiss. I'm here for you. And if I die before you do, I'll go to heaven and wait for you.

Do you haiku?

Driving tad too fast
Bored trooper pulls me over
Donut scented luck

Snowflakes stacking high
Dammit, it's the first of May
Cabin fever reigns

Fat jeans much too tight
Chocolate chip cookies beckon
Where's my seam ripper?

Decibels too high
So hears the mother of boys
Peace and Quiet...Not

Organized, calm mom
How does she do it, the twit?
Locks kids in closet