Kim would like you to know…

…that she wins.

(Me: Oh, sure we have to count to see by how much…
Kim: Twenty-one, twenty-two, shut up, twenty-three…)

For the record, there was wine and Storm Chasers involved. I may have been distracted!

She’s here! She’s here!

Otherwise entitled, Why I Did Not Post Yesterday. Heh.

We had to race to the airport because when I happened to check on her gate, I noticed her flight was scheduled to arrive 30 minutes ahead of schedule. Which gave us approximately 20 minutes to get to the airport. Thanks to the fast lane and only one traffic stoppage on the highway, we got there just in time to find her baggage claim – which was right across from her gate – watch her plane pull up and see the jetbridge attach to the door, and count allllll of the people deplaning ahead of her. My girls delighted the security guard and every single person who passed through the glass revolving door. We are amusing, yo.

Finally, Auntie Kim came through and we haven’t stopped since. We went to IHOP for a late lunch/early dinner, played American Idol and Just Dance on the wii, went for ice cream in the dark, danced around the fountain and looked for sharks, went book shopping, and watched a leetle TV before the girls went to bed and Auntie Kim and I collapsed into some wine.

It is going to be a good week.

Choose Your Own Adventure – Kidney stone style.

I’ve been dealing with a rather pesky kidney stone in my left kidney since last October. I was rather annoyed with it because I had just eradicated one in my right kidney seven months prior, so I wasn’t really in the mood. All the same, there it was. And it still is. And probably will always be, world without end, amen.

Except, maybe not, because I have Big Plans. BIG PLANS, I say!

Ahem. Anyway. Said big plans started brewing last week when I had a sudden attack of OHMYGOD Kidney Stone, You Hurt! Usually he just sits there quietly, unless I get it into my fool head to try to work out. Working out, or shaking my (adorably cute) tail, or otherwise ricocheting my kidney stone against my kidney is strictly verboten. But I was saying, last week I had a twinge – a small one, perhaps an imaginary one – on my right side, which I promptly ignored and filed under Sympathy Pains. Then there was the Game That Did Not Happen and a related beer binge (beer is prohibited under Kidney Stone Prevention rules) and all of a sudden I was having counter-clenching, stop-in-the-middle-of-a-sentence-to-scream kind of pain. The kind of pain most men I’ve talked to assume I’m in all the time with this pesky little kidney stone. Then my bladder spasms and the feeling that I was being stabbed in my cervix with knitting needles – you know, like last time I had a kidney stone – came back and so I called Dr. Hotshot and got myself an appointment. As much fun as nightly Vicodin is, it’s probably not healthy.

That is how I found myself at the x-ray store technician’s on Tuesday morning, bright and shiny. In order to get my x-rays covered at 100% – as opposed to having a $130 co-pay – I have to go to the facility across the street from Dr. Hotshot and it has to be the day before so they have time to send the digital images to my doctor’s office. However, because Dr. Hotshot is pretty thorough, he also requires physical films, which is how I came to be in possession of my x-ray for 24-hours.

Giving me – a known hypochondriac girl with an imagination that could rival Stephen King, Jim Henson, and daytime soap scriptwriters all thrown together – my x-rays without supervision is a bad, bad idea. I pulled my x-ray out of my jeep (where it was kept so I wouldn’t forget it) about 20 times Tuesday night. Dr. Hotshot had shown me my kidney stone last October; I was confident I could find it again. I just wanted to see if it had moved, if it suddenly had some little friends, or if the absence of pain over the past two days meant it had vacated the premises during that 48-hour period I lovingly remember as Screamfest 2011.

Turns out, x-rays are a little harder to read than one might think.

I couldn’t find anything labeled “kidney stone.” I didn’t see anything that looked even a little stone-ish. I could see my kidneys, my lungs, a bottom rib or two, and lots of other stuff. There were lots of shadows and a coupla flecks. But nothing obvious. Crap – maybe I didn’t have any stones. But I was in pain! Why was I in pain? Was it all in my head? Was the doctor going to call me a crackhead (almost quite literally) and send me on my way?

Meh, meh, meh. I consulted Dr. Google. “Finding kidney stones on x-rays” only gave me a few results. Okay, not really: there were 13,000 results and only a few useful examples. And my x-ray didn’t resemble any of them. Finally, I determined that I either had three kidney stones or none. I shouldn’t have wasted my time getting to undergraduate degrees and a crappy job and instead gone to x-ray school.

I had to wait all the way until Wednesday at lunch time to get my results from Dr. Hotshot. Almost predictably, he told me that I still had just the one stone and it had moved a little – away from the exit. Apparently, kidney stones of this size almost always (70% of the time) pass on their own. But it could take years. I have gone up a pants size, people – things are dire. So we talked about options – continued to manage with pain meds and wait, or to schedule surgery. I opted for the surgery. Yes, it’s pricey. $2,000 kind of pricey. But I am not really comfortable taking Vicodin every night, nothing else calms the pain post-workout or by the end of most days – and I want to get back to a healthy lifestyle. I miss running and dancing and shaking my thang for no reason at all.

So! Mark your calendars. You may start sending me oodles of sympathy and compliments and other lovely emails around the 3rd of March – my day o’ exciting lithotripsy. If you want to send gobs of money, I wouldn’t exactly turn that away either. Heck, I might even call to thank you while I’m incredibly high post-surgery. That, my friends, is entertaining enough to be worth every penny!

My life – it is never really exactly dull, is it?

5 Things I Hate About Staying Home With Sick Children.

Yep, you guessed it. I’m home with a sick kid. Or maybe “potentially sick kid” would be more accurate. Bee spewed her dinner all over the back of her dad’s car last night on her way home. She did feel warm, but didn’t have a fever when I checked on her and seems to be fine this morning. So we’re home. I’m going to spend the morning assessing the situation and if the bugger is still fine by lunchtime, off we go to daycare and work to serve our time. Because you know what? I’m not entirely sold that she’s germy. Which brings me to those 5 things…

1. The Are-you-sick-or-not? In-between Land. I hate when the kid in question seems puny the night before, is fine all night long, and is fine in the morning. She should go to school, right? Ah, but there was the reappearance of dinner the night before and the possibility that the fever will reappear mid-day. If she gets sent home from school, she has to stay home an extra day and you’ll end up burning twice as much sick-time. If you play it safe and stay home, you might burn an unnecessary sick day. I only get 12 sick days a year to spread out over me and two school-age children. It’s Sick-or-Not Roulette! Step right up and spin the wheel… but I’d stand back a ways in case she is sick.
2. The Guilt Over Calling In Sick. I know I shouldn’t feel guilty, but find me a working mom who doesn’t experience guilt because she stayed home – especially if Issue #1 is in play. I was out a few hours Tuesday and yesterday for doctor appointments and I’m out half-days next week because my sister is in town. A day home today makes me feel like people will start talking about how frequently I’m out of the office, even if I have a handle on my workload at the moment.
3. The For-the-Love-of-Pete-Start-Acting-Sick! Factor. Bee cried when I turned the light on in the girls’ bedroom to get Gracie ready for school this morning. I let her stay in bed and figured I could just throw her sneakers and jacket on and carry her to the car at the last minute. Except that 15 minutes later, Bee walked into the kitchen and started chatting. I changed her into some sweatpants and tried to convince her to go to school, but she wasn’t having it. And she hadn’t passed the breakfast test, so I didn’t push it. By the time I had driven Gracie to school and was most of the way home – and Bee hadn’t even stopped to take a breath amidst all her chatter – I was beyond annoyed. “STOP CHATTING AND START ACTING SICK!” I wanted to yell. My teeth still ache from clenching them closed.
4. I can’t even sleep in. I miss the days when a sick kid meant I could sleep in until the girls woke up before dashing the healthy one to school. Now, that only works if it’s Gracie. And guess who never get sick? Yep. Well, if it’s any consolation, the sleep-in-if-it’s-the-right-kid plan would only work for a few more months anyway. Bee starts kindergarten in the fall and then that bubble bursts, too. Then it won’t matter who’s sick, we’ll have to still get up at 6 a.m. to get the healthy one to day-care for 7 a.m. so that Mommy can avoid the drop-off lane of doom at the elementary school.
5. The Day Never Goes As Planned. As soon as I feel the fever (or hear the retching), my mind starts making a list of all the things I can do at home to neutralize Issues #1-4. I can do laundry. Clean the house. Run errands (if the Sick Kid isn’t truly Icky-Sick). Put away toys. Squeeze in a nap. Finish my book. Exercise! Usually I might get to cross one item off my list because I’m busy tending to Her Royal Highness or my head has simply exploded from an excess of chatter. That means by the time my day with the girls would usually be starting – dinner time – I’m spent and grouchy. And that never ends well.

So there you go. I’m trying to take things as they come today, but Bee has already pulled out all the Barbie toys, made a bead necklace for her sister, and told me she’s just not feeling good because she wants to stay home. When I said she was going to school later, I got a very smiley yet earnest, “I’m not kidding, Mom.” Yeah, right.

Wise one moment, a child the next.

I feel like poor Bee’s been getting the shaft on the blog lately. I don’t mean to ignore her – it just happens sometimes that one child will be all shiny and bloggable one week and then the other pops up the next. It’s the way life goes sometimes and I just try to go with the flow.

Don’t worry – Bee made up for it tonight.

We were sitting down eating pizza on the floor in the living room, watching Dr. Quinn because Bee and I have resigned ourselves to riding out Gracie’s singular obsession. In any case, this particular episode was about one woman who was being beaten by her husband. Dr. Quinn passionately lectures her daughter that she should never let any boy or man hit her for any reason. So I did the “teachable moment” thing and told my girls the same thing.

Me: “Don’t you ever…” and then Bee finished what she thought was the logical conclusion…
Bee: “…hit boys.” That’s right. Because my girls know that we are far more kickass than any boy could ever be!
The second quotable moment happened later when we were all sitting around the table talking and eating dessert. (Apparently we do things backwards on pajama nights at my house – eat dinner in the living room in front of the TV and eat dessert around the table as a family.) Bee had selected pomegranate applesauce, a treat I had scored with triple coupons (FTW!).

Bee: Mommy, what is this made of?
Me: Pomegranates. Indian Apples. They’re the same thing. You know…
Bee: This is made from Indians?!!!
Me: No! Not from…
Bee, interrupting: Cool! Gracie, this is made from Indians…like E.T.!

Yep. First my 4-year-old was wise beyond her years in refusing to even think she was weaker than a boy. And then she took it all back in the next moment and acted like the silly little girl I love to adore. God, I love being a mom some nights!

Welcome to Connecticut, Rhi! (Really!)

You’ve probably heard about the bagillion inches of snow that New England has received over the past few months. Every weekend since Christmas there has been a new storm. Two weeks ago, my sister Kim called to tell me she had 48” of snow on the ground. Forty-eight inches! There would be a blizzard here, a nor’easter there, a light dusting of only 6-8” here and there mid-week. Snow is lovely, but I’m starting to get a little concerned that Kim might go all REDRUM! all over Connecticut.

There’s one more concern: the snow has delayed time and time again Operation: Escape (pronounced Es-cap-ay, like Finding Nemo dudes) de Rhi. Operation: Escape de Rhi is the codename we came up with for moving my baby sister from my parents’ house (from which my father kinda sorta kicked her out of the week before Christmas because he’s a swell guy) and into my sister Kim’s place. Well, one thing and eighty conversations led to another and Rhi managed to negotiate a two-week extension. Right around when those weeks were up is when snowmageddon started. And has. Not. Stopped.

Sunday my sister finally moved sans furniture. She wanted to get acclimated before Kim deserted her for 10 days (TO COME VISIT ME!!!!). And Connecticut has not given Rhi the warmest welcome.

Rhi asked me this morning if I had heard about said welcome. I said I had heard there were going to be people. (Rhi: “Yessss, there are people here in Connecticut, Katie.”) I meant that I had heard Kim was going to have friends over to help distract welcome Rhi and help her move her stuff. And they did. They helped Rhi carry bag after bag through the snow and up into Kim’s apartment. Until one of the bags rebelled and esploded allllll over Kim’s steps and front lawn. Rhi gathered all of her clothes and hurried the rest of everything upstairs.

Several hours later, Erin was going to move her car so Kim could park in the driveway or something closely approximating that involving two cars moving. One of them got stuck and Rhi, Kim, and Erin spent an hour unsticking said car. During the course of which Rhi realized a pair of bright orange thongs was sitting smack in the middle of Kim’s front yard. And had been for hours. Ahem.

Yesterday morning Rhi realized that she had a brand-new coffee maker (Kim doesn’t drink coffee), coffee beans, and no filters. She made the last pouch of instant. I tried talking her through using a paper-towel (too weak). And then tried to get her to experiment with Kim’s tea ball and a mug of boiling water. Rhi said she found more instant. I think she’s just afraid of Connecticut.

And maybe she should be.

Welcome home, Rhi! I promise – it’s going to get much, much better. Eventually.

Avert your eyes!

Dear Kim:

You are pretty. And lovely. And full of useful things to know, like words and math and stuff. Also, please don’t look at my 10-day forecast. I know we said we weren’t mocking, talking about, thinking of, or otherwise having anything to do with weather for fear the Weather Gods would notice. But – just don’t look at my 10-day forecast.

Love,
me

Amaretto cake for breakfast, I say!

Last week was my co-worker J-thug’s birthday. Yes, smack dab in the middle of The Conference of Death and Destruction. Since J-thug was also in the middle of the C of D&D, she totally understood why I wasn’t baking anything. But it was okay because I had a plan – a plan that involved amaretto cake.

See, J-thug’s mom usually buys her an amaretto cake for her birthday every year. Since absolutely no one else in her family likes amaretto cake, J-thug brings the leftovers in and she and I devour the remains. This year, J-thug decided to go with a different flavor to be all nice and stuff. Whatevs, I was craving amaretto cake. So I thought I’d pick one up at the store, where I SWEAR TO GOD I had seen one a few weeks ago. I drove to Albertsons and searched the bakery, the freezer, and any and all related areas – no cake. I tried the ice cream aisle – no amaretto ice cream. It was late, but I trekked over to WallyWorld where I took my life into my own hands kept searching for that damn cake. It wasn’t in their bakery or frozen dessert section either. And they didn’t have ice cream. Now it was personal. But it was also very, very late and I had to go home before I fell asleep at the store. (Hey, the sun wasn’t down, but didn’t you hear me tell you about the Conference of Death & Destruction?)

Poor J-thug had lemon pound cake as a substitute birthday dessert. And now she will have amaretto cake tomorrow because I am that awesome. (And also because I started craving it once I couldn’t find it.)

The recipe is easy-peasy…just be prepared that the middle might cave in. I blame the fact that I didn’t want a bundt cake and so I had to make up my own time and temperature for a 9×13 pan.

Katie’s Amaretto Cake That You Cannot Buy In Stores
1 box yellow cake mix
4 eggs – yes, four
1 large box of instant vanilla pudding
6 teaspoons amaretto (this is where I realize that I put in 6 tablespoons. Oops. Still tasty!)
1/2 cup water
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1/4 teaspoon almond extract (this, at least, I got right)
For amaretto drizzle (if you’re doing a bundt):
1/2 cup amaretto
1 cup powdered sugar

1) Combine cake mix, eggs, pudding mix (do not make the pudding, silly – just sayin’), water, oil, almond extract, and the amaretto. Mix well. The batter will be very, very, very thick. Be prepared for that. Also? It splatters more than ordinary cake batter. Be prepared for that.

2) Grease and flour a bundt pan. (Or whatever pan you want. Be adventurous.) Pour batter into pan.

3) Bake at 350° for 40-45 minutes in a bundt pan; I’d say about 27-30 minutes for a 9×13. I baked it for 32 minutes and it was a little tiny bit overdone…but then the middle collapsed. So it’s your guess, really – what do I know?

4) If you want an amaretto drizzle for your icing, combine the amaretto and the powdered sugar while the cake is baking. Or, if you want a more traditional frosting, J-thug recommends butter cream, so that’s what I used. The drizzle is really thin, but I suppose if you added more powdered sugar and maybe some milk (or cream), you could thicken it up and use it as a ganache if you wanted to fill cuppacakes and top them with the butter cream frosting. Dang it, why didn’t I think of that earlier. (Okay, in all honesty, I did. Then I realized how much more work that would be. Thus, the cake.)

Ta-da! Really good cake. If I had known it was this easy, I would have just baked it in the first place.

Maybe I’m slightly girlier than I thought.

When the tough get dumped, the dumped go shopping. For shoes. (Or, um, something…)

And I shall call them my pretties!

The best part? Okay, besides that they are Kelly & Katie brand so they were literally calling my name, is that they were free! Christmas gift cards, how I love thee. $30 worth of therapy that I didn’t even have to pay for.

Now that, my friends, is finding the silver (and red) lining.

Entering the scary, scary forest of the Internetz.

With everything going on, I haven’t told you about the text I got last weekend.
 
I was out at a bar, watching That Sport That Doesn’t Exist Anymore, enjoying a kidless night out with my guy and one of his buddies. We had been drinking and having a great time going back and forth with other crazy fans who were sitting in the pit with us.
 
I was texting with several friends who couldn’t join us, so it didn’t surprise me when my text alert went off. When I saw it was from The Ex, I was a little worried: texts from the Ex during visitation weekends nearly always mean something was wrong. And none of us were fit to drive if it was dire enough. Turns out my worry was misplaced. Well, a little.
 
“Good night.” That was the text. A little weird, right? I mean, thanks to A., relations between the Ex and I have improved greatly. Sometimes we even laugh together when he drops the girls off. But random texts that say good night? Kind of unprecedented.
 
The girls don’t even call any more when they’re away – which is fine – but maybe since they were driving back from Oklahoma they were missing me or, I don’t know, wanted to say good night. That was the only thing I could think of that made sense. So I texted back, “Good night, Gracie & Bee!” and because it was a little strange, I added, “(Is everything ok?)”
 
And then nothing. I didn’t hear back the rest of the night and, in fact, I had forgotten about it until mid-morning the next day when I got another text from The Ex. Gracie had been using his iPhone while they drove back from Oklahoma. And apparently, Gracie knows how to send text messages. I laughed and told him to tell her to sign her name the next time – because let’s face it, my little girl wanting to text me when she’s been away for only 24 hours? That’s adorable and sweet and utterly precious!
 
Then I started thinking about it and it occurred to me – who else is my chica texting?! So I sent another text to The Ex – “We need to have an Internet safety talk with her.” Goodgracious, who knew this would all come at 6 years old? Sheesh. But better safe than kidnapped and sold to the lowest bidder, I say.
 
I haven’t had The Talk with Gracie yet. I mentioned to her that I got her text and asked if she texted anyone else – she doesn’t – and reminded her not to text people unless Mommy or Daddy say it’s okay. But that’s the extent of it so far. I need to first figure out what I want to say – and there’s a lot of advice out there.

• I think I can skip Gaming Safely because Gracie isn’t into online gaming yet. I will occasionally navigate her or her sister to Sesame Street games online and she knows how to get to minesweeper and pinball, but that’s the extent of gaming at our house.
• Likewise Social Networking Safety – I’m sure I’ll have to worry about this soon, but not right now. I know A. had mentioned possibly starting a blog for Gracie, and I’m not really keen on the idea – unless Gracie asks about it herself. I won’t stomp down any dreams, but I think that will be the time to talk about not using real names, not posting pictures, etc.
• Basic computer safety – This one I do want to talk about with Gracie. I think she’s old enough to understand that clicking on some links and advertisements can hurt or ruin the computer. Also, she needs to know how easy it is to accidentally erase some of Mommy’s Very Important Programs and Files – like when she gave me a heart attack this weekend because I thought she erased my entire iTunes library. Creating a Gracie-friendly profile will help with some of that.
• Share, share, share! I definitely need to be more active about engaging with Gracie about her computer use. She doesn’t get to use it very often – and she never gets to use my cell phone – but I have a feeling we’re starting a new phase and I want to do it right. Perhaps it’s time the family computer (but maybe not mine) moves somewhere in the house where I can more easily see what’s been accessed. Yes, it’s convenient tucked into the front room where I can close the doors to the pinball sound effects and iTunes playlists, but I want Gracie to understand from the beginning that computer privacy isn’t a right and she shouldn’t expect it. Also, I want her to be able to ask if she can visit a different site and she should tell her dad that she’s texted someone if he’s going to let her use his phone.
• Less is more. This goes for limiting access – to games, Internet, and parents’ apps and other phone uses – as well as for what information is given. With regards to the former, Gracie should understand that setting limits on availability is to make sure she continues to be curious about the world and interacts with it – not to punish her. I also need Gracie to start learning Internet safety – who to talk to (and not talk to – at this age I think it should only be people she already knows well and who her dad and I approve of), why she shouldn’t give out personal information (because people might use it for the wrong reasons or give it to the bad people), and why the same rules apply (always be nice to others, tell Mom or Dad when something doesn’t seem right, etc). 

I’m sure I’m missing some good tips. So tell me – have you had a talk with the little people in your life? What else should I tell Gracie? How exactly do I walk that fine line between being honest and scaring the crap out of her? I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – it’s a good thing my kids are so cute and funny because being a mom is harrrrrrrd.