I Suppose I'll Attempt Resolutions

So 2010 is upon us and I figured it would be good if I made some resolutions. I mean, yeah, I may not keep them all but still. At least I tried.

So here they are. My resolutions.



1. I resolve to my nicer to my husband....



...unless he continues to leave his dirty dishes by the sink. I don’t understand. Why can’t he wash them out? I mean, I suppose I should be grateful that he doesn’t just leave dishes at the table like he used to. It’s progress that he brings them to the sink now. But still. When I say, “Please wash off your dish when you’re done eating,” why doesn’t he? Please tell me that the Man Clean Gene clicks on at 30.



2. I resolve to be a more patient mother.....



...unless my kids continue to do things like this.



3. I resolve to not shop as much....



...unless Gymboree continues to release lines as cute as this.



4. I resolve to get my book published...



...unless I can’t find an agent to represent me. I’ve read some agent’s blogs and some were saying that chick lit is out. I hope it’s not out. Chick lit is what I’m writing. If it’s out, could it possibly be brought back in? Please?



5. I resolve to not lose my temper as often....





...unless my husband keeps doing things like this. Seriously. Why does he toss his boxers right by the laundry basket? And why can't he change the toilet paper roll?



6. I resolve to start cooking more...



...unless the recipe contains more than 5 ingredients. And if I don't know what exactly the ingredients are. I found this one recipe that called for mascarpone. What is mascarpone? Is it a cheese? It sounds like a cheese. Why couldn't they have put 3 1/2 oz of mascarpone (cheese) so the confused people like me knew exactly what it was?



7. I resolve to try and be more stylish so I don’t turn into a frumpy Mom…...



...unless I can borrow a stylist, that is. I have no idea what is fashionable. I was watching a program and apparently paint stained jeans are all the rage. This confuses me. Why would I fork over money for dirty jeans? Shouldn’t we be trying to avoid getting paint on jeans?



8. I resolve to not buy as many books since I’m running out of room to put them...



...unless Marian Keyes has a new book out. I have to buy all of her books. Oh, and Meg Cabot’s books. And Jane Green’s!



9. I resolve to stop shouting at the people who I see texting and driving...



....unless they keep texting and driving. Seriously, is your life that important that you can’t wait to text?

What I Got....

I couldn’t stop poking at the present as soon as Tom set it out.



“What is it? Give me a hint?” I would plead on a daily basis.

But I’d never get a hint.

So I checked our bank statement to see if there was some sort of clue. There was no clue by the way. Have I mentioned that I have very little patience? I tell my kids that patience is a virtue but when it involves a gift, I forget all about the virtue thing and just want to know what I’ve gotten.

I even asked Natalie what Daddy bought me since she had gone out with him.

“Cheese!” she said gleefully.

Cheese?!

Well, actually I wouldn’t be too bummed about cheese. I love cheese. Cheddar cheese, mozzarella cheese, pepper jack cheese…my mouth was watering just thinking about it.

“It’s not cheese,” Tom told me.

“Yes, but if it were cheese, you wouldn’t tell me either. So how do I know that you’re telling me the truth?” I pointed out.

“I am telling you the truth. It’s not cheese!”

I managed to forget about the gift until Christmas.

Finally it was the day that I’d find out what Tom got me.

First, he got me this:



Actually, I picked it out because when I said I wanted one he looked online and said there were like 5 Flip cameras available and which one did I want? What color did I want? Did I want another battery to go with it?

“Just buy the one you want. This is giving me a headache,” Tom had fumed. He gets very impatient when he has to shop. It’s why he hates to do it.

So I bought this one and I’ve named it Flappy the Flip Camera.

“Do you have to name everything?” Tom asked.

Why yes. Yes I do.

Then he handed me the Mystery Present.

I twisted it around my hands for a few seconds.

“Are you going to open it already?” Tom asked impatiently. “I’m hungry.”

He’s always hungry.

“I’m savoring the moment,” I explained. I crunched the top part of the present and it was soft. “I say it’s some sort of stuffed animal.”

“Open it and find out!” Tom said, waving his arm towards the present.

I pretended I was a detective as I poked along my gift.

“Definitely a stuffed animal,” I mumbled seriously.

“Hello. Hungry man over here. Hungry man over here,” Tom said. “If you want me to take your picture, hurry and open the present.”

So I did.

And I found this:



Now, I get that some people won’t understand why Tom got this for me.

I mean, it’s an orange creature with bug eyes like Charro.

But here’s the thing: whenever we’d go to the store I’d always laugh at it. I had seen the movie where it was from (Monsters VS Aliens) and it turned out to be my favorite character. I had told Tom that he cracked me up a few times but I never thought he paid attention.

Now I know that he had.

“You listened to me!” I said as I pulled the paper off of my new friend Gerkin. His actual name is Insectosaurus but who wants to go by that? He looks like a Gerkin.

“Of course I listened to you. Now can we eat?” Tom begged.

“You listened to me! You knew I liked this!”

“Yes, I listened to you blah blah blah. Can we eat?”

“You listened to me. Your ears really work!”

“Now I feel like you’re insulting me.”

“I’m not! It’s just, sometimes I say things to you and you don’t seem to hear me. But this proves you can hear!” I said, waving Gerkin in the air.

“Mines?” Natalie said, coming up beside me. She tried to grab Gerkin.

“Uh no. Mines,” I said firmly, hugging him to my chest.

I brought Gerkin upstairs when we went to bed that night. He sat on my dresser.

“Er Amber? I don’t like the way that thing is staring at me,” Tom admitted.

“Then look away.”

“I can’t! I roll over and it’s watching me!”

“Gerkin has a name and he’s not watching you!” I insisted.

“He is! I won’t be able to sleep.” With that, Tom pushed the covers off of him, marched into the bathroom and then covered poor Gerkin with a towel.

Oh well.

So yes, even though it seems like it was a small gift, it meant a lot.

“You listen to me,” I said to Tom before I drifted off to sleep.

Our Christmas and Mean Bacon

Fine, I admit it.

I’m not a morning person.

So I wasn’t totally pleased when I heard Tommy shouting “Merry Christmas” at the top of his lungs on Christmas day. Then I felt guilty because shouldn’t parents think that their kids are adorable? But at that moment, I didn’t find Tommy adorable at all, in fact for a brief second I considered yelling, “Be quiet, it’s too early!” I didn’t though. No, I knew that because it was Christmas that there was a good chance that he’d be up early. I just didn’t think he’d scream the house down.

“MERRY CHRISTMAS, MERRY CHRISTMAS!” Tommy bellowed again.

I groaned and pulled the pillow over my head.

“MERRY CHRISTMAS!”

“MOMMY?”

Great. That was Natalie. When she’s up, she refuses to go back to sleep. “Mommy, where ARE you?” she sang out.

Where was Tom? Why wasn’t Tom shushing the kids? Why can’t I have a husband who tiptoes upstairs, places a finger to his lips and whispers, “Let’s be quiet so Mommy can sleep?”

He was probably playing Call of Duty with the headphones. I hate that game. Sometimes I have visions of myself hurling it out the window and saying, “There! Now you have no excuse! Take out the flipping trash!”

“MERRY CHRISTMAS!”

“MOMMY? MOMMY?” Now Natalie was pissed. And I didn’t want her to be pissed on Christmas day so I reluctantly pushed the covers off of me.

Dear Santa…all I wanted for Christmas was to get some sleep...

“Oh, there you are, Mommy,” Tommy said innocently when I emerged bleary eyed from my room.

“Mommy, Mommy!” Natalie said and rushed into my knees. I nearly toppled over.

“Can we go look at presents?” Tommy begged, clasping his hands under his chin.

“Presents?” Natalie repeated. “Presents?”

Presents? Oh right, presents. Because it was Christmas.

“Yeah,” I croaked out.

Tom was just getting off his game when we came downstairs.

“Oh, hi!” he said, surprised that I was up so early. He leaned over to kiss me and I hissed, “Caffeine,” in his face.

I need caffeine to be pleasant in the morning. It’s a shame that I don’t drink coffee. I get my caffeine from diet drinks and chocolate.

“Right,” Tom said, knowing exactly what I needed. He returned a few seconds later and pressed a diet Dr. Pepper in my hand. Bliss. I cracked it open and took a big gulp.

“Soda is bad for you,” Tommy said as he dug through his stocking.

“Soda helps Mommy be nice,” I explained, taking another sip. Mmm, delicious aspartame.

Lucky for me, Tommy didn’t press it since he was distracted by all the stuff.

By the way, this is how the room looked like before Santa came:



And this is how it looked when he left:









And by HE, I mean ME, because Tom totally went to sleep before I set everything up. He did wake up early and put the dollhouse together but still. Rude.

We got to opening presents:

















Yup, she still loves her creepy Yo Gabba Gabba show.







Help! We can't find our floor!





I'm still half asleep and holding the reusable bags my Mom sent.

After we opened presents, I had it in my head that I'd make a big breakfast. I figured it was time to branch out from having cinnamon rolls from a can. So I made eggs, sausage, toast and bacon on a skillet.



See, normally I make bacon in the microwave. But I figured since it was Christmas that I'd do it on the skillet.

Big mistake.

Cooking bacon on a skillet is just awful. The grease kept popping on me so I kept yelping and saying, "The bacon is being mean!" and Tom went, "What do you expect?"

I think I overcooked the bacon because when Tommy took a bite he claimed that he nearly choked on it.

Oh well.

And remember when Tom wrapped up this gift and I had no idea what it was?



Want to know what it turned out to be?

Tune in tomorrow!

The Santa Freak Out

**Written Tuesday morning, before we knew we had to go to the Denver Children’s Hospital**

For starters, thank you so much for the well wishes for Natalie. She seems to be doing okay.

Some people asked how she got the abscess in the first place. The answer? I’m not sure. The doctor told me that they just form sometimes. I still feel awful and have been letting Natalie watch extra episodes of Yo Gabba Gabba. I’m somewhat traumatized but she’s happy so it’s all good.

Anyhow, I brought the kids to see Santa yesterday. Pictures with Santa are a total rip off. The cheapest package was $17. You weren’t allowed to take your own photos. One lady whipped out her camera and the photographer nearly had a heart attack.

“You can’t take photos over here!” she yelped at the baffled mother.

Natalie immediately started to cling to my leg the second we got in line. The entire way there she had been singing, “I sit on Santa’s lap!” and the second she set eyes on the big guy, she began to clam up.

“It’s okay, Natalie. Santa is nice. Don’t you want to sit on Santa’s lap?” I asked gently.

Natalie shook her head. “No thanks.”

I figured when it was our turn that she might change her mind. But no. When Santa motioned for us to come over, Natalie refused to budge.

“NO THANKS! I NO YIKE SANTA! NO THANKS!” she screamed. I picked her up and she wrapped her hands around my neck and tried to climb onto my head. At least I think this is what she was doing. Maybe she was just kicking me. I don’t know.

Tommy easily went over to Santa. “Good morning,” Tommy said primly as he settled on Santa’s lap.

“Good morning,” Santa answered. I really wish Santa had a real beard. The fake ones look so…well, fake. “What do you want for Christmas?”

Tommy tapped his chin a few times while his sister started to choke me.

“Natalie….Mommy can’t breathe,” I gasped.

“I NO YIKE SANTA!” Natalie yelled right into my ear.

“I want fun slides, a sled, and a puppy,” Tommy said.

What?

First of all, he’s been asking for Megatron, Monster Jam trucks, and remote control car. We got all of that for him by the way. Why did he all of a sudden change his list? He can’t change his list like that! He won’t be getting fun slides, a sled, OR a puppy.

I must have looked panicked because Santa said, “I’ll try my very best but if you don’t get those things, it doesn’t mean Santa loves you any less, okay?”

Tommy seemed a bit let down. “Okay,” he sighed.

“Have you been a good boy this year?” Santa inquired.

Tommy hesitated and then went, “Well, I sort of cut my hair yesterday and Mommy got mad.”

This is true. He did cut his hair. I went in to get him in the morning and I realized he was missing a few inches of his bangs.

“Tommy!” I had shouted. “What happened to your hair?”

Tommy grinned. “I cut it myself! Do you like it?”

I mean, what should I have said? Should I have lied and gone, “Yes, it’s fab!” I know all the experts say to praise your child but I don’t think they meant praise your child when he’s cut his own hair and now has a hairstyle like Lady Gaga.

Santa seemed amused over the story. “You cut your own hair? Well, you probably shouldn’t do that again. Scissors are dangerous.”

Tommy wrinkled his nose. “I’m seven! I’m allowed to play with scissors now. So long as I don’t run with them.”

Santa seemed at a loss for a few seconds and then he went, “You have a Merry Christmas!” Then he turned to Natalie, who was still clawing me. “Hi sweetie. Do you want to come say hello?”

“NOOOO! I NO YIKE SANTA!” Natalie sniffled.

“That’s okay. Santa will still bring you some toys,” Santa called out. He seemed thankful that I wasn’t bringing her over.



I paid for Tommy’s overpriced picture—“does this come with a gift card to Gymboree?” I joked as I handed the woman a twenty and she just stared at me blankly. What? For that price, it should come with a gift card to Gymboree.

As soon as we were at a safe distance from Santa, Natalie unclenched her hands from my hair.

It’s a shame that she didn’t take a picture with Santa. She had on a cute outfit too:





Oh well.

Maybe next year?

The Hospital Stay

“This leg doesn’t look good,” the doctor told me gravely on Tuesday. “I’d like to have other people look at it.”

I nodded. I was getting scared. I did not like the expression on his face. I comforted Natalie, who had started to yelp on the exam table.

A few minutes later, two more people walked into the room and checked on Natalie’s leg.

“NO! STOP!” Natalie screeched.

I could see that her leg was really red right near the thigh.

“I think it’s filled with puss,” the doctor said. “That also needs to come out.”

The other two people peered at it. One had to touch it and Natalie screamed at the top of her lungs.

“It really needs to be drained.”

They started to talk amongst themselves for a few seconds.

“…really big puss pocket…”

“…needs to be drained now...”

“….may even need surgery because it’ll be painful to drain...”

“Surgery?” I said. I so wanted to bite on my fingernail. I do that when I’m nervous but I figured it was not the time to do it. Most people freak out if you start gnawing on yourself.

The doctor turned around. “I think surgery would be the best option. It really is going to be painful to drain. She’ll probably be put under…”

“Put under?” I gasped. I felt my eyes prickle with tears. None of my kids have ever been put under.

“It’ll be better for her, I promise,” the doctor assured me. “I’m going to make a phone call to the Denver Children’s Clinic. They’ll know exactly what to do there.”

“The Denver Children’s Clinic?” I echoed. My mind wasn’t working properly.

“Yes, just take a seat and I’ll let you know what they say,” the doctor told me.

I tried to settle down in the seat. But I found I was too nervous to sit. What did they mean Natalie had to be put under?

This is around the time when I started to freak out a little bit. The tears started to flow and I couldn’t get them to stop. Natalie was crying because people kept poking at her leg. Tommy was freaking out because he can’t handle it when people cry. He tends to have a melt down himself. So there I was in a tiny room with tears dripping down my cheeks with a wailing two-year-old and a seven-year-old who kept moaning that it was too loud and could Natalie please be quiet now?

I called Tom at work. As soon as he picked up I started to cry all over again.

“Natalie...put under...Denver Children’s Clinic,” I croaked out as a snot bubble exploded from my nose. I really wish I were a prettier crier.

“What’s happening?” Tom asked.

“Natalie...put under....Denver Children’s Clinic.” Then I started blubbering loudly.

“Where are you?” Tom demanded.

“Pediatric section...of...base...hospital....” I managed to spit out.

“I’ll be right there!”

Tom later told me that he even put the lights on his cruiser so he could get to me faster. He said I really freaked him out. He rushed into the room and found me cuddling a sniffling Natalie and Tommy all balled up on the floor.

The doctor came out then and reported that we could go to the Denver’s Children Clinic.

“We need to get the leg taken care of as soon as possible,” he said and his tone made me cry all over again.

Nurses kept asking me if I needed anything. I think I was making them nervous.

We hurried home and packed some bags since we were told we’d probably have to stay overnight.

Tom was able to get off work since the base hospital contacted his commander.

We started the two hour drive to the Denver Children’s Clinic.



When we got there, we went into the emergency section and checked in. They knew exactly who we were.

We were shown into a room and told that the doctor would be right with us.



Of course ‘right with us’ meant an hour later.

“I’m going to show my attending her leg,” the doctor said when he finally came in. “If you’re not aware, an attending is…” he began.

“I know what an attending is. I watch Grey’s Anatomy,” I said with a sharp nod.

He seemed a little taken aback. “Right. Well. Good.”

Then the attending came back with him and they looked over the leg and said yes, surgery would be best to minimize her pain.

“It’ll only take fifteen minutes,” I was told.

Then someone came in to start an IV and Natalie flipped out. It’s a teaching hospital so they had someone training to be a nurse put it in and she did not do a good job. She couldn’t find a vein and was messing around for five minutes. I was on the verge of saying, “Let the person who knows what she’s doing put the IV in!” because Natalie was screaming at the top of her lungs and trying to get away.

The IV wasn’t attached to anything yet so Natalie was still able to run around:



Then about two hours later, they were ready for the surgery. I started to shake.

“Will she be okay?” I kept asking a billion times.

“Yes. She’ll be fine,” the doctor told me.

Natalie was given the drugs to knock her out. She started swaying and talking to her hand.

“Someone will come out and get you in fifteen minutes,” the doctor said.

Leaving Natalie was one of the hardest things I had to do. She looked so small.

“Come on. She’ll be fine,” Tom said and practically dragged me to the waiting room.

Tommy was happy because he finally got a blown up glove. He had been asking about one the second we stepped into the hospital.

“All I want is a blown up glove!” he kept saying.

Then he got one when he told the doctor, “I could really use a blown up glove to cheer me up.”

And he got a surgical hat and said that he was now a doctor and did anyone need a surgery performed?



I kept pacing around the waiting room.

“Sit down,” Tom urged.

“I can’t,” I said. Pace, pace, pace. Chew, chew, chew. Because yes, I was munching on my fingernail which I know is probably covered with germs but it helps calm me down.

“Pacing isn’t going to help,” Tom pointed out.

Pace, pace, pace. Chew, chew, chew.

“What if something goes wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing will go wrong.” Tom patted the seat beside him. “Sit.”

So I did even though I didn’t really want to. I started swinging my legs and Tom rested a hand on my knee. “Chill. She’ll be okay.”

“How can you be so calm?” I asked.

“Because I have faith.”

Faith.

“My Dad will watch over her,” Tom reminded me. His Dad passed on a few years before.

A doctor came back fifteen minutes later.

I jumped up and nearly smacked Tom with my hand on accident. “Is she okay? Is she okay?” I said.

“She’s fine. She’s still kind of out of it thanks to the drugs but she’s in recovery now.”

We were led back into recovery and Natalie was in a crib with wires coming out of her. Her eyes opened for a few seconds and then closed again.

“Mommy,” she said and I rushed over beside her and took hold of her hand.

“Mommy is here. Mommy is here, princess.”

The doctor reported that everything went well. It turns out that it wasn’t puss in her leg but dead fat cells.

When Natalie started to come to, we were led to our room.

“Mommy,” Natalie kept saying as I held her.
“Mommy is here.”

Then when we were shown to our room, Natalie focused on Tommy’s glove balloon.

“I want that,” she said softly.

“This is mine, Natalie,” Tommy said, hugging it to his chest.

“I WANT THAT!” Natalie bellowed.

Tom and I exchanged a Look. “And…she’s back,” I said.

Natalie got her own balloon glove and a nurse came in and introduced herself.

“Your son can stay here now but we have a strict visitor’s policy,” she said.

“What are the hours?” I asked.

“9-9,” the nurse said. “But kids twelve and under can’t be up here at all.”

Huh?

“Because of the swine flu and other illnesses,” she continued.

“Where is he going to go?” I asked.

“Someone will have to stay with him in a hotel,” the nurse said.

“But Natalie needs us both!” I said.

“I’m sorry,” the nurse shrugged. “He can stay here tonight but tomorrow he has to go.”

So Tommy and I shared the tiny (and I mean tiny) pull out couch and Tom took the fold out chair.

Natalie woke up several times during the night screaming because of her leg. The nurse would come in with pain medication for Natalie to take but Natalie would spit it back out at her.

“NO LIKE!” Natalie yelled. “NO LIKE THAT!”

Then the next morning Tom and Tommy had to go. There was a day care center downstairs were siblings could go but no one showed up to run it. I mean, hello? The hospital was nice but they really should make a place where siblings can go so the parents can be together. No one seemed to really care about our predicament.

Natalie was able to run around the room. When the nurse came in to check her blood pressure, Natalie started to wail.

“Get OUT!” she said and pointed to the door.

The nurse chuckled. “Someone is getting cranky. It probably means she needs some pain medication.”

“Erm. No. This is just Natalie’s personality,” I said.

The nurse blinked. “Oh really? I can’t believe that someone with such a sweet face could be so—”

“GET OUT, BYE!” Natalie bellowed.

I had to see Natalie in pain several times and I hated that. She would yell, “I want to go…HOME! I want to go…home!” as they changed her leg bandage. It was awful. I never want to go through that again.

Finally, on Thursday we were able to go home since her leg looked good. The thing is though, Natalie did test positive for a bacteria called MRSA so she’s still on antibiotics. We have to take her back to the base clinic on Monday so they can check to make sure the leg is healing. Right now it looks like she has two bite marks on her thigh.

As we pulled up to our house, Tommy grinned and went, “We’re home! It’s a Christmas miracle!”

I smiled too. “You know what, Tommy? I think you’re right. It is a Christmas miracle.”

We're Home

Thank you so much for all the well wishes. I've read them all and am extremely grateful for all the wonderful people out there who kept my daughter in their thoughts.

I will be writing a longer entry in a bit.

Natalie is doing fine now.

We're Leaving

I took Natalie in to the base clinic so they could check on her leg.

It doesn't look good.

They're sending us to the Denver Children's Clinic.

Please keep Natalie in your thoughts and prayers.

I'm scared.

A Trip to the ER...

I’m lucky.

I’ve only had to take Tommy to the ER once.

And up until Friday, I hadn’t had to take Natalie at all. But then I noticed an abscess on her leg and it did not look good. Natalie would screech if I so much as looked at it. I could tell it was making her uncomfortable.

I decided to take her to the ER when I noticed that Natalie had a slight fever.

“It’s in infection. That’s not good,” I said nervously to my husband Tom.

“She’ll be fine,” he insisted.

“I have to take her. I’m taking her,” I said and went to grab Natalie’s jacket. I really am not one of those paranoid mothers who freak out over a tiny cough. I mean, yes, I still check in on my kids to make sure they’re breathing at night but I think most parents do that, yes? Maybe I’m sort of paranoid.

So into the car we went. I left Tom at home with Tommy. There was no sense in taking the entire family out and having everyone infected with the germs that reside in the ER waiting room. I’ve never been to the ER here in Wyoming so I wasn’t sure what to expect. I walked in and there were a few people scattered around sitting on chairs. I took a good look at everyone (“who are you? What are you doing here? Are you sick? What kind of sick?”) and went to check in.

The guy sitting at the check in area looked bored.

“What seems to be the problem?” he said in a monotone voice.

“My daughter has a nasty looking abscess on her leg.”

This made the guy wince. But then he said, “Do you want us to look at it?”

Um. No. I just came to the ER to people watch.

“Yes. That would be great,” I told him politely.

So he checked us in and told us to sit down. I tried to sit as far away from everyone as I could.

It was very different from what I imagined. I probably watch too many medical dramas because I expected George Clooney from ER to come running by shrieking, “We have an ambulance in bound!” or Derek Sheppard from Grey’s Anatomy to start speaking head terms since he’s like this fabulous head surgeon. But there was no George Clooney and no Derek Sheppard. There was just the bored looking guy sitting at check in who was picking at his fingernail. Nice.

I was about to offer Natalie some fruit snacks when all of a sudden this woman came rushing through the entrance.

“Please help! My brother ODed!” she shrieked.

I expected the check in guy to leap to his feet and rush out. But no, he just shuffled over to the woman. Was he deaf? Did he not hear that someone had ODed? And okay, he’s probably heard this many times before because Wyoming has a bit of a meth problem—but still, the woman was frantic and crying—you’d think he’d have ran out there with a gurney like they do in ER when someone comes in wailing for help.

“Hurry!” the woman yelled at the check in guy, who was walking over like it was no big deal.

Then a few minutes later they carried this comatose looking guy in. There was no gurney. Where was the gurney? Why wasn’t George Clooney running out with a gurney?

They brought him into the back so I have no idea what happened after that.

About twenty minutes later, we were called.

We were brought into a room and then left there for a bit. I had to fill out the insurance paperwork and then finally a nurse wandered in. She was snapping on some gum which surprised me. I mean, none of the nurses on TV ever walked in snapping gum. Was I really intrusting the care of my daughter to someone who was snapping on peppermint gum? Could she concentrate while chomping on her gum like a cow? Maybe the gum helped her concentrate?

She took Natalie’s vitals (Natalie is 35 inches and 23 pounds) and her blood pressure and took her temperature.

Then she said she’d be right back.

Now, in ER speak, ‘be right back’ means ‘see ya in an hour if you’re lucky.’ I don’t know why we kept being told that the person would be right back because no one was ever right back.

Thankfully there was a TV in the room so that helped distract Natalie.

The doctor did finally come back with two nurses to help hold Natalie down while they drained the abscess.

Let me tell you, I’ve never seen Natalie cry the way she did when they drained it. Her face turned purple. I’ve never seen her with a purple face. You have to understand that Natalie has always been vocal with her feelings. At a year old she mastered crossing her arms over her chest and shouting, “NO!” or “I’m MAD!” at the top of her lungs. But I’ve never seen her with a purple face.

“Is this normal?” I cried over Natalie’s screams. I was on the verge of bursting into tears. A part of me wanted to whack the evil nurse and the doctor with my purse for inflicting pain on my daughter. But I knew they were helping her.

They packed the abscess with gauze and then wrapped it. Then I was told that a nurse would be right back with a prescription for antibiotics.
She was right back about a half hour later and then we were able to go.

I was told to bring Natalie back on Sunday so they could check the wound.

So I did that and I guess Sunday mornings are the day to go to the ER because the waiting room was filled.

However, because the abscess was just going to be checked we were called back fairly quickly. The regular rooms were already filled so they put us in the psych room. Basically the psych room contained a bed, two chairs, and white walls. This was it. I could see marks along the walls from where people probably kicked them. I was a little freaked out, to be honest.

“It’s okay, I’m putting you in here so you can get in and out,” the nurse said. “I’ll be right back!”

Ha.

An hour later someone came in. All they did was undress the wound and then put wet gauze to it.

“I’ll be right back!”

I waved. “See ya in an hour.”

Then a doctor came back and checked the wound. “I can move you into a regular room now,” he said.

So we did that and I assumed we’d get started. But no, he wanted to give something to Natalie to sedate her. He told me it would make her loopy and it was supposed to make her forget when they repacked the wound.

“Because repacking the wound is really going to hurt,” he said gravely.

I didn’t want to know that.

He sprayed something up her nose to sedate her. Natalie screamed and thrashed and screamed and thrashed.

“She’s so tiny. How can she be this strong when she’s so small?” the doctor said.

I’ve asked myself that many a times, sir.

When he was done, we had to wait a half hour. Natalie definitely was sedated. She kept pointing to the ceiling and was all, “Lighttttttt. It’s a lighhhhttt.”

When the doctor finally came back, Natalie was talking to her hand.

And yes, she cried again. It broke my heart again.

Now I have to take her back to the base clinic on Tuesday so they can monitor the wound.

I have to give Natalie antibiotics and let me tell you, it’s not easy. She spits most of it out. I have to wrestle her to the ground to get her to take the stuff.

“Please, it’ll help your boo boo,” I’ll say.

“NO! It’s YUCKY! GET AWAY! IT’S YUCKY!” Natalie will bellow. Poor lass, she tries to escape but she doesn’t move quickly because of her wound so I easily grab her. And then she kicks and tries to bite while I’m explaining that the pink medicine is going to HELP and isn’t it cool that it’s pink, you love pink, can you just HOLD STILL, if you hold still Santa will bring you lots of presents, PLEASE DON’T BITE ME!

So yes. The past few days have not been easy.

But Natalie seems to be okay. She’s still acting like herself, her lungs obviously still work—she just can’t move very well and I have to bathe her standing up since she can’t get the wound wet. She does not like this. She told me so last night, “I don’t YIKE this!”

It’s going to make for an interesting Christmas I think.

The Messy Two-Year-Old

I know how this happened:



I know how this happened, too:



I know how this happened:



I know exactly how this happened:



But how in the world did THIS happen???



That would be soda.

On my ceiling.

Correction: that's MY beloved caffeine on the ceiling.

One has to wonder what sort of experiments she's conducting. Is she just messy, or is she dabbling in Pharmacy tech training? Or perhaps alchemy?

I'm still wondering how Natalie managed to get my drink on the ceiling.

I get how she did all the others. She loves to make a mess the second my back is turned.

But the soda?

On the CEILING?

Have I mentioned that cleaning soda off the ceiling is not easy?

I just have to say, it really is a good thing that Natalie is cute:



Those blue eyes help save her, let me tell you.

My Dear Letters

It's time for another installment of My Dear Letters!
-------------


Dear Packages That Say That They Have An Easy Open,

Please don’t lie. When I see the word ‘easy open’ I expect it to be just that. So why do I end up struggling to open the easy open more often than not? The package of cheese I had was harder to get into than Fort Knox! I had to resort to scissors. So please. Make it EASY OPEN for real. Thanks.

Signed,
A Maybe She’s Just A Weakling,
Amber

-------------------

Dear Tom,

That was me PURRING last night. I was trying to be sexy. I was not neighing like a horse! I was being a cat! A purring sexy cat. NOT a horse. Get your ears checked.

Signed,
A Trying To Be Sexy,
Amber

---------------------

Dear novel,

I wish finish you! I admit, I nearly gave up on you. But then I remembered my favorite quote from the movie A League of Their Own. “It’s supposed to be hard. If it wasn’t hard, everyone would do it. The hard is what makes it great.” I realized that I couldn’t give up. So I’m still writing you. And I think I’m nearly done.

Signed,
A Just Following Her Dreams,
Amber

-------------------------

Dear Folgers commercial where the girl sticks a bow on her brother,

I know I’m supposed to be moved by you but I’m not. I’m a little creeped out that a sister would stick a bow on her brother. I suppose I’d get it if they were boyfriend and girlfriend. But siblings? Maybe I’ve just grown cynical. Who knows?

Signed,
A Weirded Out,
Amber

-----------------------

Dear people who write the script for chick flicks,

Please stop making characters say ‘I love you’ after only a few days have passed. For instance, in The Proposal are we really supposed to believe that Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds suddenly love each other after hating each other for so long? And in The Ugly Truth , you want us to believe that the two characters are suddenly in love? Please. Let’s start being more realistic here.

Signed,
A That’s Not Really How Love Works,
Amber


---------------------

Dear zit on the end of my nose,

Why do you always appear around this time of year? Is it a joke between the zit gods? Do they sit around and go, “Ha, let’s form a zit on the end of Amber’s nose so she can be just like Rudolph!” Not funny, zit gods. Not funny.

Signed,
A Not Amused,
Amber

Here Are The Pictures

Remember how I went to Wal-Mart awhile back to get some pictures done?

If not, you can read about it here.

This is just a tiny recap on what happened:

--We were going to get family photos done

--About an hour before we were set to leave, Tom's work called him and he had to go in

--I decided to go ahead with the pictures since they didn't have any other convenient times

--Things started out okay. Then Natalie fuh-lipped the freak out. Then Tommy freaked out. Then I freaked out.

--I managed to spend $100 on pictures and I had no idea what I bought seeing as I was so upset

So yeah. I have the pictures back. I've had them for awhile, I just forgot to share.



This is our family photo. My smile looks strained because the photographer was taking forever on snapping the picture. Plus I had been crying thirty minutes before since Tom wasn't able to make it so my eyes are all puffy. I was also stressed trying to get Natalie to stand beside me. She didn't want to stand beside me. It's why she's standing there looking somewhat perturbed and confused.



I love this picture. We took this one next and I started to relax thinking that everything would be okay. But no, it wasn't okay, because soon after this was taken, Natalie had a fit. I'm not sure what happened. Was it the diseased bear that the photographer was swinging around her, trying to get her to smile? Who knows?



While Natalie screamed, Tommy posed for a picture. I tried to get one of just her but she wasn't having it.

I also had a photo with me sitting with Tommy and then with me sitting with Natalie. I look like hell in those photos so I won't be sharing. In those, my smile definately looks strained (probably because I wanted to scream, "KIDS! Relax! Stop acting like wild animals!") and Tommy looks downright pissed off.

I actually CAN photograph okay without a strained smile when I'm happy. See?



Okay, so I had a few drinks in that photo. But still.

*Sighs*

The photos that we took last year at Wal-Mart turned out great. No one cried. No one flipped out. No strained smiles!







I don't think we'll be getting photos done next year since Tom will be in Korea. I'm not going through the crying and screaming again. No thanks.

I'll just continue to take my own photos.

I mean, would Wal-Mart have been able to capture this moment?



Natalie got her head stuck. With no pants on because remember, she's going through a No Pants phase. She was all, "HELP ME! HELP ME! I STUCK!" The pink thing she has on is her jacket. She sometimes likes to wear it just because.



This jacket. And yes, she was ticked off in this photo. Much like she was at Wal-Mart, minus the screaming. She was all, "No pictures please. NO PICTURES PLEASE!" Thank goodness she wasn't born to famous parents. I imagine if we were followed by the Paparazzi she'd hurl a shoe at them or something and scream, "NO PICTURES!" She'd be dubbed Crabby Natalie and Perez Hilton would claim she was like this because we pawned her off on nannies. Then I'd be all, "No, actually that's just her personality. Thanks."