I'm a Smart One

Smart Cookies

I only have a minute because my desk has junk stacked 3 feet high on and around it and there is also that pesky business of expanding the minds of tomorrow to attend to, but I wanted to pop in quickly to let you know that Frank's Big Ones is now fully open again on Etsy. A few changes:

• New varieties: Oatmeal Raisin, Vampire Bite, Chocolate Cherry Bombs, Caught in the Mo'Mint, Monkeygirl (which is like the MonkeyBOY, except without nuts. Heh.) Of course, you can still buy Chocolate Chip, Chocolate Chip Pecan, Cherry Bombs, Monkeyboy, and Sugar Daddy.
• $18 per dozen for "Nice" cookies.
• $20 per dozen for "Naughty" cookies.
• Shipping - $8 for the first dozen and $5 for each additional dozen. Please convo me if you'd like to order more than 4 dozen at once. 
• If you'd like cookies in time for Thanksgiving, please order by Nov. 18 to guarantee that they'll make it to you in time. 
• On November 8, be on the lookout for an All Thumbs review on Frank's Big Ones written by our very own rock star Lori.

And just because I think he's sexy, especially when he's being all fatherly and whatnot:

 

Tell me this - what dishes are on your Thanksgiving menu? Do you stick to traditional menus and recipes that remind you of home or do you look to reinvent Thanksgiving dinner either in part or in whole each year?

(Mom - please do not attempt spinach dip again. It's been seven years. Touch the screen with your left hand, raise your right hand, and repeat after me:

I, Gwendolyn - MommyLady of Kym - do hereby solemnly swear that I will not attempt spinach dip for either Thanksgiving or Christmas or Kwanzaa dinner. If I do back on my word and DO, once again, try to make spinach dip, I will not, under any circumstances, slather a corn chip with said dip and force my grown daughters to try it. I do, however, reserve the right to chase my grandchildren around the house with the slop-covered Tostito and threaten to withhold dessert if they don't at least try a bite.

'preciate it, Lady.)

What Up, My Ninja?

Strictly for my ninjas.

It's Not Unusual for Me to be a Nutball

Understandably, it's taken a while for me to be able to post here about my new journey without a) being riddled with sadness about how the last one ended and b) feeling guilty over allowing myself to feel happy again. I'm past that now (mostly), and today because there is something to celebrate, I'd like to finally tell you about my new intended mom, who herself is a fellow blogger.

When we first matched in July, my emotions were raw and she knew that I needed some time and some space to heal. It is uncommon for me to have or need "space" at the start of a surrogacy journey, or at any time at all during a journey, for that matter. I'm all about the bonding and in that respect, I feel that I've somewhat cheated her out of some of the happy-happy-joy-joy sparks that usually fly when you've found the one. She's been patient and kind -- an understanding sounding board as I've made steps towards healing over the past few months. I don't know how I did it, but I managed to luck into yet another great relationship.

I first came to know Miss W more than a year ago via the Lost and Found. A prospective intended mother had questions about the compensation and fees that can be expected for a surrogate. I clicked through to her blog and left a lengthy reply. Soon after I posted a couple of comments on her blog, I found an introductory email from her. Little did I know, she already knew who I was from my blog, but especially from my posts and reputation as a member and moderator of Surrogate Mothers Online (SMO). She explained that she and her husband (who here and on her blog is known as "Mr. W") had a 3-year old son (The Lowercase) who had been born prematurely due to her unicornuate uterus. Because of that and a history of repeat miscarriages, attempting to carry another pregnancy herself was not worth the risk, hence their need for a surrogate.

Mr. W was extremely hesitant to embark on a surrogacy journey. Understandably, the thought of a perfect stranger carrying his child was perfectly strange, especially given how rightfully protective he felt over his unconceived potential children. Miss W was equally hesitant, but initially more willing to explore the idea of trusting a virtual stranger with something so important. She explained that at first, The Uppercase was adamant about working with only a family member or friend. Those options were explored, but nothing panned out the way they hoped. Eventually he warmed to the idea of doing a typical search for a surrogate, and both of them were nervous about taking those steps forward. Advice is what she needed, and advice is what I gave. Advice turned into me finding a potential match for them and when that fell through a few months later, I gave my "thumbs up" for a second surrogate, who was a fellow long-time member of SMO. My support for and approval of those surrogates helped Miss W feel even more comfortable with those matches, as she trusted my opinions. Unfortunately, the second match also fell through. Timing and distance issues were factors in the dissolution of the matches, and those issues continued to make it difficult for Miss W and Mr. W to match. 

Meanwhile, we didn't email often, but occasionally Miss W would ask for additional advice, email to applaud how I handled certain caustic situations on SMO (it can sometimes get very heated on a message board full of women doped to the gills on injectible hormones), and continued to offer support through my journey with Chance and Apollo. When that journey ended in June, I had a new ad posted by July. Within a couple of weeks of that ad being posted, I found another email from Miss W in my inbox:

"...I was wondering if you would consider...because I've always thought so highly of you...let me hurry up and click "send" now before I chicken out again...."

We'd talked about surrogacy-related issues before but never about the prospect of us working together, so we agreed to get to know each other on that level and just see where things went from there. Her emails had always been so formal and her blog even has more of a formal tone to it. It didn't take long for me to learn that she actually is a complete and utter goofball geek.

Like me.

Only white.

And Mr. W is, too. Maybe even more so.

She described me to one of her friends and he said, "She sounds just like you, only Black."

Within days we realized that we have so much in common personality-wise, and we also have all the same opinions on the major surrogacy issues. Moving from "just talking" to "dude, we're matched!" was an easy step to take.

We keep each other laughing with the stupidest of things and I have the feeling that we are going to be nothing but trouble once we finally get to meet in person. 

For various reasons on both of our parts, we've had to wait a long while for anything "official" to happen. They had a phone consult with my clinic about a month ago and that was the equivalent of toeing up to the line, but today marks the first major bit forward motion. There was a bloodletting, and nothing says progress like a needle in vein. Today was Miss W's blood work for the Clomid Challenge test that Dr. Sleep ordered. And so it begins....

A while ago, somehow Miss W and I found ourselves discussing the comical goodness that is The Fresh Prince of Bel Aire. She double-dog dared me to do the Carlton and post it for a Show and Tell. 

Seeing as how it's a special occasion and I have few qualms about making a complete ass of myself:

Who else is standing at the front of the class this week? Check it out with Mel at her weekly Show and Tell.

Fear

I don't intend to pimp Kyra's blog each and every time she writes a new post, but I was so blown away by what she wrote today that it inspired tonight's post here at Smart One. She dropped some serious knowledge and the profundity and understanding of which she wrote caught my breath, especially considering the fact that it came from a third grader.

For me, this is a time of a lessening void in which I am bolstering my courage against the fears that the past couple of years have left me, like inconsiderate and rude parting gifts left behind on the nightstand. Today, Kyra wrote about fear. She doesn't write about her fears, but the universal truth she intuits about the human condition of fear...well, now having read it, I feel a lot less fearful.

What are you afraid of?

Let this be a conversation; I responded to my own question in the comments to begin the dialogue.

They Are Smart Ones

Today is report card day, and it solidly confirmed what I've always known - my children are nerds. They are set to inherit the thrones of the next generation of World Geeks.

Kyra and Jaiden (3rd grade) both earned straight A's. Kyra's grades ranged from 96-99. Who the hell gets a 99 in math? I sure as shit never did. Jaiden's grades ranged from 92-98. His academic style is such that he absorbs everything as soon as it hits his ears, but he'd much rather speed through his work so that he can get back to reading his "pleasure reading" book that he makes careless errors here and there. He is occasionally off-task in the possible-makings-of-a-class-clown-but-he's-so-damned-cute-with-his-brilliant-mind-and-quick-laugh-so-everybody-likes-him-even-the-teacher-so-he-can-get-away-with-being-goofy-sometimes kind of way. His desk is a disheveled mess with books thrown haphazardly inside and papers hanging every which way. He is the one who most reminds me of myself when I was a student, which half charms and half horrifies me. I was a brilliant mind indeed right up until around 4th grade. The brilliance remained (I am a Smart One, after all), but that brilliance was smeared with a healthy dose of boredom cum procrastination, and by the time I reached middle school, it had morphed into full-blown underachiever status. I do sincerely hope that Jaiden continues with his nerdy but affably-harebrained personality.

Kyra, on the other hand is Miss Priss in the classroom. Unlike her brother, she rarely has time for pleasure reading because despite absorbing knowledge faster than a sponge sucks water, she meticulously double-triple-quadruple checks her work until it is perfect. Her desk has her books neatly arranged a la OCD from bottom to top/largest to smallest on the right half. On the left half of her desk are her personal notebooks and folders, scribble-free and arranged by color. Her pencil box is a perfect arrangement of glue, scissors, crayons (boxed in ROYGBIV order by gradient shades), and assorted writing utensils. Every once in a while, in a Scarlett O'Hara God as my witness tone, she bemoans something to the effect of, "Mama, I had such a headache today because people wouldn't stop talking even though Mrs. Scott told them to stop. I had to focus hard to tune them OUT because my work was my priority and I WILL NOT allow myself to be distracted by people who don't care as much about their work." What I say is, "Good, Sweetie -- it's good that you're able to focus and do what you need to do." What I think is OMG, people are going to think she's a goodie two-shoes freak and she won't have any friends because no one will want to play with the teacher's pet who always blows he bell curve and she'll end up one tease shy of pulling a Carrie and killing a quarter of the student body with just a look of her feline-slanted eyes. I need not worry, though, because she has plenty of friends who love to giggle over scented stickers and chase the boys on the playground. Besides, any kid who writes stories like "The Clumsy Boy" (new story on her blog) is bound to be considered One of the Cool Ones by her peers. (Note: I did not edit her story. I simply opened the Compose screen, went to give Kaelyn a bath, and fifteen minutes later, voila - "The Clumsy Boy." That work is 100% Kyra's, and the grammar, writing, and overall storytelling is impressive for an 8-year old, I think.)

Jordan's report card made me squeal because as he is in the first grade, this is his first report card with REAL grades. In my school system Kindergarten students receive grades of DNM (Did Not Meet), Meets, and Exceeds (EXC) for an assortment of skills and concepts, so for me first grade always feels like the true telling of how my kids are handling school. Jordan also earned straight A's, with grades ranging from 96-100. ONE-FREAKIN-HUNDRED, in both Social Studies and Science. He has the same teacher that Kyra and Jaiden did for first grade. She's kind and loving but academically tough.  She treats her 6 and 7 year olds like miniature adults so while you will see her greet them with warmth and love, you won't ever catch her using sing-song kidspeak with them. I adore her. She takes a no-nonsense approach to teaching and challenges her students as much as she can without pushing them to frustration levels, so I know that Jordan isn't exceeding just because she's watering the material down or making it too easily accessible. Jordan is the one who had me showing my personal freak flag when by the age of 3, he showed little interest in learning his letters, didn't give a squat about numbers, and could hardly be bothered to pick up a crayon and coloring book. By the time they were 3, the Twinz could identify both upper and lower case letters and knew most of their sounds, and by the time they were four they were heading into learning sight words and developing decoding skills. Jordan showed little interest in learning too much of anything until he was actually in Pre-K. Then he just SKYROCKETED. One thing that has always been consistent about Jordan is that he is laid back. He was the easiest of all our babies and is just overall a pleasant kid. He's a weird blend of quiet and loud. Introverted and extroverted (but probably more introverted). Bookish and athletic. Sensitive. Kind. Smart. Very easygoing...developmentally speaking, this kid never did anything early, but he was never late, either. Like with walking - he did very little cruising or practice walking. I wasn't exactly worried, but I still had to keep reminding myself that he was his own child and comparing his timeline of milestones to that of Kyra and Jaiden's wasn't right. Sure enough - one day Dani held out a chicken nugget to almost 1-year old Jordan and the boy stood up and RAN several steps to it. Who needs to take one first step when you can run several? And so it has been with Jordan and school. He is running away with it and I am clapping like the village idiot for my MonkeyBoy.

The Teej (4th grade) has grades which range from 72-98, with the highest in Language Arts and the lowest in Math. We are so proud of him, and what's even better is that he is proud of himself. One thing I don't think I ever shared about TJ is the fact that he has Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD). Academically, he struggles a bit with Math. His understanding of Reading and Language Arts as a whole is stronger, but he's hit or miss with various concepts within those subjects so depending on what skills are being taught, he's either quick with mastery or needs remediation to achieve it. Either way, he works hard and is a dedicated student who truly enjoys learning even though he knows he needs extra help sometimes. Last year got off to a bit of a rough start both academically and behaviorally. On his first report card he had an F in Math and very low C's in Language Arts and Science. We don't have D's here, so in actuality he was just a few points from those also being F's. Those grades didn't come as a surprise as his teacher stayed in close contact with Frank and me throughout. He received extra help both at school and at home and still struggled. The kid just couldn't stay focused well enough to control his behavior (fidgeting, attention bouncing, talking, etc), so it was hard for him to focus on the remediation he received. After much consideration, we discussed it with our pediatrician. Feedback from the teacher and our observations helped him determine that TJ did indeed have ADD, and he prescribed a low dose of Concerta. He only takes it on school days and it has made a world of difference. He still has all the same academic struggles, but at least now he has the attention span to be able to focus on and absorb the help that he gets. So today when upon my arrival at home he ran out of the house waving his report card yelling, "AUNTIE KYM! I DIDN'T FAIL ANYTHING AND I GOT A "SATISFACTORY" ON CITIZENSHIP INSTEAD OF "NEEDS IMPROVEMENT" AND I GOT A 98 IN LANGUAGE ARTS...I'M SO PROUD OF MYSELF!," I jumped and yelled right with him.

It's been a good day for the Nerd Herd.

Do I sound like I'm bragging?

Because I totally am.

4 x 4

I cleared the cake crumbs and smeared icing away from the table while Kaelyn took her bath in my bathroom. She came into the kitchen wrapped in a towel thrice the size of her now four-year old frame saying, "Mommy! Please don't throw away my fishie bag!"

"What fishie bag?" I questioned.

"The one in the tub! I went fishing for bubblefish and put my fishies in bag! It's like a balloon except with water in it!"

"Oh!" I exclaimed, catching on to her imaginative play. "Did you catch a BIG bubblefish?"

"Yup, and it told me 'Happy birthday,' so now I'm going to keep it so don't throw it away."

"Okay, Pixie. Now let's go get your pj's on and pick out a book to read for bedtime."

With the birthday girl tucked into bed, I went to sop up the nightly bathtime flood. What I found in my tub was this:

Note to self: must find better hiding place for the condoms.

Happy 4th birthday, Baby 4.

May you always keep me on toes (but please stop finding and playing with our condoms).

Go and see who else is standing at the front of the class at Mel's Show and Tell.

Up and at 'em

6:30 am

Kaelyn (the 12-days-away-from-four year old): Good morning, Mommy! 

Me (ridiculously chipper because it's Friday): Good morning, Sunshine!

Kaelyn: Nooo...it's still dark outside, so it's, "Good morning, moonshine."

Me: Well, usually I don't drink in the mornings or on workdays, but if you've been distilling liquor in your bedroom at night, I'd love to have some of it instead of my usual mug of tea. 

Coffee? Loud music? A brisk run? What gets you going in the morning (or at night, if you're half-vampire like Heather)?

MIA

I know I've been away too long when there are lurkers (HI!) who come out of the woodwork to ask just where the hell I've been, or when the good women of BlogHer tap a virtual finger on my computer screen to kindly remind me that I should post at least once a week to run ads, and it's been more than two since I've done so.

Two weeks?

Didn't I just write about TJ shaving his head and Jordan peeing all over the place?

That was the fastest two weeks of my life. Which - y'know - I've had several sloooooowww two week spans here and there, so it's quite surprising to write about boyish bathroom antics, blink, and then realize that two whole weeks have gone by. 

In the past two weeks:

• I had a severe ear infection which kept me out of work 3 out of 5 days in one week. I absolutely loathe missing school due to sickness on my part and avoid it at all costs, so saying that I missed that much work due to being ill should give you an idea of just how sick I was. One Monday afternoon my ear itched a little. Hmm, that's peculiar, I thought in an absentminded sort of way as I sat at my desk grading tests. By the time I got home a few hours later, my right ear felt like it had been stuffed with lead weights and the entire right side of my face was swollen. As in, I-hope-you-killed-the-fucker-who-hit-you swollen. At that point, though I looked like I'd been clubbed with a brick I still didn't feel too bad, but after much nagging from Frank, my sister Dani, my mom, and my dad, I relented and agreed to miss work and see the doctor the next day. It's a good thing I did, because somewhere in the middle of the night it felt like the brick that hit my ear began pummeling the rest of my body. What can only be described as crusty snot drained from my ear and an invisible, evil troll poked steely daggers through the side of my face and into my brain. Que dolor. Frank dragged my sorry ass to the doctor the next day, steadying me as we walked into the office because my equilibrium was completely out of whack and I was so weak that I could barely even lift my feet. I think the doctor may have used an expletive when he peeked into my ear canal. I know I did, because even just touching my earlobe made me want to scream. Ear drops, mega doses of antibiotics, Motrin, and another day's absence were prescribed. I went to work on Thursday, still swollen, half-deaf, and lethargic. My principal quite literally told me that she'd kick my ass if I came to work on Friday. Seeing as how I'd already been kicked in the head and I had no interest in having a sore ass as well, I kept it safely at home again and was feeling much better by Saturday.
• On Wednesday night of that same week, my mother rushed my sister Chanel to the emergency room. She'd been sick for a few days prior with what seemed like a severe flu. The ER doc rushed her through triage and into a bed with an IV in each arm and threats of a central line through the groin, as her blood pressure was dangerously low and conversely, her pulse was dangerously high. Her red blood cell count was lowt and her white blood cell count was through the roof. She ended up in the ICU for 3 days and a regular room for another 2 days. After a battery of tests it was determined that she had a severe infection which spread through her entire blood stream and settled in her kidneys. Well, it was either that, or it started in her kidneys and then spread through her bloodstream. The doctors weren't able to deduce which it was, but they were definitely able to tell that the illness wasn't caused by her ulcerative colitis, which she's been living with for years. Her condition was so severe that she could have died, a message that was delivered to my mother not in those exact words, but in the somber tones that nurses and doctors used to say things along the lines of, "It's a good thing you brought her in when you did because she's really, really sick...." Thanks to the stellar health care, she's now really, really better, to the extent that she ate a cow's worth of ribs over the past two days.
• Kyra, who missed most of a week of school herself two weeks ago due to Strep, missed another day last week due to a 24-hour stomach flu.

After being slammed with various health issues over the past couple of weeks, I think that we are now *knock on wood* cootie-free. Thanks to all of you who've emailed or commented your concerns, and extra thanks goes to those who've dug through old posts of mine to fill a square for Blogger Bingo. I felt ultragooeyspecial when people came specifically looking for me to mark off a square or two.

I'll be back to your regularly scheduled dumbassery this week. :)

Bathroom Boys

We have two full bathrooms, but we really need, like, a kajillion to get baths/showers done in a reasonable amount of time. Growing up in a house of estrogen with my mom and sisters, there was never really a distinction between "Mom's" bathroom and "our" bathroom. Mom only showered and prepped in her bathroom, but my sisters and I used whichever one was open and Mom wasn't really big on making a point of banning us from hers "just because" it was her bedroom.

I've slowly come to realize after several years of parenting more than twice as many children as I have bathrooms that I would rather not adapt this philosophy, especially because 3 out of 5 of those children are boys. Boys, I have learned, have a tendency to pee on things. Like my toilet seat. I've seen each of them zone out mid-pee and their careful, downspout aims go wayward. Case in point - this morning Jordan staggered into my bathroom and in his 6:30 a.m. haze, dropped trou, miscalculated, and started sprinkling the upturned lid of the toilet.

"Jordan!" I exclaimed, having seen this reflected in the mirror where I was washing my face. He turned, but instead of turning just his head, he twisted his entire body. While still peeing. Like a tank he dropped pee bombs, a careful arc of yellow ammunition hitting the wall and the floor.

"KID! WATCH WHAT YOU'RE DOING! YOU'RE PEEING ALL OVER THE PLACE!"

"Oh. Oops."

Oops. Oops?

"Oops," said The Boy with the BattleWeenie.

The Teej had an "oops" moment last night of a different variety in my bathroom. Having just showered, he came into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist (as usual) and another wrapped around his head (not usual). Wondering if he was trying to channel the spirit of the Chiquita banana lady, I asked "Teej, why do you have a towel on your head?"

"Because I was cold."

Fair enough. Frank had just cut the boys' hair before their showers, and what the hell do I know about boys and freshly-buzzed haircuts? Perhaps their bare heads get as cold as my butt does when I just get out of the shower.

But then he said, "Auntie Kym -- when I was in the shower, I accidentally got soap in my eyes. And when I was feeling around for the towel, I accidentally picked up the razor and then I found the towel, which, y'know, was hanging over the shower door. And when I reached up to get the towel, I accidentally shaved my head."

"What do you mean you...take that towel off of your head and let me see."

(This is where you're going to start screaming DID YOU TAKE A PICTURE? at me. No, I did not take a picture, I'm sorry to say. In my Nyquil-induced haze, it did not occur to me to snap a blackmail shot.)

On his head, my friends, TJ had clearly made several linear, angular "accidental" passes, shaving in what can only be described as a lopsided Kandinsky painting. Or perhaps the Peruvian Nazca Lines. TJ could have single-handedly single-headedly provided a landing strip for an alien invasion, thereby causing our abductions and consequential anal probing by bug-eyed, bulb-headed little green men. Perhaps that's why aliens are purported to be bald; though they have harnessed the technology of gravitomagnetism and warp-speed astrophysics, they were stupid enough to try to shave their heads in the shower and their mommies decided to shave them clean instead of sending them to Anal Probing Techniqes class with the Nazca lines embarrassingly apparent on their domes.

So because TJ was stupid enough to try to shave his head in the shower (my shower), I had Frank shave him clean instead of sending him to class with the Nazca Lines embarrassingly apparent on his dome.

Frank: You're lucky Auntie Kym had mercy on you, because if it was up to just me, you'd be going to class tomorrow with those lines embarrassingly apparent on your dome.

Me: No, as much as I'd like to, our discipline doesn't operate on embarrassment. Besides, I don't want to be responsible for his class being abducted and probed.

Frank: Huh?

Me: Nevermind. No, Teej, we won't send you to school with those lines in your head, but after you finish your homework, you're to stay in your room until I get home from work. That means you'll be in there for about an hour or so. You're not being punished because you shaved your head. I think that having a completely bald head until your hair grows back is embarrassment enough to serve as punishment for that. You are, however, being punished for the lying. When you do something wrong and you know you're wrong, we expect you to tell us the truth instead of making up silly stories as an excuse. Got it?

TJ: Got it, Auntie Kym.

Me: Good, now get back in the bathroom so that Uncle Frank can get you all squared away. And watch your step, because Jordan was in there before you and after doing THAT to your head, the last thing you need is to slip in pee.

*******************

Did you have a Perfect Moment? Read others at Lori's place on Weebles Wobblog.

I <3 Lesbians

I heart lesbians, especially ones who make homemade monoclepods and sweaterbirds and write about peeing. I knew I was definitely in love when I saw this week's picture of Harriet Tubman in a bad ass rocketship. Seeing as how this is the first day of ICLW, now that you've come, when you leave here click over to Bionic Mamas and say hi (even though they aren't on the ICLW list this month). Sugar Mama and Bionic Baby Mama are writing a tandem bring-on-the-baby blog, and they're relatively new to the IF blogosphere. Definitely click over to support them, as it is their first month trying to conceive. If the typical challenges of fielding stupid questions like, "Which one of you is the man?" and having to pick a frozen papa isn't enough, Bionic Baby Mama (who will be the frozen papa recipient) has two cervixes. Cervices. (Cervixes is grammatically incorrect, but cervices looks and sounds too much like crevices, which, when you think about it, is pretty damned close in definition to cervices, but I digress....) Their blog is refreshingly smart,  candid, creative, and Mama Moses in space is there. Need I say more? Tell 'em I sent you.

I've given you a gift of a new blog for ICLW. Give me a gift and leave a link in the comments to someone else's blog or singular blog post (or even an entry of your own) that's so gee-golly good that you think I should read. I'll comment on each and every one left, and I'll tell 'em you sent me there.

After all, I'll have the time on my hands this weekend to do it. I'll be spending it here, laid up in my bed moaning Swing Low, Sweet Chariot. Rocket-riding Ms. Tubman must be comin' for to carry me home because I am hallucinating stars. I've been watching el Cinco so vigilantly on the Cootie Watch that it wasn't until Frank noticed that I was running a fever (102.3^o) that I realized I felt like ick.

Man Candy

If the mental image wasn't so disgusting, I'd illustrate some sort of analogous comparison between my brain/blog posts and a clogged toilet/someone too busy to flush it, but then that would imply that my thoughts are for shit when really what I have are a ton of semi-brilliant posts and little free time in which to write them.

But alas, I am too busy with the start of the school year to sit and write all the things that are clamoring to be written, and a simple drive-by post just simply won't do.

So, until I can sit and write about my big blogger meet-up from a couple of weekends ago, allow me to point you in the direction of Heather's blog Geek by Marriage. I had an extended visit with her and her darling hubby Jase, and she has been writing about the weekend in great detail. If you read the drunken Twitter post and was like, "I guess you had to be there because this burboned baboon babble is soooo not funny," Heather's sober write up of our (largely) drunken weekend will make much more sense (and is much funnier). She is writing about the weekend in installments, with the first one starting here: Introductions and BBQ!

Calliope, Carrie, and Trish have each also written some words about the weekend, and Cali's features some photos.

Until I'm able to slow down enough to write more than this inane drivel, here are a few photos from when Heather and Jase went with Frank, el Cinco and me for some Water Park Shenanigans:

 

Eeeeebony and Iiiiiiiiiivory...

 

Man candy

 

The Sexy...Frank haz it.

El Cinco les gusta a nadar a la piscina. 

Hopefully I will find some time to flush the sparkling gems from my mind and onto this blog over the weekend.

Drive-by Procrastination Post

I have a zillion things to do on my Around the House To Do List, so what better thing is there by procrastinating and throwing up a quick drive-by post on my neglected blog? There are things I plan on discussing here just as soon as I stop Twittering and playing on Facebook knock a dent in the laundry and help get two cookie orders finished. A quick preview:

• I go back to work in less than two weeks on August 3 and the kids start school again on August 6. I've spent the last couple of days trying to figure out where June went. I mean, I seriously had some trouble trying to figure out just what the hell I did in June. I checked back through June's blog entries and umm, yeah. Late May/June pretty much sucked. I think I'm getting a little bit too good at blocking out heartache. I damned near forgot the whole month.
• "Mommyblogging" and how there's something about that term that makes my skin crawl, but I can't quite figure out what it is. Essentially I guess mommyblogging is what I do when I post about el Cinco, but I need to figure out why I freeze up a little each and every time I post about them. It's time to get them down and out so that I can process them better. Expect some posts about Parenting After Infertility and what I call "Passport Children."
• I need to let you in on who my new match is with.
• Wii Active: totally fell off the horse thanks to the cookies. Mind you, I haven't been EATING the cookies (save for a few bites here and there), but we've been so busy with the cookie biz that I haven't had time to exercise. Rather, by the time we get the time to do so, the last thing we want to do is exercise. We're going to start the 30-day Challenge over from the beginning on Monday.
• Speaking of cookies, big announcement: today, we are going to list three of each item on Frank's Big One's Bakery on Etsy. When they're gone, we're going to go into "vacation" mode and won't reopen until mid-September. We had NO IDEA that you guys would attack the cookies the way you did. NO FREAKIN' CLUE! We thought we'd get some sympathy orders in much the same way that you'd give a five-year old a quarter for a watery cup of lemonade at their cardboard corner stand: Aww...wookit how cute you two aaarre trying to sell some coookiieeees. You guys bought cookies. Then you had a cookie mouthgasm (to use Heather's word) and told other people to buy cookies, and they did too. People all over the country had Frank's Big Ones in their mouths (ha!), and suddenly we had a zillion orders and we were baking 18 out of 24 hours a day (literally). But we were baking gleefully, clapping like happy idiots every time we got more orders or another great review. So, you've kept us busy. So busy, in fact, that in order to better serve you in the future, we need to close shop for a bit in order to retool to handle the welcome workload. Right now our oven is capable of only churning out 15 giant cookies every 1.5 hours. Next month we're going to upgrade to a sleek new convection oven, in which we'll be able to get 15 cookies in only 20 minutes. Also, as of next week, the back-to-school rush begins for us. I have to start getting my classroom back in order next week and as I've already told you, we all start school again in the first week of August. We want to spend some quality, non-cookie time with el Cinco with the last bit of summer that we have left. The brief hiatus will also give Frank time to perfect the much-requested Peanut Butter and Oatmeal Raisin Big Ones, along with a couple more specialty cookies that he's been working on. When we reopen in mid-September, the cookie prices will be going up by a few dollars. Right now we're doing a teensy bit better than breaking even and we'd umm...like to see some actual profit. We've had lots of feedback from people saying they would have been happy to (and would have expected) to pay more for such huge cookies, so we're not going to sell ourselves short. Or too cheap. Or whatever. When we re-open, you'll be able to order from Frank's independent, off-Etsy Website/blog. Ramble, ramble, ramble...all of that to say this: ONLY THREE OF EACH ITEM ON FRANK'S BIG ONES BAKERY WILL BE AVAILABLE UNTIL MID-SEPTEMBER. HURRY AND ORDER NOW AT THE DISCOUNTED RATES OR YOU'LL HAVE TO WAIT UNTIL MID-SEPTEMBER. ONCE WE'VE SOLD OUT OF THE CURRENT INVENTORY, WE'RE CLOSING SHOP UNTIL MID-SEPTEMBER! GET YOUR COOKIE ORGASM NOW!
• You guys rock for having ordered so many cookies and for helping to spread the word!
• Hell's Kitchen - feisty Marine guy is going to get his ass chewed next week.

That's all for now. I promise a post with real substance and thought soon. For now, I need to go do something productive. Right after I check Facebook....

Perfect Moment Monday ~ Rainy Reminders

One of the things I love most is that late afternoon showers transform our backyard into nature's best theater:

 

...and despite the grey clouds, I can't help but remember that there are rainbows.

See other Perfect Moments with Lori at Weebles Wobblog:

I Capture Perfect Moments.

Happy birthday, my Frank. I'll be your pimp any day.

A role reversal in this house means that Frank goes to school and I'm the one who's at home with el Cinco, doing laundry and cooking. The idea of me cooking makes usually makes friends and family gasp with feigned, over-exaggerated incredulity: "OH. MY GAWSH. You COOKED? YOU? And you did some laundry, too? Surely this must be a sign of the Apocalypse."

I can cook, good people, but I just don't have to because Frank does it most of the time. I semi-brag often about how Frank does this, that, and the other around the house, things which traditionally fall into the hands of a woman to complete. Tradition. This is not the traditional household. 

Last week, Frank went to an informational workshop for the Regents Exam. He was given a practice essay to complete and of the given topics, he chose this one: Is the traditional role of father changing? Explain why you think it is or isn't.

There are lots of things that I like about his essay, like how he took single fathers, gay fathers, and other stay-at-home fathers like himself into consideration, but the part I love the most is the conclusion which reads:

I may not be the sole financial provider, but I am the protector of my family. I love my wife and my children. I coach the kids in soccer and t-ball and we fix their bikes together when the chains pop off. I change the oil in the van, mow the lawn, and take out the trash. I can do all of this, and still bake some cookies, too.

I am one of many new traditional fathers.

Couldn't you just hug him? Taking on more of the "traditional" roles of a woman doesn't make him feel like less of a man. In fact, he says it makes him feel like more of a man. 

Raise your hand if you love frank. *Raises hand. Both of them, and flails them wildly.*

Happy birthday, Frank. We love you (and not just because you bake us cookies the size of Kaelyn's face).

**************************************

Want to get Frank a birthday present? Check out his Etsy shop: Frank's Big Ones Bakery. 

While I'm in big pimp mode, allow me to also direct your attention to a fabulous store from another blogger:

Tarah from The Johnsons Have Angel Wings has conjured up some delightful scents in the form of "whipped body frostings" and lotions. They looked so luxuriously silky that I placed an order for three body frostings! Click the button to go order some for yourself!

Why I'm a mammal

I don't know what the hell made me think of this tonight, but here is a story from the Jaiden files:

The twins were in Kindergarten when I delivered Sam. Stephanie had induced lactation and was able to breastfeed him, so about a month prior to Sam's delivery, I arranged to pump and donate my breastmilk to my friend Lisa. After a long battle with premature ovarian failure, Lisa finally became a mom via egg donation. She was fairly certain that the hormonal dysfunction which was the cause of the infertility would also cause diminished milk production and it did. The timing of her pregnancy with Jenna and my surrogacy pregnancy with Sam worked out perfectly, because she delivered less than a week before I did.

At any rate, one day about a month into pumping I received this email from the twins' Kindergarten teacher:

Good afternoon, Mrs. SmartOne!

I just had to tell you this story about Jaiden. As you know, we are working on a unit about types of animals. Today I introduced mammals. I explained the attributes of most mammals and when I got to the part about mammals producing milk for their babies, Jaiden threw up his hand and explained to the class that you were a mammal because you use a breast pump and had "tons and tons" of milk in the freezer. I thought it was so cute!

Have a good day and I hope your recovery is going well!
     Mrs. Kindergarten Teacher Who Probably Fell Out of Her Chair Laughing Her Ass Off     During Circle Time

When Jaiden got home from school that day, he bounded into the bedroom and before I could ask him what he learned about mammals, he exclaimed, "MOM! Today was a cool day in school! I told the class all about your breasts today!" 

 
Yes, that's a freezer full of packaged, dated, and carefully organized breastmilk. By the time I stopped pumping a month later, even the top two rows were completely filled with milk and we had to buy a chest freezer to store our food. If you were to call me a cow, I'd not be insulted. Moo. Call me a fat cow, and dem's fightin' words.

Shout

Kaelyn.

Yes, you. I'm talking to you, you little shit. You are three. And you are just so, so...so much more three than any of your siblings were. 

When I started writing in this here blog 18 months ago, I described you thusly:

Kaelyn - aka the Youngest - in the throes of les Deux Terribles - singing, twirling, bossy, flipping, bouncing, bubbly, cheeky, ball of toddler fire. It is said that the youngest are often the loudest because they must shout to be heard over everyone else. I believe this to be true, because when Kaelyn yells, EVERYONE stops to listen, even if only to laugh at this pint-sized package project with an attitude ten times her size. She is bright and sassy and has already has the spunk that is at the heart of strong women. Fiercely independent, she asks for help only if she gets so frustrated that she is nearing nuclear meltdown. Until then, if you even think to offer your assistance she will react by switching to DEFCON 4, warning that if you offer it again (You assclown, do I look like I need your help?) she WILL have a nuclear meltdown and will make your eardrums implode. She is talkative, loves anything with music and dancing, and loves to grab blankets or bathtowels, climb in your lap, and cuddle. She is a huggy exclamation point incarnate.

That part about you being loud? Yeah. I'm realizing now that it's like when I complain about how fat I am, and then six months later when I've gained twenty pounds it's only then that I see how skinny I really was so why (???) was I bitching in the first place. It's exactly like that. I must have been crazy to think that you were loud back then. If only I could twist your ear or your nose and adjust your volume level like one would a dial on a radio, I'd set your voicebox back to January 2008. Maybe then my eardrums wouldn't take steely daggers and poke the sides of my brain with them. 

And please tell me why you must call my name a gazillion times. I heard you. Do you know why I heard you? Because I'm standing. Right. Here. In fact, you are hanging off of my leg, alternately gripping the bejeezus out of my knee and yanking on my yoga pants (nevermind that I don't do yoga; those things are cozy). It is not necessary to precede the endless, diarrhea-like flow of questions with my name. Trust me; you have my attention even if you do not say my name because it is impossible to tune out the yelling.

You: MAMA!

Me: What?

You: Why are daddy's ears pointy?

Me: Because that's how he was made.

You: Oh...MAMA!

Me: Hmm?

You: Are we eating hot dogs tonight? And MAMA! Can I pick out my chips? Because MAMA! I want Doritos. The kind in the red bag and not the kind in the blue bag and not the spicy ones, either.

Me: Yes, we're having hot dogs tonight and yes, you can pick out your chips.

You: MAMA!

Me: What, Kaelyn?

You: You said I could pick out my chips, right? MOMMYYYY! Does Spunky have boogers? MOOOOM! Does dogs have boogers?

Me: DO dogs have boogers. Yes, I think they do, and I already told you that you could pick out your chips. 

You: Mom!

Me: ...

You: Mommy.

Me: ...

You: Mommy. Mom. Mother. Mommy. Mama. Mooom. mah-MEEE! Mom. Mom. MOOOOM! MAAAHMUUUUUH!

Me: WHAT!?!KAELYN,OHMYFREAKINGOODGRIEFWHAT!?!

You: Doooo some Doritos taste like boogers?

Me: *sigh*

Furthermore, Your Threeness, I think that all of your yelling has made even you half deaf. Either that, or you've mastered the art of selective hearing. My vote is on selective hearing. Why, why must your father and I repeat ourselves so? It is usually not until we threaten you with a time out before you do whatever it is we've asked you to do. You sit there idly ignoring me, pretending as if you didn't just hear me ask you to go sit down and finish eating your green beans.

I tell you again politely, and you start spinning circles in the playroom. I tell you once more, now forcefully and in that you're pushing your luck tone of voice. Tone of voice be damned, you continue to spin around, only faster now, as if challenging me. "LITTLE GIRL," I growl through gritted teeth, "do you need to go to your room until you can learn how to listen?"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" you scream (again with the yelling!), leaving a blazing trail of fire in your wake as you book it top speed back to your chair at the bar. Should it come to such extremes? No, but if it wasn't for your deafness selective hearing you never would have needed to be threatened. I'd use sign language to tell you what to do, but then you'd probably just throw a sign back at me to talk to the hand.

You antagonize your siblings, thereby causing them to call my name over and over and over and over again:

Teej: AUNTIE KYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYM!!! Kaelyn just kicked me in the kneeeeeeeeeeeee!
Kyra: MOOOOOOOOOOOM, Kaelyn is messing with my nail poliiiiish!
Jaiden: Ma-MEEE! Kaelyn won't give me back my Bakugooooon!
Jordan: MAMA! Kaelyn is TORTURING meeee!

Then I give you The Look, and you clasp your hands like an innocent little angel, your golden halo shining bright. The better to hide the pointy horns, my dear. 

But you know what? Though my eardrums and my patience are taking a beating, I actually quite like the fire that is in you. I stand by what I said when I described you a year and a half ago. I see you twenty years down the road as a strong, independent, can-do type of girl. You will make men clamor to have you grace them with one of your signature 1000-Watt smiles, but they will quake at the knees just the same. They will know you as the type of woman that they should be considered lucky to be loved by. So help a man who ever even thinks about hurting you; he'd better watch his balls and sleep with one eye open.

You will settle for nothing less than a man like your father, a man who will treat you as the queen as you are, one whose manhood will not be challenged by your strength. You will be a woman who has an opinion and will not hesitate to shout if she needs to be heard. I know that you will never bow in quiet submission.

You already know how to yell.

You bring the cheese; I have the whine

First of all, thanks for all of your comments on Kyra's room makeover. She absolutely loves it. To use her words, she says that she feels like she's in a "spa boutique." I don't know where she got the girly-girl from, but it certainly isn't me. I'm not really a girly-girl, but it's fun having one, especially one like Kyra who is as much dirt and wrestling as she is frills and lace. One minute she's painting her nails and having tea parties and the next minute she's dropkicking the boys in the playroom.

Now for the real topic of this post(and I assure you, I will ramble)...these days I've been feeling very...WTF!?!? "What the fuck?" is about the best qualifier that I can come up with. Speaking from a surrogacy perspective, the past 18 months have sucked. Big time. Seriously - as surrogacy/infertility is the primary focus of this blog, I'm amazed that anyone sticks around to read about that line because the journey hath sucketh much. In 18 months I haven't moved much further than the starting line. Sometimes I'm surprised that people still show up to read here, because I'm beginning to feel like a broken record. You've seen me through the very start of my journey with M&S, a failed cycle, a chemical, the "end," the matching phase, a new match with Chance and Apollo, two chemicals with them, another end, and now matching. AGAIN. WTF?

I can't help but think of all the things I should have been writing about by now: my IPs' reactions to hearing the heartbeat of their baby for the first time, discussions about the pregnancy side of surrogacy...hell -- had I not had the first chemical this time last year, I would now be 5 months post-partum from Mia and Urs' baby (she's doing great, by the way - having a baby girl in less than 2 months). Right now, I should have morning sickness so bad that I'm barfing my toenails. But no - I'm back at the starting line, and Chance and Apollo are empty-handed at the wrong type of finish line. WTF?

I started this leg of my life as a surrogate at the beginning of November 2007. I matched with Mia and Urs at the end of that month and we had our first transfer in mid-February 2008. There are other surrogates who started looking for intended parents or transferred around the same time I did who have gotten pregnant, delivered, recovered, found new matches, and are already pregnant again. And here I sit, twiddling my thumbs waiting for another match, with the sadness of three losses and a pocket full of broken hearts to keep me company. What. The. FUCK?

On most days I handle the hand that's been dealt to me with a surprising amount of grace (if I do say so myself), but for today, I'm just feeling sorry for myself, and I hate feeling sorry for myself. Someone please stamp the L on my forehead, because I probably won't have any luck with having that turn out right either if I did it myself.

Home improvement induced coma

*blink* Has it really been four days since I last posted? I mentally composed at least three blog posts since I last posted on Sunday, so somewhere in my warped mind I could have sworn that I actually sat down between then and now and actually put some words down on paper screen.

Where I've actually been is spending hours upon hours each day working in Kyra's new bedroom. Part of Kyra's birthday present was getting her own bedroom. Up until now, she's technically been sharing a room with Kaelyn. In reality, Kyra's never slept in that room for more than a single night, preferring to sleep in Jaiden and Jordan's room. Kaelyn, in all her threeness, chit-chattered non-stop through the night whenever Kyra attempted to sleep in her shared bedroom.

When the Teej came to live with us nearly two years ago, he was given his own bedroom. He needed his own space with transitioning into a permanent 5th child of our family, but now he's grown to the point where he constantly asks if he can sleep in Jaiden and Jordan's room (if you've been doing the math, that's four kids in two beds in one bedroom) and Kyra has been the one pining for some breathing room.

Soooo, now all three boys are sharing a room. For now, Teej's old bed has been banished to the garage and he will sleep on the trundle from Jaiden's bed. Eventually we'll get rid of one of the twin beds and move Jaiden and Jordan to a set of bunkbeds. TJ's old bedroom is now Kyra's new bedroom.

We started the makeover bright and early Tuesday morning. Frank has been in and out of school and doing homework, so I've been the main one doing most of the work, putting in 16+ hours of work each day. I think I'm operating on maybe 8 hours of sleep in the past 48 hours. The rest of my house has fallen into shambles and the kids have been living on stale crumbs they find in the crevices of the couch, but Kyra's room is oh so pretty. She hasn't seen it yet. I had a few finishing touches to do and I had to arrange the furniture. Now we're waiting on Frank to get home from class for the big reveal.

There are a couple of emails I need to reply to and a ton of ICLW blog comments to return (read the comments in my previous Goonies post - hilarious!), but first I must shower. I'm covered in paint and I look like I shoved a key in a socket.

Before and after pictures to come soon!

Birthday Blunders Down Below, Part I - Kyra and Jaiden

From almost the moment we were told "It's twins!," I pretty much expected that I would deliver them via c-section. My OB wanted both of them to be vertex in order to attempt a vaginal delivery, and what with their almost constant uterine acrobatics and Jaiden's insistence to lay every which way BUT vertex, as the pregnancy progressed it became glaringly apparent that I was indeed headed for a cutting. By the time of the week 32 ultrasound (I had one at every visit), Baby A Kyra -- who was low and left -- had behaved and was locked and loaded into the proper downright, bladder-squishing position. But knuckleheaded Baby B Jaiden -- who was high and right -- somehow managed to do more flipping between weeks 32 and 35 and finally settled on laying transverse across the top with his butt under my boobs and his back and head curving down towards the right. He was almost there, but not quite low enough to be considered vertex. With his positioning, Kyra's trend of healthy, but slowing weight gain, and the fact that my week 34 and 35 non-stress tests showed semi-regular contraction patterns (of which I only felt a quarter), my doctor scheduled the big day for the afternoon of exactly 37 weeks.

Over the months, I'd read plenty about having c-sections. My OB himself explained what would happen in pre-op, during the surgery, and post-op. I felt ready. I honestly didn't worry much about the health of the twins. They always scored 8/8 on their NSTs, they were both estimated to be around 6+ lbs on their biophysical profile ultrasounds, and I think I went into the delivery with my expectations set a little lower than normal. I knew that sometimes twins and/or c-section babies might need a little oxygen or took a bit longer to stabilize than babies delivered vaginally. I also felt that it was a huge blessing that we'd made it to a full-term 37 weeks with no funny business going on during the pregnancy. I knew that even if they needed a little help in the beginning, we'd probably made it well out of the NICU-phase, and through the pregnancy I'd prayed for at least that much. I felt that I had that, so I went into the delivery without an inordinate amount of worries about the twins' health.

What I was quite freaked out about, though, was getting the IV and the spinal. I know -- stupid, right? It actually took getting pregnant with the twins to get over my basic fear of needles. When I was 12, I had to get a booster for one of the vaccines before I could volunteer at the hospital on base. An orderly had to practically sit on me while the nurse administered the shot. When I was 14, I came down with a wicked case of Strep throat and the doctor wanted blood work. BLOOD? From my ARM? FROM MY POOR, PUNCTURED VEIN? This time, it took one nurse to hold down my right arm because I was using it as a lethal weapon, another to almost sit on me to keep me from bolting from the chair, a third to hold down my left arm, and one to draw the blood. It sounds like the start to an exceptionally corny joke -- How many nurses does it take to draw blood from Kym? I shit you not; I was just that bad.

So, how did I ever manage to get over the fear of needles, given how many times I've punctured myself or allowed myself to be punctured between then and now? When I got the positive pregnancy tests (FINALLY, after 2.5 years), my OB verified three days later with a test of his own in his office and then sent me for an ultrasound specifically to check for multiples since I'd taken Clomid. I knew tons about trying to get pregnant but at the time, I didn't know jiggly about the first couple of weeks of pregnancy. So when the u/s tech said, "Well, I don't see anything here so it might be a blighted ovum...I wouldn't tell anyone about the pregnancy yet," (and I'd already foolishly told anyone who stopped long enough to listen), I naturally freaked out. Big time. Had I known then what I know now, I would have known that 3w6d (or 13dpo) is entirely too early to do the first ultrasound and expect to see anything and even further, that this jizzhead of a nurse would have known that and not used the choice of words that she did. Bitch. So anyway, with that news, my OB sent me for a beta and Frank and I had to drive 10 minutes to the lab and I bawled every second of that ten minutes, stopping long enough to stumble inside and sit in the waiting area. When I was finally called back, I numbly gave the tech my arm, and that was that. Who gives a shit about trivial things like needles when you're faced with the possibility of the dream you thought you finally made a reality turning into a nightmare? So yeah -- fear of needles -- obliterated in one fell swoop. (By the way, my beta that day on 13dpo turned out to be 350-something, and three days later it was up to 2,000-something...that was the first indication that I was packing two).

Where was I? Oh, right - so though I'd grown accustomed to blood test type needles, the idea of a big ass needle puncturing my spinal column and having a needle stuck in arm for an extended amount of time still freaked me the fuck out. Nevermind the fact that my guts were going to be hacked into with vital organs literally at hand's reach, my nerves were edgy thinking about those damned needles. I knew that once I crossed the pre-op hump of the needles being put where they needed to go, I'd probably be able to relax (mostly) and just focus on the delivery. I thought the IV would be the worst part of pre-op, but I realized that I was sorely mistaken the moment I saw Broomhilda the Beastly Nurse approach me with a razor and a pink bucket of semi-soapy water. "We just need to shave you down there, only what we can see when you have your legs closed."

What the fu-...Porque? What is this shaving you speak of?

In all that I'd read and all that I was told, NO ONE, NOT ONE SINGLE, SOLITARY SOURCE felt the need to share this little tidbit of information with me. I logically should have deduced this on my own, but what was going on in the nether regions had been the least of my concerns. I was size Shamu wide and I was lucky if I could reach around my belly enough to wipe myself (perhaps if it had existed back then, I would have ordered my very own Comfort Wipe), so I surely didn't give a shit that my carefully trimmed garden of love had turned into an overgrown bush of little use. If I had known that this task was going to be left to someone I knew first name only, I would have delegated the deed to Frank and arrived for delivery bare as a...well, a newborn baby. 

Oh gawsh, the embarrassment. Carrying on a conversation about the weather while she scraped away at my vag area did little squelch the cheek-warming humiliation I felt. It was over quickly, and the leftover waves of embarrassment dulled the fear I felt over having the IV jammed in the back of my hand, even after a slight gaffe on the nurse's part caused a momentary gush of blood that hit the floor with a wet *splat* sound. The spinal wasn't even half as bad as I expected it to be, and the rush of morphine gave me such a high that it was well worth a brittle shaving.

Soon thereafter, Kyra came out screaming and Jaiden followed just a minute later. That was the first time that I'd ever seen Frank cry. The twins were healthy and I was through and through happy with all traces of worry completely erased. Kyra weighed in at 5 lbs, 10 oz and Jaiden at 6 lbs, 9 oz. Frank and I got to hold and marvel over them for a little while as the doctors finished putting me back together. Frank went with the babies to the nursery while I did my hour in post-op.

A bit later I was moved to and comfortably settled in my recovery room. It was then that I learned from my mom that the twins were going to be kept in the nursery overnight for observation and that I wouldn't get to see them again until morning. She assured me that it was more out of precaution than out of necessity. The twins were having a little trouble keeping their body temperature stabilized and both were breathing well, but a bit too rapidly. All of my reading had prepared me for this as being common post c-section minor issues which usually resolved itself easily. I think Mom expected me to be spazzed at the news, but I wasn't, not in the least. I was impatient to see them, but I wasn't concerned about their health at all (though I could probably credit the morphine for that). Once Mom saw that I really wasn't freaked out to all be damned, I could see her own worry for me lift, and she told me of her experience going to see the twins in the nursery.

Mom had sat with me for that hour in post-op. Once I was in my recovery room, she went down to the nursery to get a better look at the babies. She looked through the glass window at all the babies in their isolettes, but she didn't see the twins. She got the attention of the nurse and through a combination of shoddy pantomime and over-exaggerated mouthing, they had this conversation:

Mom: I'm looking for the SmartOne twins.

Nurse: (pointing at the isolettes directly in front of the window) They're right there. 

Mom: No, the SmartOne twins are Black! (indicating this by pointing at the back of her hand and mouthing "THEY'RE BLACK!"

Nurse: (now pointing with more force and mouthing more animatedly) THEY'RE RIIIIGHHT THEEEERE!!!

Mom took a closer look through the the window and peered at the pasty-white china doll babies before her. She read the little cards taped to the top of the isolettes: BABY GIRL SMART ONE    BABY BOY SMART ONE. Her jaw dropped and she mouthed back, OH, MY GOD! THEY LOOK WHITE!

Kyra and Jaiden, just minutes after birth

Light, bright, and damn near White

 

I got up at 6 the next morning insisting that I would not wait a moment longer to see my babies. The nurse helped me into a wheelchair and hung the necessary bodily attachment bags of IV fluids and catheter-exited pee to various poles and Frank pushed me down to see them. I'd almost forgotten what they looked like, given that I only had a few morphine-foggy minutes with them, so it was like seeing them for the first time all over again. They were precious. They were mine. They were finally here. An hour later their pediatrician released them from the nursery and they were brought to my room. We all went home the next evening healthy and happy, finally a family.

Jordan's delivery came around almost two years later. Go through another hospital shave courtesy of Broomhilda the Beastly Nurse? Pshaw. Not I. The embarrassment of the first shave down was NOTHING compared to the agony I went through the week after delivery. A bucket of semi-soapy water does not compare to shaving cream, so I developed a horrible case of razor burn and bumps with a sore incision line that ran directly through it. Not fun. No way in hell was I going through that again, so Frank knew since the week after the twins were born that he had the job of shaving me on the night before the delivery of the next child, should we be so lucky.

We got a whole lot more than we expected with Jordan's pre-delivery shave. A lot more. Part II to come soon.

Summers of Love (or corny mush, whichever you prefer)

Tomorrow sparks the summer mushfest here at la Casa de la Smart One. Tomorrow, Kyra and Jaiden will be 8. I'm wondering how the hell eight years went by so quickly. Where did those little chicken-legged, china doll babies go? Kyra is now damn near as tall as I am and made of lanky arms and gangly legs. She's all Frank. Jaiden's bubble eyes and broad shoulders are all me. And Jordan - his birthday in blogland was pretty much obliterated because it happened to fall right smack on beta day, otherwise known as the Day Which Sucked Donkey Balls because My Beta Was only 50. Jordan's birthday didn't even get a mention, so he'll get his proper due tomorrow when I post about the Twinz birthday.

Then Father's Day rolls on next. Frank is the cookie-baking-stay-at-home-dad shiznit, so I would be terribly remiss if I didn't post something cute about him. Or snarky-funny. Something. I promised that I would not talk about the reason why he shaves his head down to nothing a la Michael Jordan is not because he wants to be like Mike (which he totally does but that ain't happening), but it's because he got smacked with male pattern baldness starting at like age 22 and now he has this HUGE bald patch right in the front and as of last week I also discovered that a second HUGE bald patch is starting up in the back of his head and soon the two patches will meet in the middle at halfcourt, so instead of looking like he has male pattern baldness (which he does) he just shaves it all off so that he can look sexy hot instead of old fart. And he is quite sexy despite the baldness, but I said I would talk about how bald he is so I won't do that, but talking about how sexy he is is still open game. Immediately after Father's Day is our anniversary, so between Father's Day, year 13 of our marriage, and his birthday (which is right around the corner on July 6), you will read tons about how squishy in love I am with my sexy Frank, but you will not hear anything about how bald he is because I'm not supposed to talk about that. Ahem.

Concluding the summer mushfest will be Teej's birthday on July 15. He's our nephew and our +1=5 child and he's almost 9. NINE! Time seems to be flying by so fast.

So! We have:

June 18 - Kyra and Jaiden's birthday (and backtracking to May 22 for Jordan's birthday)
June 21- Father's Day
June 22 - 13th anniversary
July 6 - Frank's birthday
July 15 - TJ's birthday
July 16 - Kym's brokeday

Biology 101

Last Monday my beta was 460-something and there was talk of a D&C if the number continued to go up or didn't fall much further than 300 or so. Today my number was just 3, so I've bottomed out and don't need to return for any betas. I wasn't surprised to hear that my number had tanked so rapidly, as I've been testing once or twice a day with cheapie strips (BTW - Wondfo, found on eBay at $20 for 100, are quite reliable and sensitive for internet cheapies) and the lines faded dramatically each day. Two days ago there was nothing, and I confirmed yesterday with a leftover FRER and that also was stark white.

Now that I've bottomed out, I'm clear to start BCPs again. My nurse coordinator said this: You're good to start your birth control pills now, because now that your hormone levels have tapered off you're completely back to normal and you could get pregnant, so you'll want to be careful. I had to bite the inside of my cheeks to keep from laughing. My normal is not normal-normal. Get pregnant without BCPs? That's still funny.

~~~~~

Right this very moment, I'm in this house alone, with no one but my snoring dog here to make noise. Frank is at school and my sister just left to take el Cinco out to play softball and then to get ice cream. When was the last time I've been in this house alone? Uuumm....hmmm. Have I ever been in this house alone? This might be a good time to mop the floors, but instead I'll go do something really productive like take a nap.

~~~~~

A few nights ago, I helped Frank take notes on the crusty-but-cutting-edge-for-its-time video The Miracle of Life for his Human Biology class. Was that documentary supposed to be a comedy? Because between the overuse of simile (and I quote: The egg waits in the folds of the Fallopian tubes and is seen just ahead, with warm, reddish tones like a sun peeking just over the evening horizon or Seminal fluid, seen here with the appearance of pancake batter on a hot frying pan) and stupid couple ballet scene which represented sex, I could not stop laughing.

~~~~~

There is a drainage ditch which marks the boundary between my house and the neighbor's and leads into the lake behind my house. The geniuses who constructed the ditch didn't assure that it was angled properly in a slight, downward grade towards the lake. There is a bit of a dip in the middle, so there is a stretch of about ten feet that always has a couple inches of standing water. Apparently, some frogs thought that this might make for a fine location to set up their personal fertility clinic. A couple of weeks ago, the kids noticed that there were THOUSANDS! OF TADPOLES! RIGHT NEXT TO OUR HOUSE, MOMMY! COME SEE! "Surely," I quipped, as I was being dragged by the hand out of the house, "there aren't thousands of tadpoles in the ditch."

Oh, but there were. I leaned over to peer into the gutter and THOUSANDS! of tiny, black, overgrown sperm-things were jutting around all through the water. I could not believe how many tadpoles there were. The inner science geek/teacher in me got all giddy. "This is a GREAT chance for us to witness with our own eyes the life cycle of a frog!" At once, they all chattered excitedly all that they already knew about the metamorphasis of frogs and how excited they were that we get to watch them grow.

Kyra, Jaiden, Jordan, and TJ each are keeping "Frog Observation Logs" in which they are drawing pictures and writing descriptions of the changes they see in our tadpole friends (their idea, not mine). I haven't been out there to see them myself in about a week, so yesterday they dragged me out to see them. Natural environmental hazards like birds and survival of the fittest and wayward basketballs have dwindled the THOUSANDS! down to a few hundred. What once looked like slender, black sperm are now about twice as large and have swollen, elongated heads and slightly shorter tails. They're also now green, with all the mottled markings of your average toad.

Where the science nerd in me was once excited, the inner nutcase is now also somewhat creeped out. I am equal parts Smart One and Complete Fucking Idiot, because it only just occurred to me yesterday that those HUNDREDS of tadpoles will grow into FROGS and they will eventually grow arms and legs and will SEEK LIFE ELSEWHERE. Like, in my yard. On my sidewalk. On my windows (every summer, we always have a few visitors who like to plaster themselves to the windows at night). The marvel I first felt about observing the changes in the sperm-tadpole-almost frogs dulled into a slight chill when I imagined opening my door in a few weeks and seeing my front yard overrun with slimy frogs. I couldn't help but think of the Stephen King short story called Rainy Season. Below, the WIki synopsis:

A young husband and wife on summer vacation rent a house in a small town called Willow, Maine, only to be warned repeatedly (if vaguely) to leave by the local inhabitants. They do not comply and, having purchased groceries, return to the house. They never learn the price for prosperity the citizens of Willow must pay: every seven years a husband and wife will come there from outside and will stay, despite protests, to become sacrifices during the rainy season. When the "rain" starts, the couple does learn the nature of the precipitation: an army of grotesque black toads the size of footballs, armed with needle-sharp teeth, and able to chew through doors and walls...

Is your skin crawling? Mine is. Now, I once caught a couple of bullfrogs when I was around the twins' age, placed them in a brown paper grocery bag, and asked my mom if I could keep them as pets and I don't mind catching frogs with the kids (Kaelyn likes to find little ones when I'm working in the yard and she brings them to me in her cupped hands like they were little gifts) and then kindly send them on their merry froggy way, but the thought of a freaking horde of frogs living JUST NEXT DOOR is spooking me out just a bit. If I go quiet all of the sudden and you hear one of those "News of the Weird" reports that a couple in southern Georgia was eaten by mutant, killer frogs, you'll know what happened to me.

~~~~~~~~

Speaking of sperm (sort-of) and life cycles and whatnot, I have not yet had THE TALK with my kids. My mother had THE TALK with me at such a young age that I don't remember ever not knowing how babies were made. Out of curiosity, yesterday as I was curling my hair I asked Kyra if she knew how babies were made. She brightened right up with her I-know-the-answer-to-this-one-because-I'm-a-smarty-pants-and-I-remember-everything face and she explained, with intelligent gesticulations, "Well. The doctor takes the egg from the woman and the sperm from the man and he mixes them in one of those dish things in a lab. And then he lets them grow for a few days, and then the doctor takes the embryos and he puts them back in the mom where they might grow or they might not grow. Kind-of like when we plant flower seeds, sometimes they grow flowers and sometimes they don't. So if the embryo keeps growing, then it grows into a baby. If two embryos keep growing, then they're twins, like me and Jaiden are twins." Then she crossed her arms and sat down on the edge of the tub with a crooked, aren't-you-so-impressed smile on her face which communicated the idea that she knows she's the shit.

And clearly, I have some explaining to do.

Rhymes with Taco Tuesday Except It's on Monday

Jaiden: Are we having tacos tonight? Are we having Taco Tuesday, except only this time on Monday instead?

Me: Yup!

TJ: Are you making refried beans, too?

Me: Yup.  

Jaiden: Oooh, yeah, refried beans to fill us up with gas again!

el Cinco: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

Me: Here, you guys...start putting all the stuff on the table.

Jordan: I don't want any sour cream on my taco. Just lettuce and meat and cheese and sauce.

Kyra: I want extra tomatoes on mine, please.

Jaiden: And I want tomatoes and LOTS of beans on mines.

Kyra: It's not mines, it's mine. Mine is the proper pronoun to use. Mines are the caves with diamonds and jewels in them.

Frank: Oh, Lord. Now there are two Grammar Police in the house.

Me: Get off our backs, dude. Don't hate.

Kaelyn: BARACK OBAMA! Rhymes with YO MAMA!

el Cinco: HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Me: I know some good rhymes for Taco Tuesday Except It's on Monday. You guys fill in the blank...
BEANS, BEANS, GOOD FOR YOUR HEART! THE MORE YOU EAT, THE MORE YOU...

el Cinco: FART! HAHAHAHAHA!

Frank: BEANS, BEANS, THE MUSICAL FRUIT! THE MORE YOU EAT, THE MORE YOU...

el Cinco: POOT! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Kyra: I'm not sure that this is appropriate talking for the dinner table. Aren't we not supposed to be talking about flatulence (giggles) at the dinner table?

Me: You're absolutely right, Little Miss Manners.

Kyra: Mom?

Me: Yeah, babe?

Kyra: Don't hate. Appreciate.

Kaelyn: THAT RHYMES!

In which I ramble...

Mentally at least, I'm pretty sure that I'm back on the other side of the break point. I had to say goodbye to Chance and Apollo Saturday afternoon. We did okay through lunch and managed to part ways without shedding a tear (opting for "see you later" vs. "goodbye), but I admit to breaking out into an ugly cry the moment I got back in my van and I bawled most of the way back home.

I gave myself a week to wallow in misery (and snot), and then forced myself to get up yesterday and make the first real steps towards moving on. That's how it goes...I have to disconnect from the sadness over things gone wrong and the goodbyes, and then re-engage more deeply into the goings on of everyday life. So, on that angle I know that I've come through the worst of it...my main concern of course is for Chance and Apollo and how they are coping with needing to move on to the next stage in their life.

To continue in the vein of the parable that niobe recently posted (it's a must-read if you haven't read), it's not my bag of troubles. I don't mean that flippantly, apathetically, or uncaringly. That is only to say that as a surrogate, I choose to pick up someone else's bag of troubles labeled "infertility and loss" and try to help shoulder the burden for a while. No matter what I must personally endure while carrying it, the bag doesn't belong to me and there comes a point when I have to give it back, even though I wish like all hell that I could still help somehow.

And of course, there is that touch of survivor's guilt that I even have the choice to set that load down, to regretfully have to push it back entirely on their shoulders and then turn around and have the shameful, yet reflexive audacity to feel at least a small sense of relief that I have the option in the first place, when they don't. After working so intimately and so in sync with with them for so long, it's a complicated untangling of my mindset from theirs, but this realignment of my mind is necessary and leaves me where I know I need to be -- taking a step back to a place alongside those of you who support Chance and Apollo by proxy of supporting me,  and alongside those of you who also know Chance personally and have supported her for the past couple of years. We all try to support them best way we possibly can, hurting for them but still knowing that we have our own lives to lead. I know we all wish that the joys of parenthood could be known to Chance and Apollo, and we all hurt that their road can no longer be on a path in attempt to get them there. 

I hurt terribly for Chance and Apollo, but as far as I personally am concerned, I know that I'm over the hurdle and I'm trying to look ahead to brighter things and new opportunities. As moving on goes, mentally -- I'm there. Physically, not so much, apparently. Betas:

 

May 22 = 50

May 24 = 46

May 30 = 355

June 1 = 460-something

 

In a nutshell, this isn't viable and wasn't to begin with. TMI - I bled from Friday-Sunday. Yesterday it tapered off into nothing. With the other chemicals I bled for 1-2 weeks. Dr. Sleepy said that I will likely restart bleeding within the next few days and will "fully miscarry" (his words, not mine). Next Monday I will have another beta. If I have not started to bleed and/or my beta continues to go up significantly by then, I will be scheduled for a D&C and possibly a shot of methotrexate, depending on what the D&C yields. *sigh* I can handle this...it's just exhausting. I mean, hell -- at least we could have caught a break on the resolution of this cycle, but even that can't be easy for us. Like I said -- I can personally handle this without it leaving me a deep emotional rut, but Chance and Apollo just do not need anything else added to make that bag of troubles any heavier. I hate that they have to go through this. I completely hate it.

 

So, that's where things stand as of now on that front. I have Stubborn Undropping Beta Syndrome, otherwise known as Some Unnecessary BullShit (SUBS).

 

exhale

 

This is also where things start to feel a little...odd...around here in my personal blogland. Yes, the surrogacy and the cycling and the betas and the loss are a part of me and a very large part of why we're all here reading, but it is not all of me or even most of me, at least not right now. This is that transitional time, where the balances both in my life and in this blog shift again. I can't help but feel a little schizo and...I guess weird about writing about some of the the things I want to share. There are lots of good things going on here, too. Blogger friends to thank for keeping me afloat through phone calls, emails, hugs, and comments of commiseration or comments which simply said something to the effect of "this sucks monkey ass" -- which it did, but I laughed my ass off through the tears just the same. Funny children who are dazzled by the splendor of summer and all the potential that it holds. A husband who as of today, is now a kolidge stoodent. You should have seen him with his bookbag. Actually, you will see him with his bookbag, because I totally took First Day of School pictures of him. For the next couple of weeks, there will be days in which one post will bemoan the aforementioned SUBS and how much emotional havoc that might wreak and me and C&A, but then the next moment I'll jerk hard in the opposite direction and write about something stupidly hilarious that el Cinco did. So, yeah...for a little while it will feel just...weird and awkward to post about all that is happy joy and sunshine in my life right now, but at the same time, I know that it is right that I should, and that it is okay that I do.

 

Because after all, Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da...

 

 

...which is as it should be.

Free association on transfer eve

PIO is being especially mean to my ass this time around.

I should get Frank to rub my butt so that I can relax.

Oooh! I get to pop a valium tomorrow!

I'm sleepy. Usually I have killer insomnia leading up to transfer, but I've been sleeping like a rock. Escapism, anyone?

My dog is snoring.

I snore when I'm sick. Or pregnant.

*sigh*

Earlier today I realized that next Friday is a day of plenty. The last day of school (for the students) is next Friday. A blogger buddy is flying in to visit with Chance and me next Friday. Jordan's sixth birthday is next Friday. *insert sudden and dramatic piano chords here* BETA is next Friday. I'd like to say that three outta three ain't bad, but I'd rather score on all four counts.

I feel like a total fatty watching The Biggest Loser finale. If I can't rightfully wear maternity clothes this summer, then it's nothing but low-fat, organic air and diet water for me. And Frank's cookies.

What the shit is up with a few people (non IF-ers, I promise. IFers can complain about whatever they want to because, well, I think we've EARNED it) crabbing about maternity clothes and giving up certain activities per doctor's orders until the second trimester? HELLO!!! Are you pregnant? Then shut the fluckashit up. Nothing to bitch about.
GOOD KARMA   --------->-------->      BAD KARMA

Oh, how I doth love fuzzy bunnies and puppies and rainbows and wish that I could give them to all of my friends and even to people who annoy me, because they need love too!
GOOD KARMA <----------<--------- BAD KARMA

*singing* Go, Jeeeerry! It's your birthday! He lost the weight! He won a hundred grand! 

(_(_) ~~ (_)_) ~~ (_(_) ~~~ (_)_) <--- that's me shakin' mah bootay.

Not really, because mah bootay hurts. 

Frank is snoring. Is he pregnant?

**********

Transfer is at 11. I'll be home to update by 5. Feed Reproducina all the beans you can. We are long overdue for rainbow glittler, Skittle-scented farts.

Moments like this...

Jordan
aka
Monkeyboy

"Mommy, I love you sooooo much. Even my heartbeats love you."

 

Heart -----> melted.

Sentences

Thank you for the outpouring of support the past few days; we're okay.

I'm sleepy, but happy.

There are T-minus 16 days of school left.

Today in class we are reading one of my favorite kiddie-lit short stories - "The All-American Slurp." It's below the 8th grade reading level, but whatever. It's short, cute, entertaining, the students always love it, and it's a good narrative tie-in to the international culture and customs research project that they have been assigned.

If scheduling permits, I'm going on a field trip next week with the twins' 2nd grade class to a bamboo farm and to pick strawberries.

Jordan wrote a cute story in his kindergarten class about how he wished he had a jumping casaw (castle). He would bounce with his Daddy and thow (throw) balls at Jaiden it would be SUPER GRATE and AWSUM!

TJ is now obsessed with powers of ten multiplication problems. I made the mistake of teaching him the trick of adding the zeroes and tagging them to the end, so now, of course, he's a mathmagician: "Hey Auntie Kyyyyyym - I know what 700 times 800 is. (pause to allow room for me to be impressed) It's FIVE HUNDRED AND SIXTY THOUSAND! Yeah, I'm so smart, I'm so smaaaaart! Hey Auntie Kyyyyym - I know what 6,000 times 600 is...." and on and on and on and on.

Jaiden and Kyra got straight A's on their mid-term progress reports. They told me that they were going to work in a laboratory together to find a cure for the Swine Flu when they grew up and I couldn't help but think of them as Pinky and the Brain. Kyra also told me that she was going to be a freelance writer on the side.

Quote from Kaelyn: "Eeewww, Mom. I got snot on my hands! See? What does snot start with? It starts with S! S says ssssssssssss, like a snake! And booger starts with B! B-b-booger! Can you wipe the b-b-b-BOOGER and the sssssssssssssssss-SNOT off my hand?"

Frank has been fully accepted, has submitted all necessary paperwork to get his VA educational benefits rolling, and starts class on June 5. I'm totally going to take a First Day of School picture of him with his book bag when he's on his way out the door. 

We hope to do a full launch of Frank's Etsy bakery by mid-July. We've added in some cookies and changed a couple of names thanks to many of the awesome suggestions given to us last week. Winners *might* be announced next week.

My lining check is this afternoon. I've been on both Vivelle and estrace, so hopefully I won't have any of the slow-growth nonsense from the last cycle.

Transfer is in approximately two weeks. 

*******

And from the Files of What the Fuck?, China, with its longstanding one-child policy, quite naturally prohibits surrogacy. However, surrogacy is quietly practiced there without much sanction, until now apparently. Authorities from the Chinese city of Guangzhou forced the abortions of three surrogates. Appalling.

I welcome April ICLW'ers with a contest

Hi. I'm Kym, and this is my blog.

*Hi, Kym.*

The super-short story: After 2.5 years of trying to conceive naturally without the slightest bit of luck, I hit the infertility lottery and conceived girl/boy twins on Clomid. I later conceived two singletons on Clomid. Somewhere in the middle of that, I received a full and proper diagnosis of PCOS with Insulin Resistance as the cause of my anovulation and inability to get pregnant without a little ovarian ass-kicking. Now, I'm the proud mother of four bright kiddos plus one: Kyra and Jaiden, age 7; Jordan, age 5; and Kaelyn, age 3; and my nephew TJ, age 8. Read The Rundown for extended information about The SmartOne family.

I'm not your average mommyblogger, though (I actually shudder at the term). I blather on about my five (known here as el Cinco de Mio) and sometimes about my work as an 8th grade English teacher, but the primary focus of my blog is continuing to bitch about infertility in my role as a gestational surrogate. I've helped bring one family's child into the world, and I'm currently cycling for a mid-May transfer with my intended parents Chance and Apollo. We suffered a chemical pregnancy in February, but prayerfully the next cycle will be THE cycle. I hope you stick around for the long ride. You and the embryo/s, that is.

Enough about me - this post is really about my sexy man Frank. I'm totally going to brag here:

• high school sweethearts
• married for almost 13 years, together for 16 years
• medically retired from the Army following his 1998 diagnosis of Multiple Sclerosis
• blessed with remarkably good health despite the disease
• the bomb-diggety stay-at-home-dad since the twins were born
• starting college in the summer for a degree in Physical Education
• cleans the house
• does the laundry
• does homework time
• chases el Cinco around the house for tickles and body slams and karate
• cooks 95% of what we eat (the other 3% is fast-food and the other 2% I microwave)
• bakes as a hobby, and if all of the above isn't enough to get you hot, here's another:
• now aiming to open an Etsy cookie shop

Long-time readers and Frank-lovers, did you catch that last one?

FRANK IS GOING TO OPEN AN ONLINE COOKIE SHOP!


A man who cooks and cleans and is great with kids and feeds me homemade, ginormous cookies? Rrrrraaawwrrr.

Don't be jealous, ladies; be helpful. I'll share (but no pinching of his butt. That's all mine).

We have many of the cookie variety, packaging, pricing, and design concept ideas worked out, but what we need is a name for his bakery. It needs to be something that reflects Frank. He has a schmoove, Rico Suave kind-of appeal. He's quiet, laid back, more of a casual observer than an active participant. He's the candlelight and rose petals in the bubble bath type, the gentle giant with solid, silent support. He's also quirky with a killer sense of humor. His bakery name should reflect that.

We'd like for the name to have some sort of inclusion of his name or nickames: Frank, Maestro, BarneyMac, B-Love, or any derivation thereof. (Those nicknames were all earned from his Army days; he was the casanova that all the girlies flocked to, but he was taken already. *insert evil laughter here* Sucks to be them.)

For further inspiration and so you can get a better sense of Frank's vibe, below is the general concept of his shop and cookies. Which, it should be known that I'm the brainchild behind much of this. It goes something like this:

Me: You know what sounds good? A big assed cookie with an overload of chocolate. Chocolate batter, chocolate chunks, and maybe white chocolate chips.

Frank: (tapping chin with finger) Hmm. Sounds good.

Me: And it needs a sexy name, because it's a sexy cookie.

Frank: A sexy cookie?

Me: Yeah, there's something kindof naughty about it. You should call it the Menages Trois.

Frank: (sexily swiveling his hips around) Oooh, you mean like me, you, and the cookie doing naughty things in the bed?

Me: (flatly) Uuummm, no. I was thinking more like the marriage of those three types of chocolate in the unholy, sinful, and fattening but oh-so-delicious circle of baked goodness.

Frank: I can do that. Can I do you, too?

Me: Chocolate first, Mister Cookie Man. I have my priorities.

But I digress, sort-of. Where was I? Oh, yes - the bakery concept:

All cookies will have Frank's signature compact disc-sized porportions. Size matters (heh), and it is the size of his cookies that will be the major selling point. Click here for a picutre of one such cookie.

There will be "Nice" and "Naughty" cookies. We're not sure if Nice/Naughty will stick, but there will be the involvement of seductively opposite words like "Innocent/Sinful," etc. We're open to suggestions.

The "Nice" cookies will be your basics: chocolate chip, chocolate chip with walnuts, sugar, peanut butter, and oatmeal raisin.

The "Naughty" cookies are the premium varieties, the special recipes that were born in either my mind or his:

1. The Menages Trois: chocolate batter, chocolate chunks, white chocolate chips
2. The Monkeyboy: banana, chocolate chips, and walnuts (this one sounds like a naughty name, but it's really named after Jordan)
3. The Aristocrat: dried cherry chunks, chocolate chips, chunks of Skor candy, and toffee chips (Chance thought of this one)
4. Wake Me Up Before You Cocoa: coffee-flavored cookie with chocolate chips and chocolate/mocha icing drizzle (still working on this one)
5. Get Lei'd: pineapple chunks, coconut, and macadamia nuts
6. Appleholic's Anonymous: apple chunks soaked in amaretto, amaretto-infused batter, pecans, extra cinnamon and nutmeg (this title isn't exactly PC, but damn, it's funny)

His packaging colors will be brown and teal. His tagline will be "These ain't your Grandma's cookies." Get it? Grandma's cookies? As in, not the brand name Grandma's cookies? I slay myself.

So, here's the contest: leave some suggestions for his bakery name in the comments. You can enter as many times as you'd like to. We'll pore through all of them and select the one we like the best.

You can also leave suggestions for either sexy/quirky cookie names (and we'll develop the recipe), recipe ingredient ideas (and we'll develop the name), or both.

We're open to any and all other ideas for marketing, packaging, etc.

The name contest winner will receive a six-cookie sampler and anyone else who suggests some ideas that we end up using will recieve a two-cookie sampler.

There is no time limit; this contest is open for as long as it takes us to land on the right name.

Okay, creative people of the Internet; gimme whatcha got!

Gold star for my uterus

For once, my uterus wasn't two steps behind and was actually ahead of the game. I haven't started my period because my lining is already super-thin, measuring barely 2mm. My ovaries were quiet and were surprisingly relatively normal in appearance, given my PCOS.

I even lucked out and didn't have the pleasure of having Dr. DeadFish's hands up my hooha; his nurse practitioner (who is a sweetheart) did my ultrasound.

A few hours later, Chyrl, our nurse from the main clinic, called to say that all looked good and that because my lining was so thin, I didn't need to have a period and that I was cleared to drop the demon piss down to 5 units and begin Vivelle patches and estrace today. Score one for me.

This afternoon, my mom is kidnapping el Cinco for a couple of days away. A trip to Jacksonville, the zoo, a hotel with a huge indoor pool, and Dave & Buster's is on the itenerary. While the children are away, the adults will play. Chance and Apollo are coming over later today. On our itenerary is grilling steaks and chicken, an air mattress in the living room, and tons of blankets and pillows. Heads out of the gutter, people. We're going to rent some oldie but goodie movies and load up on popcorn and candy for a movie night. Hey - it's as good of a distraction as any.

Tomorrow morning Frank and I are going to me the rest of the family in Jacksonville for the zoo trip, then we're going to return home to squeeze out a day for just the two of us.

That's what I call a good weekend. Good family. Good friends. Good husband. Good uterus.

What's on your agenda for the weekend?

Best day ever (for now, at least)

About a week ago, Frank finally decided for certain what he wants to be when he grows up. It's a career path that he's been somewhat wishy-washy about for the past two years or so. One day last week, as soon as I walked in from work he said, "I've made up my mind; I'm going to major in Physical Education." With conviction. Serious conviction, in the same tone of voice that you might use to tell someone that there was a bomb strapped to their ass and that if they farted, it would explode.

Finally, I thought. He'd been tossing around three or four different possible careers since he was discharged from the Army almost 8 years ago. There wasn't any pressure for him to make an immediate decision. The twins were just four months old at the time; our plan was for him to stay at home until our last child (however many we hoped to have) started school. At that time, he'd either go to college or go straight into the workforce, depending on what it was he chose to do. Well, we knew when we had her that Kaelyn was most certainly the last bit of loinfruit that he would produce. Kaelyn's birth marked the start of Frank's countdown clock, and with her being at home for only the next school year, he was feeling the pressure of needing to narrow in on a choice.

I was getting edgy, because he seemed so non-commital and blah about every option that he weighed. "Just do what makes you happy, Frank. Don't think about potential income or your Multiple Sclerosis or stuff like that. What good is going to school for a career that might pay well, but you hate doing it? I'd rather you stay at home and have us keep walking the border between Quite Alright and Poor Ass Broke than have you spend your life working a job you despise." Still, he hemmed and hawed and teetered and tottered, all in that quiet, pensive way of his.

So when he solidly proclaimed his desire to major in Phys Ed, I exhaled and jumped around like an idiot, bombs on my ass be damned.

Today I took the day off of work to go with him to his appointment with the admissions coordinator at the university. With the military base here, the school has a coordinator who works specifically with soldiers and veterans, who are eligible for educational benefits. We knew that Frank has additional benefits called Vocational Rehabilitation due to being rated at 30% disability from the MS. Until today, we didn't know what the extent of his benefits were.

VocRehab will pay for 100% of his tuition and books. They will pay for a new laptop. They will pay approximately a $900 per month stipend directly to Frank (based on the number of his dependents) to help cover living expenses while he is in school.

Cha-ching!

Then, because of all the rain (in case you haven't noticed, the South is being flooded), we went to Blockbuster to pick up some new release movies for the kids since they wouldn't be able to go out to play after school. We got home in just enough time to do the surprise prep-work before the bus came with the kids. We blew up the air mattress and dressed it with sheets, blankets, and pillows and laid the kids pj's out on the couch. We made popcorn and divvied it up among the kids' five special popcorn bowls. We saw them come running down the street in the pouring rain, and they made sure to stomp in every megapuddle along the way. We met them at the door with towels and ushered them into the family room. They all screamed with glee when they saw their set-up, then scrambled to wiggle out of their wet clothes and into their warm, cozy jammies. YOU'RE THE BEST PARENTS EVER! (Kyra) I LOVE YOU INFINITY TIMES A ZIGMILLION! (Jordan) YOU GUYS ARE AWWWWWEEEEEEEEEESOME! (Teej) YOU MY BEEEEST FRIEEEND! (Kaelyn) YOU ROCK! (Jaiden)

Cha-ching, cha-ching!

With el Cinco mesmerized by buttery, sodium-laced carbohydrates and animated superhero dogs, I took a moment to check my school email. A student had written to ask if the rumor she heard on the bus was true - had school been cancelled for tomorrow? I didn't get my hopes up but crossed my fingers just the same. About ten minutes later, an email came in from the district superintendent - school is, in fact, closed tomorrow due to inclement weather. Our area has been under a tornado watch for most of the past week. Snow Days? Pshaw. Here in the Dirty South we get Your Ass Might Be Blown Away Days. Hell to the yeah. We get to spend tomorrow cozied up doing rainy day stuff like watching movies, reading, coloring, and having in-house water gun wars (what? you don't do that at your house?).

Best. Day. Ever.

Play it again, Sam

Notice: this post is laden with pregnancy, c-section delivery photos (semi-graphic) and baby photos. If today is one of those days, you might choose to pass on this post. I understand.

This post is long, too. Butt, be warned.

Two years ago yesterday, Frank and I spent some time in the backyard. He was busy putting together el Cinco's new swing set. I was busy posing for a few full-term pregnancy pictures. In less than 12 hours, I'd be headed to Savannah to deliver Sam, my surrobaby.

Samuel Anthony. My intended parents -- Stephanie and Terry -- and I had spent the entire pregnancy calling him Tony. With a feigned, dramatic Italian accent, Stephanie had professed several times through the pregnancy that her son's name was Samuel Anthony. She'd say it with flair, bringing the tips of her fingers together and accentuating each syllable of his name with emphatic flourishes of her arm, in much the same manner that a gourmet chef might describe the courses of a delicately prepared, 12-course dinner.

Blond-haired, blue eyed Stephanie, born and bred Georgia girl (pronounced JO-jah gurrl when given the proper Southern drawl), and Terry, straight from New York (New Yawk) and made from dark-haired, olive-toned Italian stock, were just one day away from finally holding their Tony in their arms. Terry preferred Sam. Stephanie preferred Tony.

Which name used on a regular basis would depend on what he looked like when he was here. If he took on Stephanie's fairer traits he'd be Sam, and if he leaned more in the Italian Stallion direction, he'd be Tony.

Tony. Sam. I just called him Meatball. He'd measured at least a week ahead the entire pregnancy, made me crave pasta (especially ravioli), and gave me gas.

The next morning, March 26, was almost ordinary. Frank and I woke up and got the kids ready for school. We kissed them and walked them to the bus stop, waving as they were driven away. They knew that we would not be there when they got home from school because today was the day that Baby Tony was coming. They couldn't wait until I would call them on the phone to tell them all about it. Frank and I walked home hand-in-hand. I had just enough time to write what would turn out to be the last real post on my old blog. I went over the daily schedule and list of emergency numbers with my sister one more time, then she all but pushed me out the door, reassuring me that she'd do just fine with holding down the homefront while Frank and I were at the hospital.

Check-in is handled through the ER, and it looked like an odd sort of family reunion taking place there in the lobby. We were immediately caught in a swarm of hugs when we walked in. Stephanie, Terry, Steph's mom Angie, Steph's older daughter Lauren, my aunt Karon, and my 2-year old second cousin were all there. At least among the women, the tears were already flowing.

Stephanie and Terry presented me with a beautiful diamond journey pendant. All of us chattered excitedly about the delivery that was just moments away. We were loud and rambunctious, and we could see the other people in the waiting area trying to figure us out. Pregnant Black lady swarmed by a bunch of White people feeling all over her belly? WTF?
 

When the orderly came with the wheelchair to take me up to L&D, everyone followed like an ebony meets ivory parade.

Some time during the eighth month of pregnancy, Steph, Terry and I, with our attorney, met with the head nurse of Labor and Delivery. She was a sweet, grandmotherly type and took us on a personal tour of L&D on the third floor and the Special Care nursery on the fourth floor. Due to insurance billing protocols and Stephanie and Terry's need to have a room of their own once Sam was born, they would be given a large room on the 4th floor after the delivery. L&D on the 3rd floor and Special Care on the 4th were connected by a long, tunnel-like breezeway and an elevator that ran only between the two floors. She had reassured us that on the day of delivery, the nurses will have been briefed on our surrogacy and that the "rules" would be different for us.

Frank, Terry, and Stephanie would all be allowed with me in pre-op instead of just one support person. My OB had already arranged for both Steph and Terry to be present during the c-section. Again, having only one support person is the norm. Once up in their room on the 4th floor, the new family would not be held to the same security and sterile-procedure protocols as other Special Care babies, unless Sam was actually sick and had a real medical need to be there. We would be allowed to travel between the two floors at will for visits to each other.

The nurses assigned to us in Labor and Delivery were phenomenal. We'd been on the books for a while and they were anxiously anticipating our delivery. We all felt welcome and they made the process very easy. Some surrogates have horror stories where the nurses were obviously uneasy, handling the intended parents and surrogate with fumbly kid gloves. I was relieved that the staff seemed comfortable and even shared in our joy.

As soon as I was properly gowned, shaved (there's something yo' mama won't tell you about having c-sections), and catheterized, Stephanie, Terry, and Frank came back to finish waiting out the required monitoring and last pre-op procedures. We took a pre-delivery group shot.

Before too long, it was finally time. Frank and I kissed, passed I'll see you later to each other, and I waddled over to the operating room right across the hall.

It was surreal. It was routine but not. Hop on the table. Don't fall off, because that sucker seems twice as thin as my ass is wide. Talk to the anesthesiologist. No, I'm not allergic to anything that I know of. Yes, I itch like a sonafabitch and feel like vomiting out my kidneys from nausea in reaction to the spinal, so have shots of phenergan and benadryl ready. Ms. Nice Nurse says to bend over as far as you possibly can; lean on my shoulders. From behind, Dr. NumbYoufromtheLegsDown explains what he's doing as he administers the spinal. I hate this part. The thought of that big needle going in through my back and into the spinal column is freaky. *POP* I both hear and feel it (no pain, more like a small tap) when the needle goes into the spinal column and whoooooaaaa duuuuuuude....left leg feels hot and heavy whoa...there goes the right one and WOW...can't feel anything down there and awwwwww yeah...I'm feelin' kinda nice, now. Thank you, morphine. Long time, no high, my good friend Mr. Morphine.

After I'm buzzed off my rocker and can't feel anything from the boobs down, the next few steps always seem to happen fast. I'm laid down with my arms stretched to the sides, the blue curtain goes up just under my chin, and my OB seems to mystically materialize from the walls. But this time, instead of Frank coming in and being seated at my right shoulder, Stephanie and Terry come in. They're garbed in blue scrubs with white masks. I giggle, because for some reason they remind me of the marshmallows that used to come in Smurf cereal.

Stephanie took my hand. Her piercing, clear blue eyes never left mine. As my OB began the surgery and dictated his steps, she constantly asked if I was okay or if I was in any pain. "No pain. I can't feel anything but pressure." After what feels like only a few minutes, Dr. Edwards said, "Here he comes! His head is out! Dad - come up here and snap a picture if you want to!" Then suddenly, gloriously, we hear a gusty, angry, healthy cry. He's not even all the way out yet and he's already crying. I could hear both the laughter and the tears in Terry's voice as he rose to see his son -- his first child -- for the first time.

As Sam was pulled out and his wails grew louder, Stephanie's hand gripped mine tighter and the tears that until then only welled in her eyes finally spilled forth. Her son was there, but she kept her eyes firmly on mine. "Thank you, Kym. Thank you, thank you, thank you." Her voice was barely above a whisper but even with all the other commotion in the room, I only heard her words with the sweet sound of her son's screaming voice in the background.

She couldn't take her wide, grateful eyes off of me and I could tell that she was torn. "Go," I urged. "It's okay. He's here! This is what you've been waiting for. Go meet your son." The intensity of her eyes tightened into a deeper, bluer thank you, and she finally released my hand then turned to be with her husband and new baby. 

From my vantage point I couldn't see anything but I heard everything. As he finished the surgery, Dr. Edwards told me what a wonderful thing I'd done. As expected, I started to feel itchy and nauseous, so the anesthesiologist administered the phenergan and benadryl. The meds immediately alleviated the side effects and cranked the dial on the FuzzyBrain Meter a few notches higher. I heard someone call out, "He's HUGE! He's 8 lbs, 10 oz!" I noticed that my nurse was teary-eyed. Everyone seemed to be talking about something. Then suddenly, they were there, and it was as if the rest of the world faded away and there was only us. He was beautiful. They were beautiful.

He was Sam, not Tony. And he was perfect.

A few minutes later, Steph and Terry went with Sam to the nursery. Relishing my high, I promptly annouced to the whole world and to no one in particular that I was taking a nap and to please wake me when they were finished putting me back together.

I eventually made it back to my pre-op/post-op room where Frank was waiting for me. I blathered about the delivery then shooed him away to go to his yearly neurology check-up, which coincidentally had been scheduled for that afternoon. He made it back just before I was transferred to my recovery room less than an hour later.

Through the rest of the day, there was a steady stream of visitors. Members of my family and of Stephanie and Terry's extended families came to see me. One of the most special visits was from "The Grandmothers." Stephanie's mom (who'd also come to every, single, solitary RE and OB appointment), Terry's mom (who'd come to several ultrasounds through the pregnancy), and Terry's grandmother (who lives in New York; I'd met her earlier in the pregnancy when she was visiting) all came together to see me. They collectively gifted me with a beautiful card with a message from each of them and a huge Bath and Body Works collection of Japanese Cherry Blosssom products. That scent now always reminds me of Sam and is a "lucky" scent. Phone calls from family and friends poured in. I was buzzed from the drugs like a mofo, so I have more of a general memory more than a specific, clear set of post-delivery memories. I just know that I felt overjoyed, and I could feel everyone's joy around me.

I couldn't even be dampered by the behavior of the Special Care 4th floor nurses, who seemed to have missed the message that Sam was not your average Special Care baby. I can't blame them so much; they were just doing their jobs and wouldn't take Stephanie's word about the exceptions that should have been allowed. They wouldn't let Stephanie bring Sam down to see me no matter how much she argued. Finally, Steph whipped out every ounce of Southern sass that her skinny body could muster: Don't you THINK for a second that I'll let you keep me here. She CARRIED MY CHILD and whether you like it or not, I'm taking Sam down to see her. Now either I wheel his bassinet down there myself, or you can come with me if that makes you feel better. But I'm going, and you won't stop me. Finally Nurse Ratchet escorted Stephanie and Sam down to visit. Later, Stephanie would tell me that on the way down, the nurse suggested to her not to let me hold Sam for too long because I might want to keep him. Whatthehellever.

Even Nurse MegaBitch's hovering and suspicious eye couldn't detract from the joy I felt seeing Sam, Stephanie, and Terry again. It was after 9 pm and some of the cobwebs had cleared away. I was more lucid and Sam was calm. He already looked different than the baby I'd seen just that morning.

I think that that was when it finally felt real to me. In my mind, I could see the similar picture that the five of us had taken that morning, with Sam still on the inside instead of out. I exhaled. In that moment, I truly exhaled.

The next day I went upstairs to visit. Steph and Terry were exhausted, but happy. The Grandmothers, who had taken over the waiting area of the Special Care nursery, were amazed that I was up and walking.

Downstairs in my room, most of the in-and-out visits slowed to a trickle, which allowed me some time to rest. My surrobuddy Catherine came in to visit. I'd been to visit her at both of her post-surrogacy delivery recoveries, and she was overjoyed that she finally got the chance to return the favor. One surrofriend -- Stephanie -- had absolutely sinful chocolate-covered strawberries delivered to the hospital and another -- Rebekah -- sent flowers. I had a breastpump brought in, as I was donating my breastmilk to my friend and fellow Surrogate Mothers Online moderator, Lisa. She was finally q mom via egg donation. She had delivered her beautiful little sprite Jenna just five days before.

Ancient Smart One wisdom says, Vicodin and morphine effin' ROCK!

The next afternoon, Sam was discharged. I went downstairs to see the new family off. Almost suddenly, it was over. A few hours later, I was also discharged. I was ready. The journey was a great ride while it lasted, but I was ready to go home and let my life settle again, back into the familiar rhythms of life before cycling and appointments and breath-holding. Only it was a life more enriched, one in which I could say with pride that I did something that really mattered.

He is growing so fast and his personality seems to be growing even faster.

The first time seeing him again after delivery - June 2007:

 

Another visit, January 2008:




Sam's first birthday and two of my favorite pictures:

He's two years old today. He's bright and funny and thriving. Now when Stephanie calls, she's not the only one who does the talking. "Where Kym? Kym at school? Kym at work? Hi! Hi, Kym!" Unbelievable.

And Stephanie - she's there every step of the way. She's in the wings of this blog, lurking in the background and calling to pick me up when I am down. "Don't you forget," she says...rather, fusses, in that twangy Southern lilt, "don't you forgot what you did for us and that we're always grateful. I know that it's rough right now and I know how differently it could have gone for us. I'm always thinking of you and the couples you're working with and wishing for and praying for them. Don't you forget that. I'm always here wanting my history with you to repeat itself with someone else."

Happy 2nd birthday, Sam, my Meatball.

I hope and pray to have what I had with you once again.

Welcome, IComLeavWe'ers!

Welcome, March ICLWers! I think that many of you have probably already visited my blog, but here's a fun little introduction for you newcomers to SmartOneville.

The alphabet a la Smart One:

Apollo, my intended father, earned his arsonist badge. Last week he torched a meadow. Seriously.
Bacon - I'm eating some right now. Pork rules.
Chance and Apollo are my intended parents, but even better, they're family.
Dishes - I don't do 'em.
Eighth grade English teacher
Frank is my husband. He cooks and makes delicious desserts like a mofo.
Georgia girl by default, but born in California.
Hater of assclowns who think they know everything.
IVF#2 is coming up mid-May. Most of our meds were lovingly donated by our bloggy friends.
Jaiden, age 7 and Jordan, age 5 are my sons.
Kyra, age 7 and Kaelyn, age 3 are my daughters. All four were conceived on Clomid.
Love cookies. Probably too much.
Military brat; I lived in 8 different places by the time I was 12.
Not really as smart as I profess to be.
OMG! Fuckernuts and manbiscuits and pricksicle and fucknuttery are some of my favorite words.
Procrastinators like me, let's unite! But let's do it later, okay? I also have PCOS. Good times.
Quizno's spongmonkeys crack me the freak up.
Rugrats - Frank stays home with them and he kicks ass as stay-at-home dad.
Sam is the name of my surro-son. He'll be two in just a few days!
TJ is my 8-year old nephew who we're raising. He's a funny kid.
Unicorns that fart rainbows might be roasted come May or June.
Very much in love with Steely Dan.
Wondering almost non-stop if this next (and final) cycle will work.
XXX-rated movie of me would probably blind you.
You soooo totally don't want to see me naked. *I* don't want to see me naked.
Zzzzz...I just put you to sleep with this boring introduction, didn't I?

I'm either a really good parent or a bad influence, maybe both

Email correspondence today with Jordan's kindergarten teacher:

FROM ME:

Good morning, Mrs. Kindergarten!

For some reason, we couldn't find Jordan's picture form. I ordered and paid for his class picture online. Can you get an extra order form and fill it out for me, please? The online payment code verification code is 844V5 and needs to be written in the boxes on the bottom right-hand corner of the form. We also would like for him to take the individual pictures, as well - can you fill out that order form, too? He says he likes pose 4 the best. :)

I thank you so much!

Kym

MRS. KINDERGARTEN

No problem! I have some extra forms on my desk and I'll make sure that Jordan has them for the
pictures!

ME:

Thanks so very much! I appreciate it!

MRS. KINDERGARTEN, later:

WOOOWEEE!!!  Wait till you see Jordan’s picture.  From what I saw on the screen, he was looking good!

ME:

LOL! I can’t wait! His munchkin face just cracks me up!

MRS KINDERGARTEN:

I showed him what you said……he laughed.  He came to give me his papers for his folder and he said his sister always messes with his stuff in his folder.  So I asked him how old she was and he told me about 3.  He told me she says bad words we are not supposed to say.  I said, ooohhhh, does she?  Does your mom get her?  He said yeah, she always does and sends her to her room.  I laughed.  He is such a great kid!!!! He is nice, polite, smart, and is such a good student. I just love him.  If I had a class full of him, I would be in heaven.


************


I almost peed on myself from laughing so hard. My students all thought I was nuts.

Sunday's To Do List

1. Wash the orange marker scribbles from Kaelyn's face despite the fact that she said her make-up is sooooo pretty.
2. Go to Savannah with Chance and Apollo to have last beta drawn.
3. Get coffee on the way there because Daylight Savings Time has us all draggin' ass.
4. Come home and eat the delicious barbecue food fares (namely, Tequila-Lime spare ribs) that Frank will prepare in our absence.
5. It will be over 80^o today, so perhaps we'll spread a bunch of blankets outside and have a picnic.
6. Email the last few entrants of the sock exchange. 
7. Search online for socks to send to my sock buddy.
8. Write lesson plans for the week. Debate on whether or not the objective "After being connected to remote control shock collars, the students will be able to exhibit proper behavior 100% of the class period and will also be able to demonstrate understanding of appositive, adjective, and adverb clauses with at least 75% accuracy" will be grounds to have me fired.
9. Wash the girls' hair.
10. Get Frank to cut the boys' hair.
11. Eat more barbecued chicken.
12. Watch Big Love and Flight of the Conchords.
13. Either fall asleep at a reasonable time or stay awake to start the first edition of the Chronic Insomniac Theater here at Smart One.

What's on your Sunday To Do List?

The inbox monster ate my homework

I think my email inbox has a monster that is a distant relative of the sock monster. You know the one that hides in your dryer and eats 2 out of the 5 socks that you put in there, so it seems like random socks just go missing? Poor Tash tried to email me over several days and there is no record of her contact. They didn't get filtered through to my junk mail and I didn't accidentally delete them. They're just not there. I also had a situation where a kind person who is donating meds didn't receive an reply which I sent to her last Friday. Thankfully, she followed up today and sent along her Skype name, so we were able to make arrangements through a short chat this morning.

So to be safe, I have to assume that some of you may have emailed me about participating in Sock-it-to-Me and I haven't received the information. Therefore, I'm extending the sign-up period to this Sunday, March 8. I will still send out the matches through the weekend, but I want to give everyone the chance to sign up. If you've already posted about the exchange on your blog, can you please post about the extension to help the word get out? Thanksabunchamillion.

Good things for you to know:

1. I have sent a return email to everyone that I actually received an email from. If you sent something and I haven't written you back, it's likely that your email was chomped by the inbox monster, too.

2. Alternate methods of contact:
        a. you can email again at kyrajaATyahooDOTcom

        b. hit me up on Skype -- my username is kymberli78. If you add me, please send a message    letting me know who you are so that I don't think you're a psychofreakstalker and deny               the request.

3. Here's the list of participants thus far:

Mommy in Waiting
Life in the White House
Angry Infertile
Dragondreamer's Lair
I Married Barney Rubble, Now What?
Bella and Her Fella
ISO and the Golden Egg
Eggs Benedict Arnold
All Grown Up
Ny New Reality
Geek by Marriage
3 of a Kind Working on a Full House (today is her birthday, so please go wish her a happy one!)
Kelly (non-blogger, but avid blog reader!)
Not So Newlywed
Mojo Working
Parenthood for Me
The Johnson's Have Angel Wings
Childbearing Hips
The New Life of Nancy
Baby Smiling in the Backseat
I Won't Fear Love
Scared and Scarred
Life Induces Thoughts, Mostly Random
Dead Baby Jokes
Jubenvilles (private blog)
Life and Times of KimboSue
Can You Imagine
My So-Called Life
Contrary to Popular Belief
Isn't TTC Supposed to Be Fun?
Tales of a Brown-Eyed Girl
Were You Looking for Me?
I Want to be a Mommy
Letting It Out
A Little Hope
Awful but Functioning
Lilly of the Low Plains
The Happy Hours
Live, Love, Give
It's Just Me
Wrong Turn to Babyland
Learning to Accept My Infertility
Who Shot My Stork?
Schroedinger's Zygote
The Problem with Hope (private blog)
Sell Crazy Someplace Else
Embracing Happenstance
It's Either Sadness or Euphoria
Our Life
What a Long, Strange Trip I'm On
Reproductive Jeans
So It Goes
Do Without Doing
Staying Above the Water
Alexandra (non-blogger, but avid blog reader!)
Okaasan Mommy and More
Life Goes On
Arpac's On the Move
Wendy
Vanilla Dreams (private blog)
Quiet Sanctuary
Cat's in the Cradle (private blog)
Wishing, Hoping, and Praying

The ghetto-sexy Io of Who Shot My Stork called me a biznatch in the comments and said she was participating, but I still need her info. So hit me up, ho!

If your blog or name isn't there and you should be there, please contact me via one of the aforementioned avenues or you can always try to email me again by clicking on the link up there under my picture.

Everyone, be on the lookout for your sock assignments through the weekend! If you haven't heard from me by Monday morning at the latest, please leave a comment for me somewhere on my blog!

In other random news....

The lady that Chance and Apollo are renting from has grown increasingly psycho in the past month. So...as of yesterday they are "homeless," as they like to joke, and are now shackin' up with me and the Crazy Crew. Apollo DEMANDED that he be given the sheets with the poo smeared on them, but much to his dismay, Frank had already laundered said sheets. Boohoo. Or maybe Boopoo. Their dog is running around trying to hump my dog, so we have our own little canine freakshow going on. Hopefully Chance and Apollo will be able to find a new place to rent soon, but in the meantime, it's nice having them closer. But so help me Cheeto and for the love of Spam, if my dog AGAIN manages to get knocked up before I do, I will lose my flippin' mind. Someday I need to tell you that story.

Even better proof that I'm raising them right....

This morning Jordan woke up wailing about a stomach ache. His 101.3^o fever confirmed a day home from school with Gatorade and chicken soup (if they don't have Gatorade and chicken soup when they're home sick, they insist that they will be sick forever). He crawled into my bed and made little weak whimpering noises through SpongeBob.

Kaelyn said to Jordan, "Are you sick? I will take care of you, Jo-Jo. You're my big brother. You need some medicine? You want some grapes?"

"No," he replied, "but could you lay down with me and watch cartoons?"

And so she did.

And he stopped whimpering.

Proof that I'm raising her right...

Kyra:

"For my birthday in June, I'm having a dress-up day. We're going to eat little cakes and have tea while we get pretty. All my friends are me are going to wear make-up and have a fashion show. If any boys show up, they're going to be our butlers and servants."

Next time, I'll be more specific

A few months ago I posted a video in which 35-month old Kaelyn explained that she didn't want to use the potty because she didn't want to be a big girl. We've been gently nudging her in the right direction since then and I think she's finally decided to put the Pull-ups behind her. In just the past week she's had four dry days and yesterday she made it through a whole day of fun with a road trip to Savannah and hours at Chuck E. Cheese without an accident. Last night we even braved putting her to bed without a Pull-Up and this morning she was dry. Yes! Success!

Sort-of.

Today, there was this --

Frank: KYYYYYYYYYYYYYYMMMMM!!! Look what your daughter did!

Me: What?

Frank: I just put her down for her nap about fifteen minutes ago. I heard her banging on her door calling for me, and look -- she took off all her clothes, pooped over there in the corner, and used the corner of her sheet to wipe her butt.

Me: Kaelyn, why didn't you get out of the bed so that you could go to poop on the potty?

Kaelyn (speaking in a DUH! tone of voice, gesturing with her palms up and fluttering her eyelashes for emphasis): Well, you saaaaid not to come out when I'm takin' my nap and you saaaaid not to poop in my underwear!

Me and Frank: *speechless and fighting laughter*

Touche, you little turd. You got me. Add this one to the Kids are Assholes list.

31

So. I was chillin' out maxin' relaxin' and coolin' in my brand spankin' new mattresses when el Cinco came bursting into the room, having just returned from a shopping trip with my mom. Because she won't be here tomorrow, the family decided to celebrate my birthday one night early.

To show you how much my family is pulling for this cycle (I can't even think about using the p-word), there was a cake with a rainbow on it.

A couple of days ago, my sister Dani asked what I wanted for my birthday and I told her, "What I really want, no one can give me." So, she got me the next best thing -- hope.

Mom and Frank planned a weekend getaway for us (Frank and me, that is) to my favorite quiet place. Frank and I get to spend Friday through Sunday walking on the beach and doing a whole bunch of nothing. In this particular case, nothing is a whole lot of something, and I am grateful for it. I'm in need of a recharge and this is a perfect opportunity. We'll sleep in, take in a few movies, and veg out. Me likey.

Best of all, dark, dark, and darker. Come on little Skittle; you can do it!

And finally -- Jordan. Because I'm totally grooming him to be a future stripper. (Yes, I recorded this sideways. I'm too lazy to fix it).

 

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Go to the Mattresses

Conversation in the van yesterday with Kyra and Jaiden:

Jaiden: Where did you and Daddy go after you dropped us off at the birthday party?

Me: We went to buy new mattresses.

Kyra: Ooh! Are they at home now?

Frank: Not yet. They'll be delivered Tuesday morning.

Jaiden: What kind did you buy? Is it a Tempur-Pedic? Those are good for back support and neck alignment.

Frank: Uuuh, no. We got a Sealy Posture-Pedic.

Kyra: Sweet! Now you won't have to count those sheep anymore - "We count sheep, so you don't have to!" Did you get the kind with the Euro-foam pillowtop?

Jaiden: And did you buy them from Badcock Home Furnishings? Because right now they're having a sale where if you buy a king-size mattress, you can pay just a queen-sized price!

Kyra: Yeah, and if you spend over $1,000, you also get $200 in FREE home decor and accessories.

Me: You two watch entirely too much TV.

::::::::

Scene from You've Got Mail, featuring Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan:

KATHLEEN: My business is in trouble. My mother would have something wise to say.

JOE: I'm a brilliant businessman. It's what I do best. What's your business?

KATHLEEN: No specifics, remember?

JOE: Minus specifics, it's hard to help. Except to say, go to the mattresses.

KATHLEEN: What?

JOE: It's from The Godfather. It means you have to go to war.

KATHLEEN: The Godfather? What is it with men and The Godfather?

JOE: The Godfather is the I Ching. The Godfather is the sum of all wisdom. The Godfather is the answer to any question. What should I pack for my summer vacation? "Leave the gun, take the cannoli." What day of the week is it? "Maunday, Tuesday, Thursday, Wednesday." And the answer to your question is "Go to the mattresses."

You're at war. "It's not personal, it's business. It's not personal it's business." Recite that to yourself every time you feel you're losing your nerve. I know you worry about being brave, this is your chance. Fight. Fight to the death.

:::::

We've had those mattresses since we were married. A lot has happened in those almost-thirteen years. A lot has happened on those mattresses. The angst of cycle after negative cycle was spent on those mattresses. But despite that, we were ultimately still able to conceive on those mattresses instead of in some clinical, impersonal setting (actually, I think Jordan was conceived on the floor in my sister's bedroom, but don't tell her I told you that). We were able to bring our on-the-mattress conceived babies home to those same mattresses, where over time, each of them has had their moments of peeing, puking, and pooping on those mattresses. 

On the weekends, the five of them (nephew TJ included) climb under the blankets of those mattresses, squeezing themselves around me and Frank, touching us with their frosty feet while dropping not-so-subtle hints about the pancakes they want Frank to make for breakfast. We camp out on those mattresses, cuddled up together, eating popcorn and watching movies.

I have kind-of an attachment to those mattresses, where so many memories, both good and bad, were born and lived. It's time to let them go, though. They're from another day, bought early in our marriage when there was little money and it made sense to forego quality over cost. We've outgrown them, and when those queen-sized mattresses are moved out, they'll be replaced on Tuesday with ones of the kingly persuasion.

As we drove away from the furniture store yesterday (Badcock, just as Jaiden guessed), the thought occurred to me that it's because of those old, overworn mattresses that I'm driven to go to the mattresses as a surrogate. I got off relatively easy in my fight, but it's not fair that anyone should have to fight at all, much less fight as hard as most other infertiles have to. I have a lot of fight left in me. Watch how I flex my muscles and kick some ass.

Go to the mattresses. That's damned right.

BTW - the lines on my tests are growing steadily darker, and Dr. Sleepy said he'd be happy with a beta of at least 100 on Thursday.

Sunday Cycling Update

Though there's a little less fluid, my lining is still a 6. Bitch. I'm now adding in 2 estrace twice per day in addition to the 4 Vivelle patches. I actually feel a bit relieved because I had the feeling that the Vivelle alone wasn't going to do it this time. The RE said to take both orally, but I'm thinking of shoving the evening pills up the primrose prodded path. I've seen other people's linings jump 4-5 mm in the space of days doing estrace that way. It can't hurt. At least I'll know it will get to where it's gotta go. I go in Friday for another date with the dildocam.

Chance's ovaries are perking up slowly but surely. Right now she has 4 measurable follicles on the left (all measuring 6-8) and has seven on the right (a couple of 6's, couple of 7's, some 8's and 9's and a 14 that I think might over-mature and be lost while the others catch up). She's to continue on 450 units Follistim and has her next u/s on Wednesday.

No one has given us projected dates but at this rate, I predict that she might trigger on Friday or Saturday, retrieve by Sunday, and we'll transfer Wednesday or Friday of next week. That's just my totally uneducated, talking out of my ass, gut instinct guess.

All in all, we left the clinic this morning feeling a lot calmer than we did when we arrived. It seems like our bodies are moving in sync with each other at a slow and steady pace. Now if we can only win the race....

I thank all of you for your words of support and your continued love and well-wishes. Some of you guys had me cracking up in the comments yesterday. Frank is still in the think-aloud process of his new recipe: Maybe I should do just mascarpone? No, I'll do a blend of the cream cheese and mascarpone. Maybe I should infuse a bit of a peach flavor to the glaze? Hmmm.... He's standing in the kitchen right now staring at the wall with a far away glaze in his eyes. You'd think he was catatonic if you didn't know any better. But no - his mind is baking up a sugary banquet of deliciousness. He's planning to bake on Thursday night. I'll have pics and a recipe to share. I wish I could send you all cupcakes.

Gotta run. I just realized that it's quiet in here. In a house of five children, long periods of silence is never a good thing. My radar is beeping....

The almost never-ending Umoja picture post

The last few weeks have been insanely busy with all of the Christmas to-do and prep for Chance and Apollo's arrival. I was way behind on blog posts. I had them floating around, and now that I have the time to write them, I realize it will take way too long to peck out each individual post. So, here's another drive-by update, but with pictures.


Today is the first day of Kwanzaa - seven days with seven principles. I'll explain in detail tomorrow and for the next six days, I'll explain the priciple for that day. Today's prinicple is Unity - Umoja.

Here are some pictures of Smart One Family Umoja:

The Yearly Trip to the Tree Farm

The traditional tree farm family picture

The kids climbed up into the huge oak tree to pose for a picture. When I asked Kaelyn if she wanted me to put her up there so that she could be in the picture, she gave a silent reply with an expression which I'm sure said, "You must be out of your flippin' mind, woman."

I did manage to snap this one of Kaelyn with her stunna shades on.

Jaiden and Jordan running through the trees.

One of my favorite pictures of Kyra and Kaelyn.

Dani, me, and Chanel
Mommy Lady in the front.

I know we're sexy; don't hate.

SISSSSSTEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERRSSSS!!!

One day I'll have to tell you all the story of how we came to yell "SISSSSSSSSTEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRSSS!"

Who needs Abercrombie & Fitch when you can Grababootie & Pinch?

Homemade Sugar Scrub = Homemade Mess All Over the Kitchen Table

A few weeks ago, niobe posted a recipe for homemade sugar scrub. I thought that would make cheap, easy, and fun gifts for the kids to make for their teachers.

Jordan and Jaiden measure out sugar and baby oil.

Kyra and Jaiden measure. We doubled the recipe that niobe posted. What happens when your mom is a teacher? She makes you use 1/8, 1/4, and 1/3 measuring cups for real-world application math problem solving situations.

One day he'll hate me for posting this picture.

Kaelyn got in on the action.

"I PITY THE FOOL!!!"

A word of caution: a little food coloring really does go a long way. They each barely used 5 drops. Their teachers might end up with day-glo skin, but at least they'll smell good and be silky-smooth.

Jordan's First School Program and Kyra's Girl Scout "Fashion Show" Christmas Party

At the kids' school, the Kindergarteners traditionally do the December program. This year, they sang Christmas and New Year's songs from around the world. Jordan's class sang the Chinese New Year song Gung Hay Fat Choy. The kids had to wear their robes in effort to invoke an Asian influence. He was so proud and cheesed through the whole program.

KyraGirl PrissyPants gets gussied up for her Girl Scout holiday party.

Christmas Day 2008

Christmas morning at 2:31 a.m. after "Santa" visited.

Kaelyn cuddles up to a couple of stuffed lambs? sheep? What the heck are those?

What man gets this excited over a special chicken fryer thingy?

I love me some him. His chicken is pretty damned good, too.

The kids have been hording money in a shoebox for the past couple of months. Dani bought el Cinco this ATM bank thing. It has a real card and keeps up with deposits and withdrawals. You can see how impressed they were. Between the money they had already saved, their Christmas money, and loose change they've been finding around the house, they have over $80.00 saved. 

Their art teacher did a unit on origami a couple of months ago and since then, Jaiden has had an obsession with folding paper. This ended up being one of his favorite gifts this year.

My dad bought everyone got new bikes this year, and this is Kaelyn's first bike ever. The bikes were the last presents they got yesterday. My dad had them in the playroom hidden under blankets. After they had opened all of their other gifts, he took them into the playroom to show them his "tent."

Watch the video below to see their expressions when he pulls off the blankets.

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ICLW Intro and drive-by update

I'm a Smart One 101 for ICLW'ers:
I am Kym - I blog about being a mom, wife, and teacher, but mostly about being a gestational surrogate.
Children? I have four, all conceived on Clomid. Add in my nephew who we're raising and you get el Cinco.
Love my husband Frank. We've been married for 12 years and together for 15. He cooks hella good food.
Waiting impatiently for the mid-January transfer for my friends and intended parents, Chance and Apollo.

If you're a newbie to the land of the Smart (Ass) One, tell me a few things about yourself in the comments and I'll be sure to make a visit to your blog today. I'm sure I'll make it to visit you at some point in time this week, anyway. I have no reason NOT to make Iron Commenter this week, seeing as I have a blessed two weeks off from work.

I have a few random posts clogging my mind that I didn't have the time to fling into cyberspace in the last couple of weeks. Those will be making their way out over the next few days, but in the meantime, here's a classic drive-by update:

• PCOS is a bitch. Now THERE'S a revelation. Even regulated by BCPs, my stupid period still showed two days late, starting today when it should have started the day before yesterday. In the long run of things it's not a big deal and doesn't throw off our schedule in any way, but the frustration of my screwy cycles just had to be voiced. It would have been nice not to have spent the last couple of days half flipped out over the concern that my period would not start on its own. AGAIN. Thankfully, all is well now on the uterine front and hopefully this is the last period I will have to worry about for a very, very long time.
•  Apollo and Chance paired with me and Frank make a kick-ass team playing Cranium. Last night we waxed the team comprised of my mom, sisters, and father. Like me, Apollo is a fountain of useless trivia. There was no hope for the other team.
• Speaking of hope -- I haz it. I'm actually starting to freak myself out a little. I don't have a problem with my head being in the clouds, but only if my feet stay on the ground. Firmly. But there's a certain lightness that I can't deny, like the gravity (grave-ity?) of the situation isn't working half as hard as it did in the last journey. Even if I didn't realize it then, in retrospect I can see that I practically trudged through the last journey, my fears and doubts dragging like a ball and chain behind me. This time, I find that I feel more attached to my hopes and dreams than to my fears and doubts. Pardon the incoming corn (there's just no way around it), but my hopes are like a kite, soaring high above any negativity. It's pulling me along, wanting to go higher, but I reel it in and keep it tethered with a stretch of realism and plain old infertility-honed skepticism. Ball and chain or kite? I'll take the kite for a high and doubling beta please, Alex.
• Niobe and Antigone - so soon. 
• Please pay a visit to Living, Loving, Giving and welcome her to blogland. She's a friend and colleague of mine who is embarking on a journey of her own as a gestational surrogate.

Today's Lupron headache has landed, so I'm going to soothe it with a Krispy Kreme and sleep it off. I'll be catching up on blog reading and commenting now that the rush has slowed down into an lazy pace.

Color by number

It's not the specifics like the meal and desserts that Frank prepared or even the intricacies of our visit with Dr. Sleepy that stand out about meeting Chance and Apollo for the first time. There are hundred play-by-play details that I could tell you about my first "Chance" encounter. In the end, the little things are not what stand out.

What does stand out are two things. One is the sum of those parts which results in a feeling that can only be described as synergy -- from the moment they pulled up in my driveway, there was an immediate confirmation of the chemistry we felt from a thousand miles away. Everything just feels so right. We fell into easy conversation and there weren't any uncomfortable lulls. I didn't expect that there would be; we've been talking through our webcams since we first "met" online in March. Going from cam-to-cam to face-to-face didn't seem like much of a stretch.

What I did worry a little about was immersion in el Cinco. I knew that being here in this house of many children was a challenge to face and hopefully overcome for Chance and Apollo. Infertility and loss can make being around a child daunting. And here - they're everywhere. At once. They buzz around like hyper little bees and it's almost impossible to not either hear or see any less than two of them at a time. I didn't worry much about the emotional impact of the oldest four. It was Kaelyn, with her just-past-baby, barely three-year-old cuteness that concerned me a bit. The other thing that stood out (at least to me), ended up being a Kaelyn moment.

Kaelyn is not one who quickly warms up to strangers. She typically hides behind legs and around corners, sizing people up from a distance before she decides that new company is worth her smiles and conversation. Chance and Apollo were barely through the door before she grabbed their hands and led them to the kitchen table where she had been coloring. "You sit here," she said to Chance as she indicated a seat to her right. "And you sit here," directing Apollo into a seat to her left. "Here, Chance. You can use the pink crayon. Color this part right here. You can use this blue one, Apollo. Color that page." As they sat there rubbing impossible colors onto black and white pages, I was struck with the thought that under better circumstances, a similar scene could have been, should have been a part of Chance's and Apollo's past and present. I prayed right then and there that what I was looking at was a glimpse into their future.

Things feel too right for this to end wrong. None of us think much further past the goodness of the here and now; that way, there's little time to dwell on the what ifs.

It is real. It is surreal. We've spent hours together sharing laughter and good company, yet there is still an element of disbelief. I'm not sure that it has completely sunk in yet for either of us. Even with morning needles and scheduled RE appointments, there is still an element of incredulity. It is a welcome incredulity - the type where there is understanding of the possibility for miracles to happen. Like I said before - we don't dwell on the alternative for too long.

Just knowing that we're on the precipice of 2009, the year that could be the one which colors Chance's and Apollo's lives, well...that's enough for us. For now.

Drive-by updates

Occasionally I get so busy that I don't have time to write a coherent and flowing blog post but have a lot to say. What you end up with, Dear Reader, is a wham-bam-thank you, m'am update. Here we go:

• Chance and Apollo will be here in SIX days! Freakin' out now, in a good way, of course. They'll make it to their rental in the Savannah area on Sunday and will likely make it out to my house to meet the crazies a week from today.
• Tomorrow through Friday I will be out of the classroom on professional leave to attend a major national middle school conference/workshop in Savannah. Get busy, no students! Shake your booty, no students! One one hand, this is awesomeness. On the other, I'm afraid that my 8th grade hoodlums will burn down the classroom walls and start WWIII while I'm gone. 
• I might have random blog posts and commenting through this week because I will be going ballistic with cleaning areas that haven't been touched in months like walls and windows. I will be reading along, though but forgive me if I don't comment as much in the coming days.
• Chance and Apollo will be here in SIX days! Aaaaaah!
• There is a small chance that we MIGHT NOT get to cycle, even though I'm supposed to start Lupron on Saturday. There was a hang up last week with Chance's CD3 b/w and she wasn't able to have her labs drawn until CD5. Dr. Sleepy said we could still cycle if her CD5 estrogen levels were still low. The trouble is is that her b/w results are all tied up in a bunch of unnecessary red tape hoopla, and we won't know for sure if we're cycling now until those results come in. Hopefully Chance will be able to get the results by the time she and Apollo leave home at the end of the week. Good vibes, fingers crossed, and all that jazz are welcome.
• Did I mention that Chance and Apollo will be here in SIX days?
• Though Kaelyn was running a low-grade fever on Wednesday, she didn't present with any other symptoms and after the first dose of Motrin, her fever didn't return. Kyra, Jaiden, and Jordan stayed home from school last Thursday and Friday. By Friday morning they were bouncing off the walls, but we kept them home because they had not been fever-free for 24 hours yet. Saturday and Sunday they were all without fever. "YES!" I thought, "We're healthy again!" Wrong. Kaelyn popped a high fever yesterday and went from the Big! Scary! Monster! to "I don't feel good and my head is sick so can you lay down wif me and watch Drake and Josh wif me?" Then Jordan woke up this morning with a return of his fever and a headache so bad that it brought him to tears. Needless to say, Frank is now somewhere between here and the pediatrician's office with Jordan and Kaelyn in tow. *sigh* I'd much rather have them running around wrecking shop than having them languid and sick like this. 
• Frank has been experimenting with his big ass cookie recipe. Last week he mixed in a couple of bananas and added in a bit more flour and baking soda, then also some chocolate and vanilla chips. What he got was a sort of puffed-up, moist cookie-like banana bread. With coffee, hot chocolate, or tea, those bananacookiebreadwhateveryoucallits are absolutely divine.
• Just this week and next week before Winter Break! Wheeee!!!
• Thanks again to all of you who left a message for Christian either here or on his CaringBridge website. He hasn't had ANY reactions to his first IVIG treatment and people are already remarking on how much healthier he looks!
• Question - when I switched over to TypePad's new commenting system, did you have to register? My homegirl Wishy-Wish has been having issues with commenting and wants to know if you HAVE to register to be able to post a comment. I didn't think you had to, but maybe you guys did and I just don't know it.

Later this evening - check back in for a post with pictures about yesterday's yearly trip to the tree farm.

Don't come close to this blog unless you want to get the cooties

3 out of 5 of el Cinco has the cooties. Frank had to pick Kyra up from school after she'd been there for barely an hour. She went to the nurse's office with a headache and Frank was called after it was determined that she was running a fever of 101.2. Before the day was over, Frank had to go back to pick up Jordan, who was in the nurse's office with a 102 degree fever. Kaelyn the Tiny Tyrant is yelling and growling and snarling because she is a BIG! SCARY! MONSTER! RAAAWWRRR! I GONNA BITE YOUR ELBOW OFF, MOMMY!, but when she came at me with clawed fingers and pretended to amputate the bottom half of my arm with her teeth, I noticed that I could feel feverish waves of heat rolling from her little body. 101.4.

Everyone requested chicken soup (with the stars, not the noodles) and Gatorade and tea and toast and crackers and other "we're sick" foods. Jordan and Kyra each ate about half a bowl of soup and nibbled a few Ritz. Kyra stopped eating when she said she had the bubbleguts and Jordan pushed his bowl away with a sudden, panicked shriek and an blast of tears - "MY STOMACH IS ABOUT TO EXPLODE!"

I jumped over the counter-height kitchen table in single bounding Superwoman leap, scooped him up, and planted him face-down over the toilet. He slobbered and hacked a few times before deciding that his stomach wasn't full of explosive kyrptonite after all.

I'm thinking of calling in tomorrow to help take care of our sickly, clammy kiddos. Eighth grade expository writing (In this essay, ima tell you bout why I think we needta have more pep rallys) vs. exploding bubblegut tummies?  That's a no-brainer. Pass me the pukebucket and the Children's Tylenol.

Oh, shizzle - chicken and star-spangled spewage is all over the rug. Mount St. Jordan just erupted.

Sunday

"Let's eat lunch outside today," I said as I used an entire loaf of bread to make an assortment of sandwiches - peanut butter and jelly (Jordan, Kaelyn), ham & cheese/no Whip (TJ), turkey & cheese/Whip (me, Kyra, Jaiden).

"Like a pick-i-nick?" Kaelyn asked.

They all froze. Deer, headlights, and all that jazz.

"Mmmhmm. You guys go get a couple of blankets and spread them out in the backyard."

They cheered, then scattered.

 

It's such a simple thing, but little kids eat that shit up like it's the coolest thing ever. I know this to be true, because through a sticky mouthful of PB & J Jordan turned to me and exclaimed, "This is the coolest thing EVER!"

Jaiden kept making this weird orangutan/dog/sheep sound and crazy-haired Kyra couldn't stop snorting when she laughed.

Diego and Spunky prowled: You better watch those sammiches, bitches.

 

And try as we might, we couldn't get just one perfect picture where everyone was both smiling and looking at the camera at the same time.

 

But these were pretty funny, and are more reflective of the daily madness and mayhem in the house of the Smart Ones:

 
(notice Frank's socks and sandals, Nancy. Only around the house.)

Today pretty much rocked. It was the coolest thing ever.

Ice skates with knives

Some not-so-smart idiot got her dates mixed up and didn't pay $15 in time to purchase a ticket to accompany Kyra's Girl Scout troop to the Disney on Ice Show. I was feeling quite bummed about it Thursday night when her troop leader called to remind me that instead of the regular meeting on Friday night, we would drop the girls off at the meet-up location and she would drive them in her van to the civic center in Savannah. As in, an hour away, down the big, frantic highway where lunatic drivers are too busy text messaging and blathering away on cell phones to realize that they are this close to rear ending a Browniemobile.

I'm a freak like that and tend to think in worst case scenarios whenever my children are out and about without either me or Frank. My DEFCON level is set to a watchful, nervous orange until they are safely at home again. There's also a teensy ounce of me that feels preemptively homicidal, because woe be unto the unfortunate adult soul who lets something happen to my children while they are under his or her care.

Not to mention the fact that I would be missing out on Kyra's first experience seeing the ice capades. I have fond memories of seeing the Snorks on Ice when I was eight years old an in the third grade. Well, all except for the annoying itching I felt in the arch of my foot through the duration of the show. I woke up the next morning with the chicken pox and missed the next week and a half of school. Snorks on Ice = The Night Kym Got the Chicken Pox. Digression....

On Friday I was in a mild state of edgy self-flagellation for forgetting to buy the ticket. I had to fully entrust the care of my child to someone else and miss one of Kyra's firsts. So needless to say, I was quite ecstatic when just as Frank was walking out the door to drop Kyra off, her troop leader called to say that one mother/daughter pair wasn't going to go because the daughter got sick (chicken pox?). Her ticket was mine if I wanted it. I snatched the keys from Frank and grabbed my Brownie by the hand, thankful for the small stroke of luck.

All was right with the world again. My only regret is that in my haste, I didn't think to grab the camera to capture the awed twinkle in Kyra's eyes when the characters took the ice. Still, I was there to see her wonderment for myself, and the image etched in my mind is far more vibrant than any that a picture could provide.

Plus, the nervous-wreck-psycho-pleads-insanity side of me could settle down and chillax. Kyra-Pie was under my watchful eye, so there was no major risk of me needing to go tribal; I totally will not hesitate to shankaho if my kid gets hurt.

Little Black Girls

On this unusually historic morning, I went about my usual routine of prepping for work. As on any day, I stood in the mirror curling my hair as Kaelyn stood on the edge of the tub next to me, chirping away non-stop. I think I now understand the root of Kaelyn's obsession with Obama:

Me: Kaelyn, guess what?

K2: What?

Me: Obama won!

K2: (eyes wide, smile wider) He WON? He's going to bring my present now?

Me: Huh? (dawning realization) Ohh!!! No, sweetie! He's going to be our president now! He's the boss!

K2: He's going to bring my present in a box?

Me: No, silly. He's going to be our president, which means he's the boss, and he gets to live in the White House!

K2: He's going to bring my present in a box, and he's giving a white horse?

Me: You're just three, but you've already mastered the art of selective hearing like a pro.

K2: And I'm cute, too!

Me: Who said you were cute?

K2: Barack Obama!

Me: sigh

::::::::::

On a September Sunday morning in 1963, members of the Ku Klux Klan planted a bomb at the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church. The building, which was the center of the surrounding Black community and the location of many civil rights rallies and planning meetings, was destroyed. Four little girls - an 11-year old and three 14-year olds - were killed as they prepared in the church basement for the Sunday morning service. The explosion shook the city of Birmingham, Alabama, but the reverberations were felt across the entire country.

As the heart and organizational headquarters of the Civil Rights Movement, Birmingham was no stranger to racial unrest. Several other bombings and riots had occurred in the city earlier in the year. But this bombing was different. It was a catalyst for the growth of the Civil Rights Movement. The intent of the bombing was to demoralize and weaken, but instead, it awakened and strengthened. Over the next year and beyond, people of all races unified to spread the message and fight for equality. The deaths of the four innocent girls prodded many to wake up and pay attention, to not only talk about change, but to do something about change.

 

::::::::::::

Last night, I could not stop my tears from streaming as I impatiently waited for our President Elect's acceptance speech. When Obama finally took the stage, it was his daughters, not him, to whom my eyes were drawn.     

Fourty-five years ago, little Black girls were victims of hate, intolerance, and injustice, killed without reason in a house of God. I am here to see the day - my children are here to see the day when little Black girls will live with reason in the White House. My children will know the significance of November 4, 2008. This day is the result of years of change and is the start of change for years to come. What was once a far-flung dream for my people is now a reality for my children.

In Malia and Natasha, pretty little Black girls with their hair spun in to silky ringlets, I saw the faces of every child. I saw everyone who had ever been told you can't because you're Black/gay/fat/stupid/different/weird/wrong/a woman/_______. Malia and Natasha represent my little Black girls and boys, and all the children of their generation who won't have to grow up fighting so hard against you can't...

because we stood up and said yes we can.

 

The real Obama Girl (with bad morning hair) and me

Dropping deuces

Eight years ago today, I got two.

Halloween was on a Monday that year, and I was nearing the end of my second Clomid cycle. I'd felt different for most of the week before - an unrelenting pressure at the base of my pubic bone, a stiff tightness in the same area whenever I stretched, unquenchable thirst and insatiable hunger, and damn - did my boobs hurt.

Then there was the dream on Friday, three nights before the 31st. I dreamed that I'd taken a newfangled pregnancy test which not only revealed knockedupedness, but also revealed the gender of the baby - a pink squiggly line for a girl and a blue squiggly line for a boy. In the dream, I took the test and much to my surprise, there were two squiggles. One pink and one blue. The real me woke up just as the dream me felt her heart leap explosively through her chest. I sat up straight in bed, the rush of adrenaline and joy still racing through my veins. I gained my bearings and realized that I was only dreaming - my racing heart proved the reality of the adrenaline, but there was not yet anything concrete to justify the joy. Maybe some would have felt hugely disappointed to have been teased in such a manner,  but for me, the dream left in its wake a feeling of unbridled hope. Not the flimsy, pleading type of hope I'd felt cycle after long cycle through the past 2.5 years, but pure, undiluted genuine hope. Screw being scared and not wanting to let hope get the better of me. I was aloft and I relished the feeling, and I uncharacteristically clung close to it instead of brushing it away.

Three days later on the afternoon of Halloween, I found myself drawn away from the candy aisle and over to the pharmacy section. I had planned to test in another five days, which would have been 14dpo. Why not go ahead and get the tests and have them waiting? I scanned the boxes, still feeling the surge of renewed hope. This was the first time in two years I felt excited about buying pregnancy tests. This time, I wasn't buying tests in some sorry, superstitious ploy get my long-missing period to start. This time, I had a solid chance. Instead of grumbling and reluctantly grabbing the first box within arm's reach like I usually did, this time I perused the tests carefully. There was a new test on the shelf - NOW TEST FOUR DAYS BEFORE YOUR PERIOD! - I grabbed the pink and white First Response Early Detection package (back then it was FRED, not FRER), quickly throwing the plan not to test early to the wind. I was just off by one day, so what could it hurt?

I checked out with nothing but a hundred dollars worth of candy and a box of pregnancy tests. I sped home with the memory of those two squiggly lines in my mind.

Candy - flung on the floor. Box o' FREDs - gripped in hand. Bathroom door - slammed. Britches - dropped. One test dipped and set aside on the edge of the tub. I read the testing directions again, studying them intently as if I hadn't read pregnancy test directions a million times before. Full processing time is five minutes, but check after 30 seconds to ensure the test is working properly. I observed the second hand of my watch and when I saw that about 45 seconds had passed since the dipping, I cast a nonchalant glance to the right to check for proper travelling of the pee. Yup, two lines there, so it's working properly. Now just to wait for another 4 minutes or so for the resu....TWO LINES? I did a double-take. Rubbed my eyes. Two - yes, there were TWO lines. The familar white space of no was occupied by a pink, solid yes.

I ran out of the bathroom (remembering to pull up my pants only after I nearly tripped myself) and showed Frank. He looked at it with a confused expression. Then he saw the smile and tears on my face and gripped me into a tight hug. "Does this mean what I think it does?" he asked. I nodded yes, and he squeezed me tighter.

Two weeks later, our first ultrasound revealed twins. The week twenty ultrasound revealed that we were, in fact, having girl/boy twins. "Your wildest dreams come true" never made more literal sense than it did on that day.

At 37 weeks, I dropped deuces. Kyra Alexander and Jaiden Khalil. Kyra Bell and Jaiden Bug. Ki-Ki and J-Rock. Kyra Pie and Buckethead. K2 and J2.

Then later came Jordan Malik Vincent and even later came Kaelyn Imani-Rebecca L'Faye (yes, that's really her whole name). Jordy-Boy and K-Bop. Monkeyboy and Babycakes. Jo-Jo and Pixie.

1-2-3-4 -- and it all started eight years ago today.

::::::::

In my last post, I mentioned how toilety I've been feeling and even likened my mood to a turd in mid-flush. Going along with the theme I started in Craptastic, if you didn't already know, "dropping a deuce" is actually a slang phrase for taking a dump. Pooping. Going number two. Dropping a deuce. Gross, right? 

No, it's hilarious.

Deuces + K2 + J2 + TJ = el Cinco, and yesterday they were running around the living room doing silly dances and singing a new silly, made-up song. Somehow they got a hold of the phrase "dropping a deuce" along with "bust a grumpy" (which means to fart). They think that anything which deals with digestive output is matter of hysterical nature. As they bounced around the living room chanting

Bust some grumpaaaaays, drop some deuceeeehhhhs,
Bust some grumpaaaaays, drop some deuceeeeehhhs, 

I realized I didn't feel quite so crappy anymore. I couldn't.

Because they're the funniest little shits I've ever seen.

 

the gross, the good, and everything in between

1. On Saturday morning, I absentmindedly ate through half a bowl of cereal before I noticed it was sprinkled with a dash of ants. I'm scarred for life.
2. What the hell is it with this PMS thing, anyway? I'm regulated now on BCPs (YAY!), which may as well be an abbreviation for Body Crippling Pains (BOO!). I've been popping Motrin like they were Tic-Tacs.
3. Is anyone watching Heroes? Suresh is grossing me out. Hiro is cracking me up.
4. Chance's project is this close to being finished. Keep an eye out on her blog over the next couple of days and I'll give a heads up over here, too.
5. Kaelyn is the new Obama Girl. This evening she ran around the house with the Guitar Hero guitar rocking out to a song she made up which goes something like this:
   
   Barack Obamaaaaa! Obamaaaaaa! Boooomerang Obama!
   I play my guitaaaaaar! With Barack Obamaaaa! Chicken!
   I'm going to eat chicken with Barack Obamaaaa! I like chickeeeen!
   And Apple Dippers with my chicken nuggets!
   Barack Obamaaaa! I'm voting for Barack Obamaaaaa!
   And I'm a pink princess with a clown and I love Barack Obamaaaaa!
   
   I love how her mind works. In her own sing-songy way, she's basically retelling the past couple of weeks of her life. My mom took the kids to an amusement park, where the the braver and older ones rode a roller coaster called the Boomerang. We had chicken for dinner yesterday. She ate chicken nuggets and Apple Dippers when we went to Mickey D's last weekend. She also picked out a pink princess costume for Halloween. It came with a sparkly, iridescent pink crown, which with her three-weeks-past-three-year-old diction she pronounces as clown. And of course, she has some sort of obsession with Barack Obama. Which is kinda cute. I think she's forever marked as an uber-nerd because her first crush is on Barack Obama.
   
6. Frank wants to bake cookies, but he doesn't want to just bake any cookies, he wants to bake your cookies. That sounds kinda nasty, doesn't it? Like some sort of pick up line a grubby perv would use - Oooh, baby, lemme bake your cookies. Seriously - he'd like some tried and true other-people's-favorite-cookie recipes. If you got 'em, leave 'em. Greatly appreciated. By both of us, because I get to eat them. I'll share with you.
   
7. If you don't have a cookie recipe to leave, let me know what the grossest thing you've ever eaten is. This should make for an interesting appetizing/unappetizing blend of comments.
   

Technicolor

When I was about three, Mom took me to Sesame Street Live. Though a bit patchy, this is one of my earliest memories. My Grover! He was right there, live and in lovable blue fuzziness. When Mom took me to meet Big Bird after the show, I had a holy freakniption when the 7 foot tall yellow bird with the three-toed orange feet tried to hug me. Though Big Bird scared the hell out of me, it was Sesame Street! Live! with Grover! It was my first favorite memory.

When I was seven, my mom had a thing for Lionel Richie. She recorded his video Running in the Night and one day while six or seven of my friends were over, she taught us the choreography and had us acting out the whole video. Nevermind the fact that by today's standards, there is a significant cheese factor to the concept of Richie and his dance gang crashing a wedding party; but back then, you couldn't tell us nothin' -- we were some schmoove operators. The next weekend, there were twice as many kids in our living room all day long for All Night Long. 

That same year, one afternoon she checked me out of school just before lunch and took me to McDonald's to eat, then home for the rest of the day. She said she just wanted to hang out with me.

A couple of years later, Mom loaded me and Chanel into Blue the Battlewagon and said we were going grocery shopping at Sam's. For us, this meant a long trip there, an eternity spent buying jumbo-sized boxes of everything, and an even longer trip home. We sighed slouched in our seats for what we knew would be a terribly boring day. What seemed like forever later but was actually probably more like 30 or 40 minutes later, Mom piped up, "We're heeere!" I looked up from my book and Chanel looked up from picking her nose or whatever it was she was doing that little kids do in the backseat to occupy themselves boring trips. We both saw the rise of the roller coasters and in unison, we yelled, "UNCLE CLIIIIIIIIIIIIIIFSS!!!" Mom didn't take us to buy big assed boxes of cereal and a year's supply of washing powder; she had taken us to our most favoritest, funnerest, best-day-everist place in the whole danged world (or at least the world as we knew it in Albuquerque).

When I was sixteen and in my junior year of high school, I had the lead in the Spring musical. There were easily at least fifty people in the cast, comprised of students from both my high school and the other one across town. One Saturday was a full-day tech/rehearsal that lasted from 8am to 4pm, with an in-house lunch break at noon. When Mom dropped me off in the morning, I asked if she could bring me lunch at noon. When she returned a little after 12, she found me sitting amongst my friends in the cafetorium and said that I would need to bring some friends out to the car with me to bring lunch in. When I asked what in the world she was talking about, she ignored me and just beckoned for me to follow. I took three friends out with me to the car, where Mom had already opened hatchback. I stood in awe, then went back in to the cafetorium for more help. In the back of the car were aluminum pans full of fried chicken wings, loaves of sub sandwich bread, sliced deli meats and cheeses, condiments, bags of chips, sodas and juice, granola bars, cookies, and an assortment of fresh fruits. She didn't just bring lunch for me; she had brought enough for the entire cast.

*******

This past Saturday, Frank and I took el Cinco out shopping for their Halloween costumes, then out to lunch at McDonald's, where they had some time to romp around in the two-story Playland.

Afterward, we surprised them with a trip to one of the gymnasiums on post to see an hour-long USO-sponsored Sesame Street show. The older four danced and sang in the bleachers a few rows above us. Kaelyn sat on my lap with her eyes wide and smile wider, and yelled, "MOM! DID YOU SEE THAT? ELMO! HE WAVED AT MEEEE!!! AND COOKIE MONSTER, TOO! AND GROOOOOVER - HE'S THE MONSTER AT THE END OF THIS BOOK!!!" And idiot that I am, I had to fight the prickles in the corners of my eyes.

When it was over, we filed out of the gym, with el Cinco chattering animatedly about totally awesome cool it was. We came home and ate pizza, then had triple-scoop ice cream sundaes with extra cherries on top. El Cinco begged to camp out in the living room, emphasizing their plans to stay up until three or four o'clock in the morning.

9:30 pm -

  

Some cherished memories are like old photographs, the still snapshots faded sepia with the passing of time. Other memories play in my mind's eye like high-definition technicolor movies. I hope Saturday will be a technicolor Remember that time when... type of day for them, because it will be for me.

Tell me about a technicolor day from your childhood. I love hearing about special memories.