14s Enough...

Ok, let the claws come out and the meows begin because its catty time! I have a little something to say, and I am feeling a bit ranty anyway, so I am taking it out on a poor woman that I don't even know. On the flip side, she probably ain't going to read this anyway so let's start the fur flying.

What in God's name is some woman doing having eight babies on top of the six kids she already has? Really, lady? I mean... really. Maybe everyone else already knew this, but I am a little slow on the news uptake as I have three kids and that keeps me from all things "adult" (and Mark will second the all things part). Does this woman not have the hectic life that I do? Because the idea of adding one more child (let alone eight) is about as appealing as digging my eyeballs out with a spoon. I thought this was some couple desperate for a family who was seeking fertility treatments because they'd been trying for children for years and blah blah blah, but no!!! This woman lives with mommy and daddy and has six kids already. I am all for fielding your own family football team if that is your choice, but you gotta be able to raise them. That is my one caveat on the childbirth limit and I hold the world and myself to the same standard. (That is why this baby factory is closed). If you can't financially, physically or emotionally raise those kids on your own, then you shouldn't have more children. Full stop (as the Brits say). This woman lives with her parents to raise the six she's got. Can they all handle 14? What is she going to do if her parents die? God forbid, she may inherit some funds but who is going to change those eight diapers while she chases her twin toddlers while the other four need a ride to school?

I don't blame this woman for not wanting to abort some of the implanted eggs that developed into fetuses. This is not a blog about picking some lives over others. I think if I were told that I had eight babies living in me, I would keep all eight as well. I feel that the reproductive team that allowed this to happen is at fault. Those babies face a much higher chance of developmental problems because there were eight of them. Not to mention, a little bit of common sense for the future kiddos. (I threw in kiddos in honor of the fab four... they know why). I get that the doctors said they don't have the right to say how big a family should be, but what about those eight kids and their right to be raised... not herded? I understand the challenges of reproductive issues (ok, I got pregnant on birth control, so I don't really... but I know people who have gone through it) and I know that the higher number of eggs implanted means the greater chance of one working, but this woman already had six kids. And not at one time, so she had six kids from five viable pregnancies. This is not someone who is struggling in fertility land. So, why would that reproductive team feel the need to implant eight? Why not go with two or three? Granted, I don't know the situation, and I am in a angsty mood today anyway, but come on?? I have three kids and some days (hello, all days) that feels like three too many. I question how 14 are going to get the love, attention and adoration in a one on one capacity that they deserve. I told you I was going to be catty... call me Fluffy for the rest of the post.

Hey, if she can do it... I guess she can write her own blog and prove me wrong, but I am saying that I find it incredibly irresponsible. Just because Jon and Kate Plus 8 gets their own tv show to fund their family doesn't mean you will, Ms. Anonymous Plus 14. I love my kids, but that doesn't mean I want to crank out 11 more. My friend Laura once told me the best advice when it comes to how many children to have. They stopped at two and she said, "After that get dogs." Just kidding.... that's my advice. She really said that she and her husband talked about having more, but then just decided that they should do the best they could with the two they've got. So, a little shout out to our single mommy of 14 living at home with her 'rents.... maybe you ought to do the best you can with the 14 you've got and leave the fertility treatments to those who need it!

The Hygiene Debate

Did you know that there is a whole world of people out there worried about whether or not you use a washcloth in the shower? Really.... nothing better to do, people??? I had no idea, and quite frankly had never given that a single thought in my entire life. But, my friend Lori (who doesn't really have anything better to do) apparently thinks about it quite a bit. Her husband, who I lovingly call Jeff the Wonder Fixer, is a manual laborer (her term, not mine). He is a house flipper. A successful one at that, so he is rehabbing houses right and left and coming home a pretty dirty fella. Lori's complaint (that she has not yet voiced to him... so if he is reading this... uh... sorry) is that with all that dirt and grime, he only uses a bar of soap and his hands. (That sounds like a different kind of dirty). After she mentioned it, I realized that Mark doesn't use a washcloth either. But, that doesn't bother me so much because he doesn't work up much of a sweat or get too down and dirty working as a computer nerd. I am more worried that his butt might fuse to his chair. No washcloth in the world will prevent that.


During our "to cloth or not to cloth" conversation, Lori told me that there is an entire Internet world devoted to debating this topic. Wah huh??? I googled (we all know my love of all things Google) "washcloth or not" and got 1,100,000 hits. Its everything from people accusing non-cloth users that they don't actually scrub the dirt off to people saying washcloths are germ farms. I personally use a puff, so I think I am the best of the options. Ha!


The really funny part of talking about this was that the fab four (me and my ladies) had totally interesting post-shower habits. If you knew what they looked like I would say picture all three blushing right now... but since you don't, just imagine their embarrassment would be similar to yours if I was going to put some personal stuff about you out here. Homa doesn't use a towel. She steps right out of the shower and into flip flops and a robe. She only uses a towel on her head. To take Homa and her habits one step further, her family will not wash towels with anything other than towels, and bathmats or floor towels must be kept to a separate wash. I, apparently being a nasty, nasty girl throw towels in the with the whites and because my bath mats are dark blue, they go in with the darks. No one wants to hang out with me anymore, huh? Laura, on the other hand, is a washcloth user. But, she gets a fresh one each day therefore circumventing the whole germ farm infestation in the shower (in fact, she used to use two per shower... one for body, one for face). She also gets a fresh towel each day. In fact, her direct quote is that it never occurred to her to use it more than once. Me (aka Dirty Girl) on the other hand, will use my towel a good 3 or 4 times prior to washing it... unless it gets dirty or touches the sink or floor. Once a towel hits solid anything (which excludes my body since I am more jiggly than solid) it is toast.



I had no idea the quirks that could be hidden behind that shower curtain. I had never thought about it, at least. But, now I am curious. If you have any bathroom quirks or strong feelings on the cloth or no cloth debate, let me know. Inquiring minds and all that...

Random Wednesday

I usually like to throw a Wednesday "what the..." out there, but this week I have no "what the" to throw. Apparently the world makes sense, at least for today. So, I thought I would steal something from the wonderful world of Facebook... a place that I love to hate.

A few people have sent me notes where they list 25 completely random things about themselves. I have been astounded at what I have learned. My cousin Heidi eats breakfast every day in the bathtub (I had no idea), Tara in Seattle gets the shakes from a trip to WalMart (I hear that) and my friend Amie thinks she is shy (ok, that one I knew). I decided today would be the day that I put mine out there. I am going to just type in the first 25 things I think of when thinking about myself. We'll see what comes up! I welcome you to put yours (or a couple at least) in the comments so we can all get a glimpse of people when they just let the thoughts fly.

1. I am a compulsive fidgeter. (Picture Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman with a tick and that is me).
2. I love my boys more than I would have ever thought possible.
3. I hate putting clean laundry away more than any other chore.
4. The smell of original scent Palmolive is one of my favorite smells. Bentley's feet is another.
5. I LOVE to be the center of attention, except when I am with my extended family and then I become quite shy.
6. I hate, hate, hate to travel.
7. I cannot spell guarantee or restaurant without the help of spellcheck. (I spelled both wrong when I typed this).
8. Diet Coke and chocolate milk are the only two things I drink regularly.
9. I have a strange addiction to waffle fries. Mmmmm.... waffle fries. (Sounds of stomach growling).
10. I still have nightmares about college math classes.
11. I secretly enjoy cooking, even though I complain about it and am not the next Top Chef (or runner up... or honorary mention... or cook whose food is tolerable).
12. I really hate my pink hair extensions.
13. I would live in a baggy t shirt and yoga pants if I could, but I never actually wear that outside of bedtime.
14. I don't believe in saving things for a special occasion, but I do ration good stuff so it lasts longer.
15. I read voraciously (thanks to Amie, who I have some books to give back to).
16. I love that Will is so active even though it drives me and most other inhabitants of his space crazy.
17. I have yet to start calling Yuki by her new name... although I do call her MissyBellaYuki most of the time.
18. Italian food is my favorite.
19. Sometimes I feel too embarrassed to smile at something I find funny... and I don't even know why.
20. I am not friends with anyone from my childhood or college anymore. What does that say about me?
21. I hate that longer fuller shirts are going to be out of style soon, and will be replaced with backless bandana shirts or tube tops. Yay for fat girl fashion being in style.
22. I still want a breast lift.
23. I eat dinner food for breakfast (like leftover chili) and I like it.
24. I fear and hate change.
25. I think I really might be the next American Idol, except I fear that I'd really be the next William Hung.

So... what's your randomness?

Jack? Are you still there?

"911... what is your emergency?"

Me: Well, my 5 month old hasn't woken up yet.

911: Is the baby in distress?

Me: I think he's sleeping. He never woke up during the night and its 8:30a.m. and he still hasn't woken up.

911: Is your baby breathing?

Me: I think so. I can see him on the video monitor.

911: Ma'am... if you can see your baby and your baby is breathing, I assume he is just asleep.

Me: But that means he slept through the night?

911: Yeah, it happens eventually.

Ok, so I didn't really call 911... but that conversation went through my head about 400 times this morning. Jack slept from 8:45pm to 8:30am. NO FEEDINGS! Picture angels singing hallelujah while the clouds part and golden sunshine pours down upon my sparkling home. The funny part is... Jack's sleep led to me not being able to sleep at all.

I woke up and Mark had already left for work. I assumed that Jack must have woken up in the night and Mark fed him. So, I wait for him to wake up for another meal. I check the video monitor... he's there on his back like always. I assume he is breathing, but I can't tell for sure. I call Mark and he says that no, he didn't feed Jack. Jack slept through the night. Tabbi starts getting ready for school, so I assume Jack will be up any second. No. No movement coming from his crib. For a minute, I am taken back to a blog entry I read once (Moosh In Indy... she's good. Go read her). The writer said that she would wonder if her daughter was ok in the crib sometimes, but if she went to check, she would wake her up. So, she would ponder what to do thinking that if she checked, she'd wake her, and if she didn't check something might be wrong. Then she thought that if there was something wrong, what was she going to do about it? I had that moment of...well, if something is wrong, its been wrong for awhile and there's no changing it, but if he is peacefully sleeping I am not going to risk that! So, I waited. I watched. I wanted to take advantage of this once in a lifetime (or 6 month) opportunity to sleep in, but I couldn't. I was busy waiting and watching. Watching and waiting. By 8:30ish, he was awake. Crisis averted.

This is not the first time that Mr. Jack forced me to contemplate his mortality. When I was about 10 or 12 weeks along, my doctor couldn't find his heartbeat. She kept trying and trying and all you could hear was the swoosh of her moving the doplar across my belly. Finally she found a beat, but no... that was mine. Swoosh. Swoosh. Finally... another beat. Nope... mine again. Swoosh. Swoosh. Nothing. My OB was very pragmatic. Its possible that the baby was behind the uterus and therefore the beat was too soft to be picked up. Or, its possible that there is no beat. So, let's schedule an ultrasound and check. At the ultrasound, my mom and I watched as they gooed me up and put the scanny part (technical term, I am sure) on my belly. A baby appeared. But, it was still as still can be. I looked at my mom and saw her tear up and I cannot even remember who spoke at that time, but one of us said that it wasn't moving. Its funny that I can usually remember details down to what people are wearing at the moment of a certain event or conversation, but this time... I can't even remember who said what. The ultrasound operator responded "that's a still picture." She turned on the live stream and the heart just fluttered away. He was behind the uterus just like the doctor said.

Later, around 26 weeks I was upstairs getting ready for a gorgeous and sunny Saturday. I was showering and went to get dressed, pulled on my pants and felt a gush. Gushes are never good. At first I thought I wet my pants. I never did that with my first pregnancy, but I knew others that did, so I assumed it was pee pee time. Diapers for everyone! Then I pulled down my drawers and it wasn't urine. It was fire engine red blood. I went numb for a minute and couldn't even comprehend what was happening. An intelligent person would have been dialing their doc before they pulled up their grunders (translation... underwear. Lynn speak...sorry). Instead, I called my mom. Luckily, she is much better than I am and she told me I needed to call the doc. Doctor OB Lady says "go to hospital asap. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200." (Ok, that is not an exact quote, but you get the message). So, off we go. After hours of waiting, tests, exams... it turns out that I had a tear in my placenta. Stupid innards... always causing problems. I was admitted for observation with the understanding that if I bled too much, the placenta separated completely and they would have to deliver my way too young, not developed enough baby. The likelihood of him surviving delivery at that stage of development was around 30%. Not good odds. In most cases the placenta fully separates. In some cases, the minor bleeding keeps happening so often that you are admitted to the hospital for bed rest for the duration of your pregnancy. In my case, it happened that day and never again. If Jack were a cat, he'd be down by two lives.

So, I sat in bed today and thought about those moments. The "I think my baby is dead or dying" moments of my pregnancy. I knew in my logical mind that he was just sleeping in his crib this morning, but I waited and I watched to make sure. All I could think is that we've made it this far... there is no way I'd lose him now. And by the grace of God (and next time my butt is sleeping in) that kid slept through the night. Its a miracle... and you know what... with all those issues... he kinda is.

A Cleaning Story

Once upon a time, in a land far far away called Hoosier Land, lived a woman with three children. One year, her 9 year old stepdaughter bought her a bath and body gift set for Christmas. The woman thought the gift was lovely, but didn't often use that type of product, so it sat lovingly on her dresser until she decided what to do with it. One day, she tore open the plastic and retrieved the bubble bath (the one product she was excited to receive). After that, the bath set remained on its perch on the dresser. One night, a toddler entered the room. The toddler spotted the bath set and took out each colorful bottle and squishy sponge and examined each item to decide what was the best toy to play with. "A ha!" thought the toddler. "This white powder with the furry poof is clearly the toy for me." Little toddler opened the powder and proceeded to pour the perfume powder on his head, toes and the bedroom carpet. The stench of flowers was toxic. Suddenly the woman (who was there the whole time) looked at the son and for a brief minute thought "what is all that white stuff" and then the smell hit her and she knew.

The woman threw the toddler at her husband, told him to bathe the toddler and she ran downstairs for the vacuum. She got on her hands and knees and sucked up every speck of that perfumed powder. She realized the smell was getting stronger, and so strong in fact that the room seemed to be cloudy with the scent. She wondered if the smell was making her dizzy or hallucinate because the air literally seemed to be filled with it. But as the dutiful mother and housewife that she is, she just kept vacuuming. Suddenly she heard her husband yell from the master bath and she walked to the door, squinting through the polluted haze to see him.

Mark: What vacuum are you using?

Me: The little Eureka... duh.

Mark: You mean the one I told you the other day had no bags?

Me: Uh... yeah.

Mark: Do you not see the cloud that you've created?

Me: Uh... I thought I was hallucinating.

Mark: Nope, just dumb... but I don't think you can blame the powder.

Me: Uh... right.

Let that be a lesson to you, boys and girls. Vacuuming powder through a bagless vacuum shoots the powder into the air and makes an ubreathable toxic cloud of hell flowers. What's even more important to note is that when it settles it makes your room appear that Courtney Love stopped by with her coke and a cold. Who knew???

And the winner is....

Thank you all so much for your great dog names. We liked a bunch of them, but finally a vote was taken (yay for democracy) and while Will was still going strong for Maxandruby, Mark and Tabbi had the majority with their votes for Yuki! Congratulations and appreciation to Momo-Mama and specifically to Momo for coming up with it. Please email me at bentleysgrrl@yahoo.com with your email address so I can forward the Amazon gift certificate to you!!!

Honorable mention goes to Whitey McFluffkins, Ice Cream Sundae and Bella as our other favs!!! But, no prizes... sorry.

Yay Yuki!!!!

Name that Dog Contest

Hello Dear Creative and Wonderful Readers...

I introduced you to our new dog on "Wednesday... What the..." but there is a new development. We as a family (or Mark and I) have decided that we hate the name Missy. She's a good dog and all, but that name is crap... unless your dog is named Missy and then its pretty good. But, it doesn't fit this arctic giant, so we want a new one. We have failed miserably as a family to come up with a name, so I am going to leave it in your capable hands. Keep in mind that Frosty, Snowball and Blizzard have all been vetoed already.

I am going to leave this post until Monday, and ask that you give us any name suggestions in the comments. The name that becomes my family's favorite will be the winner and will get a $15 (cuz I am poor, ok...) Amazon gift certificate. I will ask for your email when you are notified of winning and send you the gift certificate via email. In the event of a tie, we will post our two favorites on Monday and let the readers vote. For you readers who read but don't comment, I am asking you to step up for the good of my dog and click that comment button!

So, send me your suggestions, please! This is a major SOS moment as I cannot yell "come here, Missy" at an 80 pound snowbeast anymore!!!