**I am not finding the time to update as I previously promised. So here is one post with all the updates I can muster. Once I'm back on track, hopefully I'll stay that way.**
Crash and Burn. Or Burn and Crash.
2 weekends ago, I succumbed to my 9 year old's incessant pleading and took the kids to the pool. It was a pretty hot day. I drenched my two fresh-off-the-boat-from-Ireland pale babies in sunscreen and slathered some on the Wobbs. I put some on my arms, to cover the tattoos, and on my face and neck. I couldn't really reach anywhere else and I wasn't too worried. I am half Puerto-Rican and have only gotten burned twice in my life.
Until that day.
The sun beat down on my back like a broiler melting cheese. I really didn't feel it until we got home and got in the shower. I had a huge, red spot the diameter of a frozen pizza blazing in the middle of my back.
Wobbs laughed. I cried.
To top off the day, I crashed. Literally. I fell over my own foot at a local restaurant and slammed the opposite knee into the ground. As I lay there feeling the pain of my patella shattering into pieces (okay, it didn't shatter, but it sure felt like it) people stepped over me and I heard one person ask if I was ok.
My husband heard someone say, "Who fell?" He looked over and realized it was his wife and came to help me up. I thought it was a little weird that no one else who saw me sprawled across the floor with my face wrenched up like I'd just shoved a lemon into my mouth tried to help.
I still, to the disappointed of my husband and my friends, have not gone in to see a doctor about it. What can I say? I'm stubborn. It hurts but the hassle of taking my kids with me for an appointment for me is just too much to bear right now.
My Lovey only poops once every week. Sometimes a little longer, sometimes a little less. After not having pooped for seven days, he decided to poop while we were at one of Wobbs baseball games.
I had just cleaned the extra changes of clothes out of the diaper bag, to make it lighter, so it was only fitting.
The poop crawled up his back to his shoulders. I had nothing to lay him on. It was a week's worth of poo.
I took a diaper and my teeny-tiny bag of baby wipes with me to the grass. I layed him in the grass and pulled off shoes, then socks, and then pants. I pulled his onsie up over his head. He didn't like the grass on his skin. I picked him up and put him on clean grass since the poo on his back was now on the grass.
I tried not to throw up. I held my breath.
I opened his diaper. I threw it over my shoulder.
I used every wipe I had getting the yellow toothpaste blended with sand mixture off his skin. I put a clean diaper on him and slid his pants back on. I turned around.
The smell of the diaper was so bad that kids were pointing and staring. A swarm of flies (ok, maybe just 3, but they were really big and it sounds better to say "swarm") was hovering over the open dirty diaper and onsie. I saw one of them land AND START LAYING EGGS!! OH NO!! Then another landed. Gross! I hate bugs! And the smell....AH!
I picked up the wipes with a clean wipe and tossed them on top of the diaper-fly-maggot egg-sandwich. The flies now descended upon the onsie so I grabbed the top of it and threw it on the wipes. I repeated to myself, "It's a ten cent onsie from a garage sale. Just throw it away," over and over.
I ran said poo-egg sandwich, complete with onsie, to the nearest trash can. I threw it all away. The trash can was right next to the bleachers. Fortunately, we were sitting in lawn chairs on the other side of the bleachers. Too bad for the spectators by the trash can, who gave me mean looks.
I have a knitting confession to make. If you try and quote me on this, I will deny it all the way home.
I actually like knitting dishcloths and knitting with dishcloth cotton.
It's cheap. You get the satisfaction of finishing something. Dishcloths are useful.
I'm not going to make a habit out of it. I just wanted someone to know that it's not that bad.
As payment for driving the Amish family back and forth to the hospital, I was given 15 lbs. of freshly picked strawberries. I did not ask for payment, nor was I going to say no to strawberries.
I cleaned them, which took forever. I sliced and froze, made jam, and froze whole. It took me 4 days.
By the end I was sick of the strawberries. My hands looked like I had been butchering meat all day. But now my freezer is full and I am happy.
My two babies had the yuckiest, goopiest eyes last week. It started with Lovey. His eyes were all runny and then little green strings started coming out of them. Two days later, Flower got the same thing. It looked like someone had beaten the crap out of them because their eyes were so swollen.
I treated with the best medicine I had, breastmilk. I squirted some in Lovey's eyes twice a day and used a dropper to put some in Flower's. My husband, on Lovey's day 4 and Flower's day 2, reminded me that it's 2009 and I can take the kids to the doctor.
Patience, I told him. Be patient. It won't last more than 5 days and they'll be better.
"Whatever," he said. "If you want them to be sick and go blind because you wouldn't take them in then fine."
Next day, Lovey day 5, Flower day 3: Lovey's eyes are clear. I still put milk in them, kind of like how you finish antibiotics even if you feel better. Flower's got worse before they got better but were clearing by her day 5.
So there. Breastmilk is liquid gold.
God's grace and love are wonderful things. This year, my husband and I made a commitment to God to give His Church a specified amount of money each week. Most of you call this tithing. We prayed about it and choose an amount that was more than we wouldn't miss but wouldn't put us into hardship with our mortgage. Incidentally, we canceled our digital cable to help us pay this amount.
I have been faithful to the amount we choose, even when it has been hard. Last week, I had to write a check for three times the amount we normally give since I had not been present at the last 2 weeks worth of Masses. So I put my big ol' check in the collection basket and prayed for God to do as He intends and bless the givings.
The next day when I went to get the mail there were 3 envelopes waiting for me from the IRS. One was address to me, one to my husband, and one to both of us. Naturally, I opened the one address to my husband first. :)
The IRS wishes to inform us that they believe we have miscalculated our refund.
They believe we qualify for Earned Income Credit.
They will be issuing us a check which we should receive in 2-4 weeks.
Are you kidding me??!! I open the other two letters. The one addressed to me is a copy of the one my husband got. The other, addressed to us both - is the CHECK!
Just how much we were short for bills this month.
God multiplies what you give Him. Believe it.
That's all for now. Kids up from naps. Must go.