Six! Squeee!

Hey guys!

Wow, SIX COMMENTS. You all seriously made my weekend. I'm happy to hear I'm blogging amongst so many fans of autumn...and fans of BBQ pizza (or, the idea of BBQ pizza). Sunset magazine's website has the recipe and instructions for grilling pizza, and you can find it here. The dough was so easy to make and I know it sounds complicated, but grilling the dough on the BBQ is easier than it sounds. So try it, before we all have to cover up those grills and pack them away until next year.

Oh, and yeah, I make the tomato soup from scratch. Of course. And Kelly? Do you really have to ask if I re-write my lists if they aren't neat enough? You're talking to the lady who re-writes her grocery list at least twice each week so it is properly organized according to Winco's aisle layout. So yes, I believe we were separated at birth. Good thing we were reunited in elementary school over bran muffins and The Babysitters Club.

Favorite time of year

I love fall. Love it. I love chilly mornings and warm afternoons, the colors of the leaves, and getting out all my sweatshirts. I love wrapping up in a blanket in the morning while I check my email, and feeling like it's time to go 'back to school shopping', despite the fact that I've been out of school for years. (What is it about cool weather that triggers the need to buy new clothes, anyway?)

But the main reason I love fall is because I love to cook, and I love to bake...and the onset of September means that it's finally cooled off enough to justify turning on the oven. Fall is arriving a little earlier this year than normal, and I couldn't be happier. Maybe it's because this has been such a shitty year, and I'm just anxious to get it over with...and the changing seasons remind me that time is moving on, and surely we'll catch a break sooner or later, right?

I'm pretty sure I accomplish some of my best thinking while I'm in the kitchen. You know, unless Zoey is "helping", and then I really need to be paying attention to what's going on. But seriously, there's something that happens while you're mixing ingredients and following a recipe that really lets your mind wander and bend itself around all that's going on around you. I think that's another reason I love fall--it's a chance to sit back and reflect on your life and decide what needs to change.

It's like the amount of creations I come up with in the kitchen is directly related to the amount of stress I need to work through in my life.

I'll give a list of the foods I've come up with in the past two weekends, and let you be the judge of how much I've had on my mind:

Tomato soup
Baked beans
Zucchini bread
Pizza crust
Pizza sauce
Jell-O cake
Blackberry pie (pre-stomach-flu)

This morning I think Zoey and I will bake some blueberry muffins. I love that she loves being in the kitchen with me. I feel like I'm passing on to her what a great outlet the kitchen can be for handling stress.

Or it could just be the allure of dumping things in the mixer. For now.

By the way? I fixed the homemade pizza crust following a recipe from Sunset magazine, and we grilled them on the BBQ. SO. GOOD. The crust was super easy and came out nice and crunchy off the grill. I highly recommend it.

Bryan as Best Actor, with a Best Supporting Actress award for Grandma

My dear, sweet husband spent all day Tuesday and Wednesday doting on my barfing, sick-as-a-dog self. He fetched me Gatorade and bananas from the store. He worked odd jobs only when he could arrange for Zoey to be babysat by somebody other than her incapacitated mother. He came home when I called and asked him to, only because I wanted a plate of Saltines and bananas and the mere thought of dragging my body out to the kitchen made me want to pass out in our bed. And when I nearly burst in to tears because he had placed BLACKBERRIES on the plate when blackberries *shudder* were the very thing I had vomited up the night before, he promptly inhaled them himself, patted my head, and encouraged me to sit up while eating instead of sucking the salt off my crackers while still curled in the fetal position. He monitored my fluid intake. Told me that if I wasn't better by tomorrow, he'd have to take me to a doctor. He patiently asked Zoey to not announce to everyone that "Mommy fwoed up in the gawbage can!"

And when Zoey woke up several times in the middle of the night requesting an audience while she peed, all I could do was give my dear, sweet husband a few shoves in the side (they couldn't possibly hurt, I was too weak to pack a decent punch) and he was on his way to be the raving cheerleader our daughter needed. He fed and bathed her each night and endured endless rounds of "Daddy, watch me! Watch me do (insert mindlessly boring activity here)!"

And that fabulous, patient, and kind husband of mine passed out on the couch 10 minutes after I walked in the door from work tonight. He woke up long enough to eat dinner, then headed straight back to the couch. Totally exhausted, he was.

48 hours of motherhood totally kicked his ass.

And a shout out to my grandmother is totally in order here as well, as she was brave and kind enough to bring me the Saltines I craved at the height of looking like death (her exact words when I answered the door were "My God, child, you look like you've been shot at and missed, then shit at and hit!"), opting not to drop the crackers on the porch and run like hell to avoid my germs, but instead coming on in to the kitchen to visit for a bit before leaving me to my flu-bug hell. Then, last night, she came over with most of the ingredients for dinner and co-fed my family while I managed to successfully sit at the table and eat two bites of mashed potatoes.

Cheers to Bryan and Grandma K! You both rock!

Stomach flu

In 2009's continued effort to kick Bryan's and my ass, the stomach flu has arrived at our house.

Bryan had it a week and a half ago while Zoey and I were in Mt. Vernon for the weekend (we thought it was food poisoning), but we pretty much figured out at 4 a.m. on Tuesday that no, in fact, it's a nasty, vile little flu bug circulating...leaving me unable to decide (in a hurry) which end to cover the toilet with.

Bryan was kind enough to empty the bathroom trash bag I had just puked in, fetch me water, and keep tabs on Zoey yesterday as she continually bounced up and down on our bed asking "you feewing bettoh, Mommy? Now are you feewing bettoh??". Her energy level made me naseous.

I am trying to rally today, and Lysol every available surface in the house, all in the hopes that Zoey won't be the next victim.

Keep your fingers crossed.

A new best friend

You may remember Cindy from yesterday's blog post, of longest-time-out-on-record fame. Cindy is a life-sized (well, Zoey-life-sized) Raggedy Ann doll that my grandmother made for me for Christmas when I was 13. In fact, she made six of them--one for me and each of my sisters. At the time, I remember being impressed with the sheer amount of time it must have taken someone to handcraft SIX nearly-four-feet-tall dolls by Christmas, but other than that, Raggedy Ann pretty much just resided on a shelf in my bedroom. Her life took a turn for the better after being retrieved from a box in my mom's storage unit this weekend, delivered to my house, and left in the arms of my ecstatic daughter.

Because Cindy? Is the same size as Zoey. Which means she can wear all of Zoey's clothes. Zoey can give her piggy back rides. Change her diaper. Tuck her in next to her at night. Try to convince her to wear big girl panties to bed instead of diapers. Put her in time out.

A match made in heaven.

If you give Zoey a shopping list...

...she'll probably want to dress up before leaving for the "grocery store".

Zoey's latest favorite game in the whole world is playing grocery store. This involves Mommy lining a good portion of the carpet with her plastic food, then preparing for our trip to the "store".

First, of course, we have to dress up. This morning, capes meant for haircuts, funky hats, and plastic heels were all the rage.

Next, we select our purse, making sure we have the essentials--car keys and some type of card that we'll pay for our food with. Today Zoey opted to purchase her groceries with my Oregon Nursing License, which is conveniently shaped like a credit card. We also remember to grab our reusable grocery bag. Because we're very hip and eco-friendly like that.

Then we are off to the "store". Zoey drives her grocery cart like a maniac (she gets that from her Daddy) and rushes to find every item I call off from her "list". Then, when I tell her that's it, she loads all remaining food items in to her cart, despite the fact that I have explained WE DON'T BUY THINGS THAT AREN'T ON THE LIST over and over again. But every time, without fail, she liquidates the store's inventory. We're working on that.

Nearly through with our own exciting version of Winco shopping, we approach the 25 cent cash register that Zoey and I were both ecstatic to find at a garage sale recently. We've arrived at Zoey's very favorite part of the whole game--"beeping" her groceries. She painstakingly rubs each plastic item against the cash register, gives it a loud "BEEP!", then tosses it in to her worn paper Nordstrom shopping bag. After a long process involving punching all available buttons and banging the cash door open and closed several times, she declares herself to be all done. I then give her a "total" for her groceries, and she swipes my plastic nursing license alongside the cash register. We're finished.

Once back to Zoey's play kitchen, we decided which items need to be refrigerated and which can go back in the wicker basket in her "pantry".

And then we're done with the game. And most days, we start the process all over again immediately after.

Sadly, Zoey's doll, Cindy, was unable to join us in playing today, as she was being naughty and therefore placed in a long time out on the stairs. I think she's still sitting there, actually. Too bad, Cindy! You missed out!

Working hard. Or hardly working.

So, we work with this doctor. I'll call him Dr. McFussy. The name implies something of a high-maintenance nature, which can be true, but I've known the man since I was 18 years old and a lowly file clerk in his office, so we go way back. And I completely adore him. Mostly because he'll let me get away with just about anything.

Dr. McFussy has this chair he likes. And by "likes", I mean if this chair were to go missing, he might just die of getting himself all in a huff. Our entire endo center had to move to a new location for two months after our center in Puyallup flooded (long story involving power outages, power surges, a Saturday afternoon, and a snarky on/off switch on a piece of equipment run mostly with water). Needless to say, the chair came along with us. Yes. Our manager crammed the chair in to her wee SUV-wannabe all in the name of keeping Dr. McFussy happy. Because that's just how much we love him. And love to give him a bad time.

Now, Wednesdays are Dr. McFussy's day off. And on Wednesday I happened to be working with Jodi. This always means trouble, as Jodi and I have such similar practical-joke loving personalities that our manager often rolls her eyes and wonders why she schedules us to work in the same room together EVER. I love Jodi.

So there we were, during a not-particularly-eventful colonoscopy, and I found myself gazing at the unoccupied Throne in the corner. And I got this idea that wouldn't it be fun to take pictures of some of us racing around in the Sacred Chair and put together an album for Dr. McFussy, detailing all the fun his chair gets to have on his day off?

I knew Jodi would be game.

So the above shot is Jodi racing me down the back hallway of our center while our friend Elisa photo-logs the whole event. And that's not even the best picture we got. The best, most priceless photo taken was one of Dr. Smartass launching Dr. StraightLaced down the hall while Dr. StraightLaced has a look of terror on his face. I would put it here but people might recognize them and wonder why the hell their gastroenterologist is screwing around at work instead of concentrating and being serious the way doctors are supposed to be. They are serious. Most of the time.

And now I have all these photos and I need to print them and make something big and flashy that I just know will make Dr. McFussy laugh, even though he'll pretend to be all serious and concentrating like doctors are supposed to be, but COME ON, this shit is funny.

It's all part of my charm.

Stubborn nail polish and a toilet seat debacle

So. Waaaay back in June, when Abby was here, we went out for pedicures. It was, of course, one of those days I had taken off from work with the plan of sending Zoey to daycare while Abby and I enjoyed some fun kid-free time together, this plan alone of course induced fever/vomiting/rash/I don't remember what but I was sure it was contagious and she couldn't go to daycare, which caused another round of calling various relatives to see if they'd be willing to expose themselves to whatever she had so we could go and get a pedicure aannnddd....yeah. It was a hard-won pedicure. And it was glorious.

Unfortunately, I chose bright red nail polish. Which, for about 3 weeks, was fabulous. Then the chipping started. You know how it goes. But every time I looked down at my toes I remembered how happy I was to sit back in that chair and relax while someone else massaged my feet and painted my toenails.

Yesterday was the day I finally decided that my toes looked like they had a case of red-tinted mange, and it was time for the remaining polish to go.

But apparently I dozed off during the part of the pedicure where the nice lady mixed my red polish with cement and shellacked it to my toenails.

The job of removing it would have been easier if I had any cotton balls or a jack hammer in my bathroom. Which I don't. Which are now on my Target list, you know, for that one pedicure I get per year. I'm not sure what aisle I'll find a jack hammer in. But I'm sure Target carries them. It also would have been an easier task if my nail polish did not resemble the color of a fie-oh twuck. Sorry. Fire truck.

So there I was, freshly showered and dressed, crouched on the cracked plastic mauve lid of the mauve toilet in our upstairs bathroom, which creaked and moaned under my (massive? Am I that large?) weight every time I moved in with a sawing motion to attack another toe with a Q-Tip soaked in polish remover. I am not kidding, people, it took like 20 Q-Tips to get the job done. We're talking half a big toe's worth of polish on each side, with some smudges on the smaller toes. And has anyone ever noticed that nail polish remover leaves your fingers smelling vaguely of vinegar? Totally happy that I had the foresight to attack my toes AFTER my shower. Because the smell of vinegar mixes nicely with the scent of my Dove Grapefruit and Lemongrass scented soap.

The stubborn polish was totally pissing me off, and just as I finished burning holes in my big toes with polish remover and conceded the small toes to the color of red--FINE, NAIL POLISH YOU WIN!--I hopped up off the toilet seat lid, which promptly snagged my shorts and a nice thin strip of the flesh on my thigh in it's gigantic crack, which felt, you know, GREAT.

Next time, it's clear nail polish all the way. Maybe a faint pink. Maybe.

And yes. This is the second trauma to my backside in as many months. Wonder what I'll get my ass stuck in/impaled on/pinched by next month? Stay tuned.

Why I love picking up Zoey from daycare...

...because the drive home from daycare is when she really gets to talking about her day, and it is utterly adorable. Once home, however, all prior knowledge of her day seems to go out the window, and when pressed for information, you receive a glossy-eyed stare with something bland in response, like "I took a nap". Wow.

So. Yesterday. On my way to pick up Zoey, I was talking to my sister Abby, but not before her pesky husband Tom got on the phone and suggested I "get off my duff and post something on my blog already". Thanks, Tom. This post is for you!

I noticed as Zoey was climbing in to her car seat that she had funny purple stains on her legs. I asked her about them on the way home.

Me: Zoey, what's all over your legs?

Zoey: Popsicle! Ms. Year-wa give me one, and she screamed! At Yay-ya (Layla), she took it in the gwabage fwo me! But she was just being nice fwo me. (Apparently Layla threw away part of Zoey's popsicle in an effort to be helpful, but dear Ms. Lira--of Panda classroom fame--thought she was being naughty and yelled at her to stop. Or something like that.)

Me: What kind of popsicle? Grape?

Zoey. No. Bwown.

Me: Mmmm. Did it taste like root beer?

Zoey: Yes! Wait! No! It was bwown, yike a moose!

Me: Ah. Yes. Mooses (is this the correct plural term for a moose?) are brown. But what did it taste like?

*Pause*

Zoey: (Impatiently) MOOSE, Mommy!!

Moose popsicles. Mmmm. Tasty.

A post I will want to read when Zoey is a teenager and wants nothing to do with me.

So, on Wednesday morning, at 2 a.m., Zoey found her way in to our bedroom to tell me she was "too hot" and her tummy hurt.

Hello, 102 degree fever.

I am only somewhat embarrassed to admit that my first thought was 'Well, shit, there goes my Thursday'.

Because today was going to be my day to myself. An extra day off work, how often does that happen?? And Zoey already scheduled to go to daycare...finally, a day to Accomplish Things, Get Everything Organized, etc.

Does a mother having scheduled time for herself actually induce fevers and other childhood illnesses, you think?

Needless to say, working all day Wednesday was a challenge. Zoey announced after crawling in to bed post-Tylenol that she could only sleep "on Mommy's tummy". Anyone ever try to get a good night's rest with 37 pounds of potentially nauseous toddler resting on your belly? No?

So yeah. Work. I believe it's been well documented here that my threshold of patience for people who don't follow directions well is minimal at best. A night of no sleep did nothing to improve this outlook, and seriously, SOMEBODY LET THE STUPID PEOPLE OUT ON WEDNESDAY. Like, dropped a busload of them at our door. We had our fair share of oh-I-didn't-know-I-couldn't-eat-last-nights, a lady who drank her prep TWO DAYS AGO and wanted to know, should she come in anyway or reschedule her appointment?, and a real winner who decided he just didn't want to purchase the prep at the pharmacy, so he put himself on a clear liquid diet for two days and gave himself four enemas the morning of the procedure. Points for creativity, but you still get sent back to the starting gates for INVENTING YOUR OWN COLONOSCOPY PREP. Luckily, I was working with Dr. Smartass all day, and as it turns out, our personalities match up quite nicely. We discussed the ins and outs of concepts like Evolution and Darwin, while washing bucket after bucket of sludge from one endless colon after another.

So, when Genius McSmartypants walked in the door for his colonoscopy...A FULL 48 HOURS EARLIER THAN SCHEDULED, Dr. Smartass took one look at me and was all "Whoa, are you about to blow an aneurysm?"

Maybe.

In my own defense, this final dose of stupidity that earned us an extra hour of work occurred right around 2 p.m. and I had just had it. I was at work when I really wanted to be at home with my sick kid. I was f***ing tired and had been on my feet non-stop since 7 a.m. And my day to myself--the day I had been looking forward to all week--was slowly slipping away and there was nothing I could do about it. As I contemplated accomplishing everything on my to-do list with a half-sized, crummy-feeling sidekick who wants nothing more than to BE part of my body, I wanted to cry.

But if you think I was about to cry in front of Dr. Smartass, think again. Like I need to spend the rest of my career living THAT down.

Motherhood has taught me the following three things more than any other experience I've had in life:

1. Suck it up

2. You will be amazed at what you can accomplish in the span of your child's two-hour nap

3. When the going gets tough, at least get your hair cut

So, in the end, I pulled it all together. I am happy to report that now, at 10 p.m., I am packed and ready for Zoey and I to leave tomorrow for Bellingham, organized and ready for Rikki's baby shower I'm hosting on Saturday (hooray!), my laundry is caught up, and, due to the fact that my grandmother is a savior and was willing to come sit with my not-so-sick-today daughter, my hair HAS been cut. (What is it about a haircut that really boosts a woman's outlook on life, anyway?)

And when Zoey woke up this morning and asked hopefully "You stay home with me today, Mommy?", I was reminded (gently, yet again) how important I am to this small person who so very much wants to be with her Mommy all the time. Which made losing my Day To Myself seem (almost) (pretty much) worth it.

In case you were wondering

Zoey willingly wore pants to the Mariners game.

The train ride was the hit of the day.

The moose (and yes, it is a moose...although Zoey referred to it as a reindeer) was deemed "scawy" and could only be viewed from high up in our seats.

It's about time

This morning I just heard the following beautiful words come out of my daughter's mouth:

"No, I want Daddy to play horsies with me!"

And the clouds parted and the heavenly angels sang as I replied "well, fantastic! Chop chop, Daddy!" and made a beeline for the laptop.

I mean, I love a good round of playing horsies and all...but let's just say that in between posting a RECORD amount of blog entries this weekend (you're welcome), there's been a whole lot of playing horsies and undressing Barbies going on in my life.

Today is the day we go to the Mariners game!

My sister Alisa, her husband JD, and her two kids (Zoey's beloved cousins, Finley and Avelyn), plus Bryan, Zoey and I are all going to ride the Sounder train from Puyallup up to Seattle for the game. The tickets were our Father's Day gift to JD and Bryan. I'm wondering what the highlight of the day will be, from our kids' point of view--riding the train, watching baseball live and in person, or the Mariners Moose. (The mascot is still a moose, right? Trust me, it's been some time since I've gone to a Mariners game.)

And now, I'm off to pack a bag full of snacks (Zoey is stoked to help me pop "real" popcorn on the stove), and convince my child that she needs to wear pants today instead of the requisite "bah-nina" (ballerina) skirt she's been favoring lately. We'll see who wins the battle.

Yes, I should be in bed. But instead I'm perusing Momversation.com and finding inspiration.

See, what I love about this episode of Momversation is that a majority of these women are contemplating their second child...it is so refreshing to hear from people who, like me, are questioning when...or if...more than one child is right for them. I feel like there is a lot of pressure in this society to pop out Child #2 precisely 2.5 years past the arrival of Child #1...in spite of the fact that motherhood may or may not have kicked you in the ass during Round 1, and what if Zoey IS our sleeper??

Because for real? It is 10:21 p.m. and Zoey has already woken up THREE. TIMES. Crying. Loudly. "I want my Mommy! I need my Mommy!"

Um...start this all over again with a newborn? Sometimes I just don't know. I want Zoey to have a sibling. Really. Yesterday I was all 'yeah, it's time for another one!' And today I'm back to 'Oh my God, would I really have the patience to deal with a preschooler AND a newborn?' The thought of having to breastfeed another human being makes me nauseated. They would never sleep at the same time, possibly ever. And that wayward Barbie shoe I'm eyeballing from across the room right now? Can totally picture myself having to extract it from Zoey's little sister's trachea some day. (Don't worry. Yesterday it was all visions of small onesies and a sleepy, tiny baby curled against my chest. Back and forth, people. I'm all over the map.)

What struck me most in this video was the realization that I have never looked around our dinner table and felt like someone was missing. Maybe because my Grandma was talking too loud or I was too busy trying to convince Zoey that the smashed peas in her pasta have the exact same taste and quality as the peas she loves and adores in her soup. Whatever the reason, I suppose I realize that, for now, my life is full and I am content with the family we have. Zoey will have a sibling, someday. She could very well be a teenager when it happens, but that's okay, right? Right??

Winco redeems itself

You know what's a fun way to pass a nap period on a Saturday afternoon? Sitting around making random lists. You know, things titled "Target Expenditures, 2009", or "Clothing for Zoey, 2009". I'm passing it off under the guise of trying to see what we really spend on 'necessities'...but seriously. You know me. I am a nerd and I just love me a good list. Next thing on my agenda is to organize our August calendar. I know. HOLD UP, AMY, YOUR LIFE IS JUST WAY TOO COOL!

You know what is NOT a great way to pass a Saturday morning? Or any morning? Grocery shopping at Grocery Outlet. Now there is a place that makes Winco look like the Ritz Carlton. The skeezy looking dude eyeing my car as we were leaving may have been preparing to throw a half-eaten piece of pizza on the hood of my car, or he could have been scoping it out to see what parts he could rip off easily. Yes, my 2005 Corolla was easily the nicest--and most completely put together--car in the lot.

If I ever blog again about shopping at Grocery Outlet, you can safely assume I am typing from a cardboard box under our local freeway overpass.

Play dates and guilt trips

This week has been all about MommyMommyMommy!

As in, after getting home from work every night, every request from the short one in the house has been prefaced with "I need Mommy to...." fill in the blank.

I need Mommy to help me get undressed/help me go potty/rinse my hair/play dollies with me/read me books/fix my hot milk/pull the pants off this Barbie/help me pick out some clean panties/wipe my bottom/take off my wet diaper/play horsies with me/play grocery shopping with me/turn on Shrek for me/turn off Shrek for me/snuggle with me/stay home with me forever and ever please please please.

Yesterday we drove to Centralia to meet our friends Kim and Kendra, who live in Vancouver, and their little boys--some of Zoey's best friends. There is an awesome park right off the freeway in Centralia that is a perfect half-way point between Puyallup and Vancouver, so this is the second time we've met up there for an afternoon of park play and catching up with the girls.

Kim's youngest, Colby, is not quite a year old. As we were getting ready to leave our house, I was reminding Zoey (yet again) how important it is to be gentle with our friends, ESPECIALLY BABIES WHO ARE SMALLER THAN YOU, as Zoey has assumed lately that all children smaller than her are just like her dolls at home, meaning she can man-handle them and smother them to death and generally make their lives miserable. But I digress. So we were talking about baby Colby and Zoey informed me 'Baby Colby was so shad! He's cwying!'. I asked why Colby was sad, and she replied 'Because his Mommy had to go to work'. I told her that Colby's Mommy doesn't have to go to work outside the house (already planting the idea in her mind that Mommy Work INSIDE the house is, in fact, more work than most outside jobs) and she looked at me with those huge brown eyes and said "Oh yeah. Just my Mommy has to work. I was shad".

It's okay, Zoey. Just stick that knife in and twist it around a little, why don't you?

I believe this explains the MommyMommyMommy syndrome of late.

It also explains why I can't go anywhere in the house without being followed by a certain someone within 30 minutes--I have woken up early the past two mornings just to get up and blog a little, only to be followed shortly after by my biggest fan. It's like she sniffs me out.

So, needless to say, my whole weekend will be wrapped up in Zoey/Mommy-centered activities. And after she looked up at me this morning and said "I don't go to school today! I stay home with Mommy!" with what can only be described as total and utter joy, that is just fine with me.

Because someday she's not going to be so thrilled to hang out with me all day on a Saturday, am I right?

Hard-headed

Zoey spent two days in the 3-year-old class at preschool this week. It was (mostly) a huge success.

Apparently she ate well, slept well, and followed right along with the kids and the routine in her newer, bigger surroundings. And, because diapers are a no-no in this new class, she napped in her big girl panties and--I'm assuming, because she came home in the same clothes she started the day in--she stayed dry. My little girl is getting so big!

Tragedy, however, struck yesterday. I received the following message on my cell phone while at work, around 4:30:

'Hi, Amy. This is Ms. Nicole, Zoey's new teacher. (At this point I'm thinking, 'aww, it's nice that she's calling to give me a report on how Zoey is doing in her class.') First, I just want you to know that Zoey is really FINE. (Oh no.) But she was walking around the wooden ledge on the playground today, and she tripped and fell over backwards. She has a pretty big goose-egg on the back of her head, but she stopped crying and we put ice on it. (Oh Lord.) We're keeping a close eye on her, but she seems perfectly okay. I just thought you'd want to know. Feel free to give us a call if you have any questions!'

It just figures that my kid would fall off the big playground--that sacred space that required so much growing and getting big to make it to--her second day there.

Anyway, I called to check on her, and she was playing happily with puzzles at the moment. (I was only slightly disappointed, as I had secretly hoped this would be my excuse to leave work a little early.) By the time I made it to daycare at 5:45, she was still quite happy and yes, she had a gigantic lump on the back of her head. Hmmm.

I was thinking on my way home--what is it you're supposed to do if you suspect your child might have a mild concussion? I mean, we've weathered plenty of scrapes, scratches, bruises and even a broken bone, but I couldn't remember Zoey ever having such a large knot on her head. And doesn't it seem, lately, that you hear an awful lot about people bumping their heads, thinking nothing of it, going about their business...only to be admitted to the ICU the following day, unconscious, with swelling around the brain? (Do all mothers immediately jump to these conclusions, or is it only because I'm a nurse?)

Anyway. A quick phone call to Oma confirmed that I should look for the following signs/symptoms of concussion: nausea and/or vomiting, or excessive sleepiness. She also suggested that I wake Zoey up a couple times that night, just to make sure she was coherent and knew who I was. No problem! We had just finished dinner and Zoey had cleaned her plate--no upset tummy, apparently. And excessive sleepiness? Yeah. Right. I wish.

Fast forward to 8:15 p.m.

Zoey and I are lounging on the couch, muddling through the bedtime routine. We're halfway through the second Berenstain Bears book on our list, and I look down at her in my lap to find...she has completely passed out, binky half-hanging out her mouth, lightly snoring.

Great.

THE ONE NIGHT SHE CHOOSES TO SUCCUMB TO BEDTIME EASILY IS THE ONE NIGHT I FEEL LIKE I SHOULD BE MONITORING HER FOR SWELLING AROUND HER LITTLE BRAIN.

Believe me, people, I wanted nothing more than to go to bed when she did. To say my ass was dragging after four work days in a row would be the understatement of the year. But I layed her down in her beloved little nest of bricks (the Pack N Play) and went downstairs where I forced myself to stay up long enough to watch an episode of No Reservations. While I love love love Anthony Bourdain, it was all I could do to keep my eyes open through the episode. (It was 9:15 when the show was over. I know. Pathetic.)

So, back upstairs to wake up my little darling and make sure her pupils were equal and round, and to check and see if she remembered who her Mommy is. Anyway, since she had passed out prematurely in my lap, I didn't even have time to get her in to a diaper--so I had to change her anyway.

She was groggy when I woke her up, but coherent enough to reassure me she wasn't suffering from brain damage. I asked if she wanted to sleep in her crib again and she told me no (surprisingly) and asked to go to her bed. Which is where she stayed for about two hours, before joining us in our bed and proceeding to kick the living shit out of us for the rest of the night, which meant little sleep for either Bryan or I, but at least I was certain her brain was okay.

And now I can check "Monitor for Possible Concussion" off my Mommy list of childhood owies I have successfully managed.

Normal?

Zoey has decided she will no longer sleep in her bed, opting for her Pack N Play portable crib that we finally just moved in to her bedroom the other night.

Because I have always operated on a path-of-least-resistance philosophy when it comes to sleep and my child, I have decided I don't really care that she has abandoned her comfy bed for a cheap little portable crib that feels, to me, like sleeping on a bed of bricks.

Whatever.

Wishing I was a full-time writer, not a nurse

Working full-time has seriously put a damper on my blogging habit. I had so many witty ideas this week that would have knocked your socks off, but would have required the act of taking off barrier gowns, gloves, and face masks in order to abandon my patient and run to the computer and quickly write the following:

What part of the following instruction is difficult to understand?

The day before your colonoscopy, DO NOT EAT ANY SOLID FOOD AFTER 6 A.M.

Seriously, people, if I can impart no other wisdom to you, if you learn nothing else from reading this here blog, PLEASE do not screw up your prep for colonoscopy. And you know you all will have one, one of these days. Clear liquids will be your friend, and your nurses will appreciate you for it.

I think working four 10-hour shifts in a row is hazardous to my health. Or, maybe spending four 10-hours shifts in the procedure room, washing thick liquid poo from colons is what the real hazard may be. I'm no fan of working the recovery room, but even that would have been a welcome relief after days and days of emptying poop buckets.

Sunday update

Ahhh, Sunday.

The day where I sit back and blog a little, after a whole week of working, working out, working on laundry, and working to stick to the budget, and because my kid happens to be occupied at the moment singing 'Fwinkle Fwinkle Yittle Staw' to all her dollies as she strong-arms them into taking their morning naps.

It was a hot week. HOT. Like, Mother Nature confused Seattle with Phoenix and dialed up the temp past 100 degrees by mistake, only to realize her error late on Thursday evening and crank it back down to a more respectable 85ish that actually allowed the house to cool off in the evenings. Strangely, and I'm not proud of this, the hot weather made it exceptionally difficult to stick to the budget, particularly the menu I had planned out for the week. I had purposely planned items that only required stove cooking at most, but even that became impossible as standing in the kitchen for any length of time made me feel like I was going to have an asthma attack. So sandwiches it was. Except that, by Wednesday, after days of having sandwiches for lunch and for dinner, and feeling like the sight of another egg salad sandwich might make my head (not to mention my colon) explode, we headed out to Taco Del Mar for dinner. This, after our cheap-date-night-eating-out on Saturday. I felt guilty for breaking the no-eating-out rule, twice in a week, even, AND NOT EVEN A PAYDAY WEEK, but seriously. My brain felt like it was about to boil.

One thing I will say about living by a strict budget is that it all but eliminates the 'spend without thinking' mentality that apparently I had been living by without knowing it for all these years. You question every purchase, from toilet paper to shampoo to a taco salad for dinner, and I suppose that's not all bad. And, you know, someday I'll slide back a little and the purchase of two cans of S&W tomatoes won't cause anxiety in the aisles of Winco...but hopefully I will continue to question most of the things I occasionally 'waste' money on, like eating out. But seriously, when the temperatures drive up past 100 degrees, Taco Del Mar seems more sanity-sparing and less like wasting 14 dollars.

That being said, I DID get paid on Friday, and that allowed for a more pleasant grocery shopping trip yesterday. (And yes, I did shower before heading out to Winco. In case you were wondering.) I had been craving things like ice cream cones, potato chips, and strawberries all week, and all three items made it in to my grocery cart yesterday. Beer included, my total bill was only $77. Not bad. Now we'll see if we can stick with the menu this week.

And now, I am off to create the Barefoot Contessa's Triple Berry Muffins in my very own kitchen. Because lining the muffin tins with paper cupcake liners is the highlight of a certain someone's existence at this point...and let's get that baking over and done with before the temperature hits 90, yes?

Mmmmm...coffee!

Zoey woke up at 7:30 this morning complaining that she was "too wet". I rolled over in the smallish bed we were sharing (downstairs because it is so much cooler there) and realized Bryan had abandoned ship sometime in the night and yes, indeed, we were both a little too wet.

Sheets are in the wash. Zoey is warm and dry in a clean pair of Dora panties and much happier.

I can hear Bryan downstairs trying to coerce Zoey in to turning off Sesame Street in favor of the morning news. She is telling him in her sweetest toddler voice ever, "No, Daddy". And then going back to ignorning Sesame Street and playing with her horsie/barn combo.

I am upstairs, on my second cup of coffee, about to engage in my favorite weekend activity: menu planning and grocery list making. (You all would expect nothing else, I'm sure.)

I'm also debating whether a trip to Winco warrants changing out of my owl pajama pants, showering the faint pee smell off my body, and/or taming my crazy bed head. Probably not. But I'm going grocery shopping with my (much more refined) sister, so perhaps I'll shower for her benefit.

Happy Saturday!