Florrrrri, come back!

Flori, Florrrrri, RRRR- roll your tongue, "rrrrrrr". Like on the movie Spanglish, remember Flor? Flori graced us with her presence for 2 glorious, magical Saturdays. She and her daughter, Heidi, worked together for hours to make my house sparkle. They moved all the kitchen appliances, scrubbed the showers, even cleaned the window ledges. For a brief moment we breathed a sigh of relief. Having them come in to do a deep clean every other week made it easier for us to keep up with the day to day messiness. Then we realized it didn't make sense. We were cancelling cable, Netflix, newspaper subscription, frequent Starbucks excursions(GASP!), and fancy cheeses at the grocery store but we were paying for a housekeeper. We justified it by reasoning that the time they saved us in cleaning opened up more time for us to focus on the business. It was fabulous. Fabulous but unrealistic. My toilet hasn't been scrubbed ever since. =(

Puke!

Ugh, puke! The big stainless steel mixing bowl has been become a fixture next to the couch as we take turns laying here in agony just hoping that we will soon puke our guts out and feel better. Yesterday was my turn. It hit around 3pm. At first I thought I was just shaky and nauseaous because I'd had too much coffee. Chuck took all the kids to the studio so I could get some work done but all I could think was, "You better go lay down now while you can before they get home." Did I? Of course not. Too much to do. Eventually I made my way over and hoped it would pass. When the kids kicked me off the couch a couple hours later to play "Scene It" (b-day present from Steph- Thanks!) I drug myself (and my trusty bowl) upstairs looking forward to my comfy bed. Then it came- that wave of nausea accompanied by the feeling of your entire body breaking out in a cold sweat. To the toilet! Couldn't decide whether I needed to sit on or hug the bowl. You catch my drift... Without too much graphic detail, suffice it to say, thank goodness for my bowl because my body decided to expel as many different bodily fluids as it could all at once. "Will my husband still respect me if I yell for him to come wipe my butt?" was all I could think in my pitiful state. Since I couldn't muster up the energy to call for him I decided to give it a go. I cleaned myself up, made my way back to bed and summond for him the only way I could think of- by stomping on the floor and hoping that would get his attention. He rushed upstairs to see what all the hub-bub was about. I let him know he'd need to dump out my puke bowl (rinse very well to eliminate any residuals, please) and restock the t.p.
The good news is Iwas in bed very early and got a good night's sleep, with bowl by my side. I haven't needed it since. All I could bring myself to eat today was a piece of toast with pumpkin butter because I'm too afraid to eat anymore, although I'm starving!

Arctic Blast 'o8

Dead giveaway that it's a snow day:  I'm vacuuming under the cushions of my couch.  Arctic Blast '08 has arrived.  We get a couple inches of snow and Portland closes up shop.  Kinda funny to see considering we lived in Alaska and functioned in much worse than this every day of winter.  I guess since Portland isn't used to this weather it's a big deal.  The kids are psyched because they're pretty much getting an extra week of Christmas vacation.  

We had a couple scary near-frostbite incidents with Gabriel.  After playing outside with Chuck and Bree for a little too long he came inside screaming in agony that his hands were frozen.  This lasted for a good 10 minutes.  It scared the heck out of me because I'd never seen him in this much pain- even when he broke his collarbone.  We googled "frostbite" and tried our best to warm his hands up but he didn't even want to run them under warm water.  Through his tears he exclaimed, "I ne-ever want to go out-side e-e-ever agaaaain."   As I sit here typing, Chuck is layering him up to go play outside with Cameron: 3 shirts, sweatshirt, winter coat, hat, 2 pairs of gloves.  

Doodle learned how to spin in circles.  Oh my goodness, could he get any cuter?!?!  2 spins and he's dizzy.  

While laying in bed last night reading about Mariah Carey's Christmas traditions in Redbook I happened to stay tuned in after The Biggest Loser finale and got sucked in to the premier of "Momma's Boy".  Chuck thinks Gabe and Gavin will be momma's boys.  I wouldn't mind.  Some of these moms were a little over the top, though.  I think I can see myself more concerned about the guys who are interested in Breanna than I am with the girls interested in my boys.

Amen to that!

Just a follow up to yesterday's post.  This was sent to me from one of the girls in my breastfeeding group.  How cute?!?

Breastfeeding

As some of you may know, a couple months ago I decided to become a volunteer peer counselor with the Nursing Mother's Counsel of Oregon.

I (along with about 20 other women) underwent about 25 hours of training over the course of one weekend and 3 Monday evenings. Along the way I met some very nice gals who share one of my most passionate beliefs- that breast is best and all babies should breastfeed for as long as mom can do it. Of course there was also the bra-less hippie who was there because "if all babies were breastfed there would be no wars". Well, possibly, but I might not say that out loud before a group. All in all, it was a very positive experience and an opportunity for me to do something for myself that had nothing to do with personal training or poopy diapers. I jumped at the chance. I knew that my breastfeeding relationship with Gavin would be ending soon and I love the whole experience so much that I still wanted to be involved in it in some aspect. In the training we discussed counseling skills, breastfeeding challenges, mom's diet, breastfeeding beyond the first year, weaning, counselor responsibilities and many other things. As a counselor I'm required to cover a live-line phone shift at least once a month and participate in health fairs, business meetings and get-togethers.
Today was my first phone shift. (I just call in to have calls to NMC forwarded to my cell phone) My shift was from 12-3 and I received my first (and only) call at about 12:30. I was soooo excited but also scared about giving out faulty information and ruining a mom's entire breastfeeding experience.
Here's what I'm hit with my very first time at bat: Mom of 5 wk. old (5th child) concerned that DHS is going to take her kids because her boyfriend uses marijuana for medicinal purposes in the home and because she's breathing the second hand smoke, she's passing it to the baby through her breastmilk. Apparently she's red flagged anyway due to a past issue with her 2 yr. old. They want to test her urine for marijuana. Does she stop nursing or just lie to them and say she's stopping and hope they'll leave her alone? Wow, couldn't be something like, "My nipples are sore and my baby has pooped 9 times today." I really wanted to help her and deep down all I could think to tell her was that our mission was to help her continue her breastfeeding relationship with her daughter. Drugs?!? She seemed like she wanted to continue nursing but I almost caught a hint of, "Fuck 'em, let them take all 5 of them if they think they can do a better job."
After that call I just came downstairs to my little doodlebug with his messy hair and booger nose and felt so blessed to be able to provide him with a warm home, abundance of food and clean breastmilk.

Gavin giggles

Just a little video of the kids.  I just love Gavin's giggle!

Bad quality because it's my digital camera (not camcorder).  He loves to roughhouse with the big kids.

Not-So-Happy Meal

About 3 years ago we decided that maybe it wouldn't be so bad to let our kids in on a little piece of American culture and expose them to what they would inevitably come to know and long for- the McDonald's Happy Meal.  Once in a great while it couldn't be so bad, right?  Wrong.  Gabe puked it up like his little virgin tummy had never had trans fat before.  Scared the heck out of him and he hasn't wanted McDonald's since.  Fast forward to 1:47 a.m. Sunday morning.  "Gabriel threw up all over me," shrieked Breanna as she hovered over our bed.  Huh?! By the time I calmed Gavin down and got him back to sleep Chuck already had Gabe in the shower while Breanna fought off her gag reflex changing her sheets.  Guess we forgot to tell her you have to rinse out the chunks before you throw them in the washer.  I learned what dried, crusty bits of red bell pepper and meat (more on that later) look like when they come out of the drier.  After everyone got cleaned up and played musical beds we were up again very shortly trying to get Gabe to the bathroom before he blew chunks all over our bed and floor.  He didn't make it.  This scenario repeated itself a few more times before dawn.  So, needless to say, we spent our weekend washing towels and sheets, napping,  and sanitizing any hard surface he'd come in contact with.  Poor little guy.  We can't completely blame it on McDonald's.  After breakfast he went to a pool party and had his fair share of cake, pizza, and popsicles.  And since I didn't have time to go to the grocery store and the kids were about to starve to death I stopped and got fast food burritos for dinner.  Put it all together and it makes for a not-so-fun Saturday night.  He stayed home with me today and broke his perfect attendance streak.  He was bummed but still wasn't feeling well and asked if we could "cancel school today".  

On a positive note, we got our Christmas tree!

"Meoooow"

Gavin's new sound.  My little stinkerdoodle is just sweet enough to eat.  His little personality just shines through and keeps this big, goofy grin on my face all day.  My cheeks hurt from smiling so much.  He was in his high chair today and saw Chuck pull into the driveway and said, "DADA!" and squirmed to get down.  He's so excited to see Dada and Dada's so excited to see him that we have to be careful to not completely disregard Breanna or Gabe if they're in the room when he gets home.  Gabe got his hair cut today.  Long overdue.  Speaking of hair cuts- mine's starting to become mullet-ized.  I just can't seem to get it right with my stylist.  The only really great experience I've had with her since she's been cutting my hair (for about a year) was the last cut about 6-7 weeks ago.  But just this last time I was pretty unhappy and each day that goes by I become more unhappy with it.  Here's the kicker- she's my next-door neighbor.  So what can I do?  Go elsewhere only to run into her with my new haircut?  She's a super-sweet lady but I just don't know what to do.  I haven't been getting what I've wanted from her.  She's always more than willing to see me immediately for a touch up if I notice there's a problem (which I always seem to do).  Chuck says I'm just too picky and I'd find something wrong even if it were perfect.  He may be right.  I say, it's MY hair on top of MY head that I have to see EVERY DAY and style EVERY DAY and I want to be happy with it.  Also, since she cuts my hair out of her home do I give her a tip?  Feedback, please.