Gnome Home

I woke up feeling really spectacular this morning. It could have been that Twyla woke up only one time during the night. Or that I had been dating Anthony Bourdain in my dream. Whatever the reason, it was about time that I feel really good upon waking. When this rare thing occurs, it usually doesn't last long as I scramble to get breakfast ready before the children decide to notify CPS that they are, indeed, starving to death. Today was different. As I made my coffee and started breakfast, Ronan and Marley went to the playroom and constructed this beautiful gnome home without arguing once. If only every day could begin like this!

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Yellow Belt!

Ronan got his yellow belt in Ninjutsu last night. He had to demonstrate all the skills he learned as a white belt in front of his entire class and all the adults present. He did quite well, and we're very proud. We are really impressed with the confidence and discipline he is acquiring at these classes, but mostly, we're looking forward to the day when we can use our little Ninja to seek revenge against the jerk that did this:

Yes, that is the picture window in our office. Thankfully the chunk of asphalt that was thrown only broke one of the panes of glass, but it's still going to cost us a pretty penny to replace it. Scott is really funny when he tells people what happened. He says that someone threw a brick through our window. Which implies that 1) the object thrown actually went through the window and into our home, and 2) that said object was, in fact, a brick instead of a piece of asphalt. He tends to exaggerate a bit. And the story usually gets more dramatic with each telling. We figure that in about a week, he'll be telling people that someone threw a Molotov cocktail through the window and he had to stomp the flames out with his bare feet.

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Look What I Did!

I'm currently learning a choreography that is danced with a veil. Since I haven't done much veil work, I was borrowing one from my teacher at class. We decided that I really should get one since she sometimes forgets to bring an extra, and dancing with an imaginary veil looks pretty strange. So I looked online and found them ranging in price from $30-45. Ouch. Needless to say, I can't afford to spend that on three yards of silk. Being the clever gal that I am, I decided to see how much an undyed piece of silk in the proper size would be. Dharma Trading had what I needed for a measly $13 and change including shipping. I busted out a little tie dye kit I had bought last year, and ended up with this:


Woo hoo! Great job, Raina! You can't see it, but I'm giving myself a hearty pat on the back.

Now all I have to do is practice the choreography until my arms feel like they're going to fall off from flinging that veil around, and I might just start to lose some of the extra baby weight I'm carrying around. Which is exactly what I aim to do since Shawna, Amy and I are going to have a "friendly" little competition to see who can lose the most poundage (in a healthful way) in 6 weeks. I added those quotation marks in the previous sentence because I know those bitches are ruthless. I'm using "bitch" as a term of endearment here, but really, you gotta watch out for those two! So wish me luck- I'm going to need it.

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Rockstar Van

Okay, so I guess rockstars probably don't often drive minivans. But if they did... they would probably buy a new one. Well, this one isn't new, but it's as close as I'm probably ever going to get to owning a new vehicle. And it's a beauty! This purty little thing will soon be in my possession, thanks to my wonderful grandparents. They bought it with us in mind, and are selling it to us for WAY less than it's worth. They are, undoubtedly, the two best grandparents in the whole wide world.

They got to meet Twyla for the first time yesterday. They were at their condo in Florida, where they do things like fishing, eating oranges, communing with the gator in their back yard, and buying cars for people. I wanna grow up to be just like them.

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Poop Stories

Who doesn't love a good poop story? We've all got 'em, but rarely share them. Especially not on the Internet. But I'm going to anyhow, because I think we need to break down barriers, and be honest about the normal bodily functions most humans have in common. As a mother, I have the opportunity to break down those barriers with my children's poop stories. You didn't think I was going to share mine, did you? Nope. I don't poop. Just ask my husband.

Our first tale begins and ends where many poop stories do; the bathroom. Our youngest daughter, Twyla had started fussing, which is her way of telling us that she's got to go. I held her over the sink and said, "sssssssssssssss," which is our way of telling her that she's cleared for takeoff. As usual, she peed, and pooped a little bit. Now you're probably wondering why we're letting our baby poop in the sink. And to that I say, "Breastfed baby poop is easy to rinse off, and I don't want to bend over the toilet every time she has to go. Thank you very much." I tore off a bit of toilet paper, and wiped her cute little tushie. She was cradled in the crook of my arm as I turned to leave the bathroom. But wait! Twyla had a little surprise for mommy! It seems she wasn't quite finished doing her business. If you've never seen an infant poop outside of a diaper, then it may surprise you to know that they can go with the force of a jet engine. And this is exactly what she did. All over the wall, and the white towels hanging on the rack. Think horizontal geyser. When she was finished, it looked like Jackson Pollack had suddenly become enamoured with the color "mustard yellow" and decided that our bathroom would be the perfect spot for his latest work of art. Ah, the joys of elimination communication. At least I didn't have to change a diaper.

When Ronan (our first child) was a baby, he pooped constantly. Every single time he nursed, he pooped. I remember waking up numerous times a night and changing him before sitting down to nurse, only to have him poop again. The cycle would continue: change diaper, try to nurse him to sleep, change diaper again..... So it was quite a change of pace when Marley came along. Right from birth I could tell it was going to be different with her. She never pooped during the night, and often went long stretches without going at all. At one point she went a week without pooping, and I decided it was time for me to take some action. I knew that Epsom salts could be dissolved in water and taken internally for constipation, so I thought I would try soaking Marley in a bath with them. I filled the tub, stripped us both down and got in, prepared for a long soak. She was obviously enjoying herself; kicking her legs and waving her arms in the water. Little did I know how quickly the Epsom salts would have an effect! After only a few minutes, Marley started to poop. And not just a little. This was the accumulated poop of a week without going. I shouted for Scott to help me, thinking he could grab her while I jumped out of the tub. I could hear him coming to my rescue as Marley's poo continued to flow. It was floating on the surface of the water like so much yellow pond scum. Finally Scott pounded up the stairs, but alas, his intention was not to help me escape the Sea of Poop, but to take the opportunity to make sure we would never forget this event. Yes, he had a video camera. So much for the heroic knight coming to the aid of a damsel in deep shit- literally. This man has still got it coming to him. I have not forgotten. He's lucky I don't tell some of his poop stories.

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Just for Kicks

I admit it- I'm a Harry Potter geek. A Gryffindork, if you will. So of course I found this amusing. You'll either think it's funny, or think I'm a total nerd. But I'm okay with that. Enjoy!

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Rub a Dub Dub, There's a Beer in the Tub

I opened the shower curtain this morning to this. Is it just me, or is it weird to drink a beer in the shower? The thought of consuming anything while bathing kind of repulses me. Am I the only one?

After Twyla was born, I couldn't go up and down stairs for a bit, so Scott brought my toothbrush to the downstairs bathroom. I know that some people brush their teeth in the shower, so I figured, "Why not? I could kill two birds with one stone." So I did it, and promptly decided not to do it again. It felt like I was breaking some unspoken shower rule.

I guess this all boils down to the fact that although Scott showers in the evening, the beer can was there to greet me this morning. He probably should have taken it out, eh? Well, then I wouldn't have had anything to post about today. Hmmm....... I guess I'll have to let it slide this time.

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Butterflies and a Blast from the Past

Today we went to the Frederik Meijer Gardens to see their annual butterfly expo with our homeschool group. The indoor gardens are kept very warm and humid, so it was like a mini visit to the tropics. There were butterflies by the hundreds, and even tiny Chinese painted quail running around. I actually almost stepped on one of the quail as it walked out of the undergrowth. I'm really glad I didn't- that would have ruined a lovely day. And more than likely, my favorite shoes.

Here we are, enjoying the ambiance of a room full of an obscene amount of butterflies, and about as many humans. I hate spring break. When you're used to being the only people with kids out and about on a week day, it is uber annoying to suddenly find that everything kid friendly is packed with people. Especially when you forget that such a thing as spring break is occurring. There should be a warning message sent out to homeschoolers as spring break approaches.

Homeschoolers are cuter, too. Don't you think? Just kidding, folks. Please don't put a pipe bomb in my mailbox. But really, they are pretty darn cute, huh? And one of them isn't even mine! That cutie in the back would never have gotten curly hair with my genes. He's Ronan's BFF. Of course, Ronan has at least four BFF's. But this little guy is his BBFF.

A number of miraculous things happened yesterday. First of all, we got to our destination on time. Now, I am usually a very punctual person, but since the birth of number three, it has become an amazing achievement to be on time for anything. Our actually being there at the appointed time was all owing to the fact that I was thinking that we needed to be there an hour earlier. Just as we were about to leave, I realized that we really needed to be there at one, not two. And yet we still managed to be there only exactly at the time we were supposed to.

Second, during the hour drive there, the four hours we spent at the gardens, and the drive home, Twyla stayed totally dry! We practice elimination communication, which is the radical idea that babies don't have to poo and pee in a diaper. This was our first long outing away from home since her birth, and I was amazed at how well we did.

And then, a blast from the past. A new family to the homeschool group invited a friend and her children to come along. I kept eyeing her, thinking that she looked familiar. I finally got the nerve up to ask her name, and was shocked to find that we knew each other in a past life. Now, I'm not talking past life in the sense that she was Cleopatra, and I, Marcus Antonius. More in the sense that it was a different life I lead in this body. Well, I guess this body is a lot different than the one I had ten years ago, but still- you get the drift.

Ten years ago, this woman and I were living the life of carefree, childless souls. In fact, one of the last times I saw her was backstage at a concert. (And don't even ask what concert. It was ten years ago, and it's rather embarrassing. So forget it.) Now, she has two kids, and I have three. We're ten years older, and mommyfied enough that we didn't even recognize each other at first. It turns out that we live 10 minutes away from each other, and I'm excited to catch up with her. I'm sure I'll be wincing at our recollections of the way we were, and even happier to be where I am now.

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Decision Time

Heard about Rothbury? What? You haven't? Where have you been?! It's a ginormous festival in July including acts such as Widespread Panic, Phil Lesh and Friends, Modest Mouse, Gov't Mule, Primus, and the list goes on ad infinitum. By the way, "ginormous" was recently added to the Miriam Webster dictionary, and I've been dying to use it. And this festival is being held in *gasp* my home state of Michigan! It would seem that attending this festival would be a no-brainer. Well, that's what I thought, too. However, it seems my dear husband, Scott, is less than enthusiastic about me bringing our (by that time) 5 month month old baby. I don't see this as being an impediment, but he wants to be right in the thick of the action for many of the acts, and doesn't feel comfortable leaving me to stand on the sidelines with little Peach. So we've been going back and forth about this for the past month. Leaving Twyla with someone (like we would be doing with the other two) is out of the question at that age since she's exclusively breastfed, and the fact that being more than 50 feet away from my babies at that age causes intense physical pain and emotional distress.



So I came up with a possible alternative. Truthfully, I thought Scott would nix this idea; leaving me free to attend Rothbury while giving the appearance that I am willing to negotiate. Clever little wench, eh? I told him that the only way I would agree not to go would be if I could get the ginormous phoenix tattoo on my chest that I had been wanting for years. Now, Scott is totally on board with the idea of me *having* this tattoo- it's the thought of actually *paying* for it that he balks at. Being that it will probably cost a good bit more than the $250 for a ticket to Rothbury, I thought he would just give in and buy two tickets. Well, to my surprise, he agreed. Damn. Now I'm in a quandary. In the immortal words of the Clash: should I stay or should I go now?



I want that tattoo, I really do. I was just watching a Tribal Fusions DVD, and I know that if I ever strayed from Egyptian bellydance into the world of tribal fusion (as is quite possible at some point), that I would earn serious street cred with that tat. But right now, when it's still 35 degrees out, bummin' around a festival site with my baby in a sling while it's 80 and sunny is insanely appealing. Alas, what's a girl to do? I suppose I'll have to eviscerate a small animal and seek the answer in its entrails- what else?

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