Friday, January 30, 2009


Big Daddy did a restaurant remodel recently. The owner loaded us up with some leftover Italian food and some decorations from his restaurant that he no longer wanted. Including this:

My children have dubbed him "Mr. Cooker." Bean hugs him regularly, proclaiming, "I love him!" Cakes likes to admire from a distance, but he makes her a little nervous.

Let me tell you, he just about gives me a coronary every time I walk into the kitchen. Look at him, crouching there in the corner with that huge moustache. My first thought is always, "Who is that hiding behind the table?"

Oh, the joys of being married to a contractor!

Thursday, January 29, 2009


Baby number three (officially named Peanut for purposes of this blog), is a girl!

Wednesday, January 28, 2009


I know this is supposed to be "wordless," but I want everyone to take note of my head, which is not yet pregnant. I will continue to post belly shots, and I want to see (and hear objectively) if pregnant head develops ...
For more Wordless Wednesday, check out 5 Minutes for Mom.

Tuesday, January 27, 2009


Cakes has a security blanket. Sort of. You know how she didn't wean until she was two? Well, I guess weaning took away her article of security (namely, her food source), and she replaced it with ... well ...

... my cleavage (as you can see, sometimes Bean is prompted to join in the cleavage spelunking). You will often find Cakes up to her elbow in my bosom. She does it at home, she does it in public (prompting complete strangers to say things like, "Do you keep your wallet in there?"). I've asked her what she's looking for. Her answers range from a piece of candy to the baby in my belly to my parents' dogs.

Today, Cakes had a well-check visit with her pediatrician. Going to the doctor is a little nerve-wracking for anyone. So, I spent the entire visit hunching and contorting so that Cakes could maintain her hold on my cleavage during the entire visit.

Today during dinner, Cakes said, "Tum here, Mama. I want to put my hand in your cleabage." I'm hoping she will outgrow this. I keep having visions of my sixteen-year-old daughter sitting next to me with her hand down my shirt ...

Monday, January 26, 2009


Each pregnancy, I get wonderful Restless Leg Syndrome. With each baby, I've spent my nights kicking and moving around in an attempt to stop the "tinglies" in my lower extremeties. The RLS never appears when I am without child. And the wonderful medicine that has been invented to counteract RLS is not to be taken when you're pregnant.

The tinglies began again a few weeks ago - that horrible, creepy-crawly, need-to-run-a-marathon-right-this-instant feeling. But, I have discovered the secret to putting an end to my RLS. I sleep on the floor. How did I discover this? Well ....

I tend to have low blood pressure. I mean low. My previous family doctor routinely asked me if I was comatose after taking my blood pressure. Last night, my father took my blood pressure because I was feeling a little shaky. My pressure was 96/53. So, as you can imagine, I'm pretty tired by the end of the day. I often end up falling asleep on the floor of the cherubs' bedroom while I'm trying to get them into bed. The down side is that my pregnant self spends the night on a floor. The up side is that I sleep very well.

Monday, January 19, 2009


My brothers and I never fought physically. Yeah, there was a lot of screaming (on my part), and mental torture, but we never really came to blows.

As a parent, I work hard to keep my children in a violence-free atmostphere. It may seem a little strict, but I don't let them watch anything on TV other than Noggin, a handful of PBS shows, and talk shows like Rachael Ray. We don't even watch Spongebob or Fairly Oddparents or anything like that. I'm big on age-appropriateness when it comes to the media, books, etc., to which my cherubs are exposed.

Imagine my surprise, then, that I have managed to give birth to two beautiful princesses who will readily beat each other to a pulp at the slightest provocation! Where does that even come from?

So, I have spent almost every day since Cakes became mobile training Bean in non-violent conflict resolution with Cakes. It goes something like this:

Me: "What do we do when Sissy bothers us? Do we hit Sissy?"

Bean: "No."

Me: "Do we kick Sissy?"

Bean: "No."

Me: "Do we push Sissy down?"

Bean: "No."

Me: "What do we do when Sissy bothers us?"

Bean: "We tell Mom."

Me: "That's right. You tell Mommy. That way we can talk about things and work out a solution to the problem without hitting."

We've had the same interchange about five million times, and it is usually following a screaming stint in time out where Bean refuses to apologize to Cakes for pushing, hitting, kicking, etc.

A few days ago, I was in the grocery store with the girls. We were walking down the aisle. Suddenly, Cakes grabbed Bean, put her in a headlock, and began punching her in the face. Yes, my completely-sheltered-from-violence-in-the-media two-year-old put her four-year-old sister in some sort of half-Nelson or something and began pummeling her. And so began Conflict Resolution Training for Cakes. It goes something like this:

Me, with a very serious look on my face: "What do we do when Sissy bothers us?"

Cakes, with an equally serious look on her face: "Scream."

Me, trying hard not to laugh: "No, we tell Mommy. That way we can talk about things and work out a solution to the problem without hitting."

Cakes: "But I not going to listen to you."

And, there you have it. I think we have a ways to go.

Thursday, January 15, 2009


You are all aware of how Bean's medical career has hit a slight snag, due to her unwillingness to look at boo-boos, even the animated boo-boos on her favorite Noggin shows. What you may not know is that my blossoming medical career was also tragically cut short.

There I am in Africa, wearing my nurse's uniform (complete with cape blowing in the wind like some kind of superhero), smiling so hard that my face is about to crack in two. The nurse's kit contained all the necessaries, like a stethescope, a thermometer, a needle, and bandaids. I loved my nurse's uniform. I loved caring for all the "sick" people in my house, and for all my parents' missionary friends.
Then, one day I pretended to give a shot to one of my dad's fellow missionary pilots. I was mortified when he yelled, "Ouch" and pretended to start sobbing from the pain. It was more than my little, four-year-old heart could bear. And I hung up my stethescope.
It's not all that tragic, really. I'm not a big fan of boo-boos, myself. Or vomit. Or anything else that can possibly ooze out of the human body. And, with Bean's choice of bandages, it's not all that tragic if she steers clear of medicine, too.
For more fun memories and embarrassing photos, check out We Are THAT Family.

Wednesday, January 14, 2009


(Bean with her cousin, Isaiah)
For more Wordless Wednesday, check out 5 Minutes for Mom.

Monday, January 12, 2009


I used to think Bean would grow up to be a doctor (or get into some sort of nurturing/healing job). She loves to put bandages on people, and take their temperature, and put blankets on them when they feel sick.

But, I'm noticing a trend lately. Very strange. It all started when we were watching "Go, Diego, Go!" Diego was rescuing a couple of kinkajous from some kind of prickly bush. Each of the kinkajous had an injury on its hand. Now, if you've ever watched Diego, you know that nothing is drawn with a great deal of detail. But, Bean was very upset about the boo-boos on the kinkajous, and she covered her eyes so she wouldn't have to see all the ... um ... "gore(?)". She reacts the same way if she gets hurt. She doesn't want to see her boo-boos, and she doesn't want anyone else to see her boo-boos. I can eventually get them bandaged by promising not to look at the boo-boo while I put on the bandage (I'm hoping she outgrows this before she realizes how impossible that is).

Then, we had a trip to the pediatrician. Where Bean had to get her shots in preparation for school (I'm homeschooling, but I still need to provide proof of inoculations to the state). That meant four shots. On most kids Bean's age, those shots would be in the arm. But, I don't think Bean has one ounce of body fat on her little frame, and I was concerned about those big needles going into her little upper arms; so, we opted for the butt shots. It took two people to hold her down while the nurse administered the injections to my screaming cherub, who clenched her little cheeks together so tightly that (as the nurse put it) it was like trying to give an inoculation to a brick wall. I assumed things would get better once the shots were over. I was wrong.

For the rest of the day and the next day, Bean adamantly refused to use the toilet for her business, claiming that it would "hurt my bottom." I could kind of see the logic, but I eventually had to place her, screaming, on the toilet and supervise until she eventually expelled her waste.

Yesterday, she was playing outside with Aunt Tracy and scraped her knee on the sidewalk. She wouldn't let anyone get her pants off to bandage it, because she didn't want to see it. Okay. I was amenable to letting her sleep with her pants on for a night. But that was followed with, "I can't go pee-pee on the potty because I hurt my knee." Huh? Not getting it.

I guess in kids' minds there is a logic to all these kinds of things ... In the meantime, my poor child has not peed on the potty voluntarily in over 24 hours.

Wednesday, January 7, 2009


After a long holiday hiatus, Life in the Crazy Lane is back! Here are some holiday memories to kick off the new year.

And, being the observant mom that I am, I didn't notice Cakes' extremely urinated-upon rear end until I was looking through the photos. "Is that a shadow?" I wondered. Upon checking, I found that Cakes' bottom was, indead, soiled.

And, a slightly blurry photo of the finished product to end this post. Yes, we had two Christmas trees. Here's what happened: we set up the fake tree. Then, Big Daddy and Grammy decided that this Christmas called for a real tree. So, we brought home a real tree and set it up. Later, we moved the fake tree to another room. But, the girls enjoyed their "Christmas Forest" while we had the two trees side by side.

Hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas!