I am a genius

Time to update, huh? Well since I last posted, it's been nuts.

As you all know, I am currently taking an anti-seizure medication (Keppra) 750mg two times per day. Each month I pay almost $400 for them. I have recently come across a program which could possibly pay for most (if not all) of that expense. I have applied to the program, and was accepted.

I had one week between the time I ran out of meds for the month and the time that my new prescription coverage started. So, instead of (being smart and logical)buying the meds out of pocket, I decided to wait out a week without any.

I've been fine since May, right?

Well, later that week I went to a party at a girlfriend's house sans husband. We had no sitter, and I was going for only a few hours since I had to get up early the next day. The party was going fantastically. I saw some of out friends who I haven't seen in a year or more. At 11pm I apparently went up to Mark's little brother and told him that I felt dizzy. (This was my only smart move of the week since he was the only one there who knew my condition, and knew what to do.)

He pulled me to the front yard of the house, and tried to catch me as I fell like a sack of shit. After two seizures which lasted longer than normal, Josh (Mark's brother) called for an ambulance.

The local volunteer fire company was called to the house, and was unable to make it to the house because the ambulance broke. The neighboring town then responded to the call. The only problem? The went to the correct street.....but in the wrong town. Fourty-five minutes later (and around 4-5 seizures), two ambulances showed up.

I'm told that the entire time I was on the ground, there was constant fighting between people as to what they should be doing. Josh and a couple others had their heads on straight thankfully.

When my blood pressure was taken, the needle didn't move. The paramedics put a collar on my neck, threw me on a stretcher, and loaded me into the ambulance. Josh came with me on the ride to the hospital. On the way down, they started an IV. I went into another seizure and they gave me a shot of Valium to stop them. After yet another seizure, another shot of Valium was given.

The hospital thought that my seizures were alcohol related since they could smell the beer on my breath. So, they took my blood, to check my blood alcohol level. While that was processing, they put me through a CAT scan to check the enormous lump on the back of my head.

When Mark arrived (thanks to some friends who came to the house to babysit), he informed the staff there that I was indeed epileptic. I am told that I turned into a HUGE bitch to the staff. I ripped my neck collar off, the heart monitors, and was snapping at the neurologist who told me that I had to stay. At some point, Mark went home, and I was transferred to a room.

When I woke up at 11am the next day, I was understandably confused. I cannot remember anything from about 10pm the night before until I woke up. Nothing. (Weird feeling)

Turns out I wasn't even able to have more than a beer or two (the nurse said), and my head was fine, but I would just have to deal with the lump for a while. The doctor gave me some Hydrocodone for the headache and pain, and after much convincing, allowed me to go home.

Embarrassing lesson learned.

Shit.

03/12/2006-05/16/2007

"Mama, I think something's wrong with Golden."

Yesterday was a very tough day for Dylan. It was the very first thing in the morning when Dylan discovered Golden at the top of his bowl. He was the very first living being in Dylan's life which had died.

Dylan spent the majority of the day sitting next to me, attempting to choke back his tears. He understood what the meaning of "dead" was. He said that Golden made him happy, and he was the greatest pet ever.

The only problem I had was trying to find something on tv which wouldn't remind him of his loss. While we watched some kid's show, guess what the brave children were "trying to eat?" Sushi. Okay, let's watch cartoons instead. Oh great, it's the show "The Wonder Pets!" The episode? "The Wonder Pets Save the Dolphin." I ended up letting Dylan play Nintendo.

We waited for Mark to come home from work. Dylan knew that we would have to bury him, but he didn't want to let go of him. Dylan wanted to keep him in the house forever, but when he resigned to burying him, he chose a spot in my garden, underneath the living room window. He liked knowing that Golden was near to where Dylan was.

Mark scooped Golden out (we had put a lovely yellow and white cloth over his bowl until then), wrapped him in paper towels, and gently placed Golden in a tiny box that he made. Dylan and I decided to draw pictures to put in the box with him. Tiny crayon pictures of little red fish with smiles surrounded by hearts brought on a fresh set of new tears.

Dylan put on his sneakers and my raincoat, flipped the hood onto his head, and stood in the garden with only his little legs showing. As the day's rain stopped for five minutes, we gathered around a tiny hole in the garden, placed Golden's box in, said our good-byes, covered him up, and placed a nice stone on top so we would always know where Golden was.

Yes, I know this seems all so dramatic. I was crying by the time we were done. Mark sarcastically asked if I thought I was going to "pull through" on this one. Asshole.

In true burial traditions, we went out to eat and celebrate Golden's life, and remember our favorite things about him....at McDonald's. On Friday we will go out to get a new fish. I think two days of bereavement is sufficient for little Golden. Dylan wants to get the new fish a new castle, because "that castle is Golden's house."

Bye, little buddy.

Cheese steaks, and why they are good for my brain.

Yesterday was the big day. Mark and I packed up early in the morning and dropped the kids at my mother's house. "Be back soooooon as we can, Mom! (cackle, cackle, cackle)."



After a three hour ride, we arrived at the University of Pennsylvania where I met my new neurologist. He looks just like Peter MacNicol, and that was just fine with me. (Remember, he was the art museum curator in Ghostbusters II? "Soon, the city will be mine and Vigo's... mainly Vigo's.")

He spent over an hour with us, going over everything- what happened, dates, times, the before-during-and-after's of the seizures, signs, symptoms, causes, medications. EVERYTHING. After hearing all of it, he had come to the diagnosis of Complex Partial Epilepsy- not the Photosensitive Epilepsy that my hometown neurologist had thought. He nearly croaked when I told him that I was on Depakote. He uses that as a last resort medication because of the side effects associated with it.

Instead, I am slowly to get to Keppra 750mg BID. He wants me to go back to Phili in two weeks to have another EEG which will be review by himself and his staff. After that, he may require an MRI just to make sure he has ruled everything else out.

His only additional information for me was to make sure I get a good amount of sleep at night, and use supplemental naps in the day. (Did I mention how much I like this guy?) No restriction of physical activity other than driving. I have six months of no driving (state law) since the last seizure. I have no problems with that since I haven't driven since the last one. After six months, he will contact the Department of Transportation and clear me to drive again.

I think we are starting to get on the right track now. Hopefully with the new medicine routine, I can stay awake, and on my feet for a while. So, until I am back to normal, I'll be frequenting the famous Pat's Philly Cheese steaks as much as needed. The "American wit" is the best thing going.

Vino

Mark and I went on a bus trip (through a very gracious Christmas gift from his aunt) to the Finger Lakes in New York this past weekend for their Mardi Gras celebration. On the first day (Saturday), we hit ten (TEN!) wineries. Later that night, I believe I drunk-dialed my sister and went to sleep soon after... er, that's what I think happened.

The second day, due to incoming inclement weather, our bus driver wanted to head home earlier than originally planned. So, after stopping at three wineries, we headed home.

Noteworthy moment: After coming out of one of the wineries on Saturday, my little eye spotted a great picture that I wanted to take. It was across the dirt road. All I had to do was walk across a little bit of snowy ground, and I would be there in a flash. That snowy ground, I soon found out, was a ditch on the side of the road, filled to the brim with all of the snow that NY had just gotten. Tricky. My first step- fine. The second sucked me ass-deep into snow. Of course it wasn't bad enough that I was ass-deep in snow, I also had an audience of about 30 on the tour bus pointing and laughing at my expense. I had a choice- turn around and forget the picture, or take three more ass-chilling steps and get to the shot I was desperate for. The wine, thankfully, erased all logic from my brain, and persuaded me on to the picture. I took it, and came back the same way I came in. Halfway back, I was truly stuck in the snow. One of my fellow passengers saw that I may need some assistance (ha ha, get it? ASSistance...ar ar ar), and came to my rescue. He soon became engulfed in the exact snowy death trap as I was. At that point, I was laughing so hard I was nervous that I would pee my pants and make a real spectacle out of the ordeal. After much pulling and laughter, we somehow escaped, only to have a standing encore as I entered the bus. (And yes, I think it was worth it. The picture below was "the" shot.)


Overall, we had an awesome time. We had a glorious 37 and 1/2 hours away from the kids (but who's counting), and we brought home six bottles of New York's finest.

Drop it like it's hot...

I woke up on my kitchen floor last night at about 5:15. I had been playing a card game (gin) online for about an hour, and at some point decided that I was done. Mark claims that I was talking about my gin rating going up as I walked into the kitchen. At that point, I had a seizure. I lost consciousness, and my entire body convulsed. I remember feeling my head snapping back multiple times and my legs crunching into my chest repetitively.

When I woke up, I asked Mark how the hell I ended up in the kitchen on the floor. I have no recollection of even leaving the living room. I don't remember anything from a couple minutes after it too. Mark said it lasted a couple of minutes. I'll take his word. My head hurt like a bastard, (the doctor thinks it was probably from a concussion from dropping like a sack of shit on the hard floor.) My face was red, and my neck was sore. Besides that, I felt a bit confused and dazed, but pretty much normal.

The doctor started me on Phenobarbital. They took blood, scheduled me for an EEG, CT scan, and an appointment with the neurologist.

The general consensus? I may have photosensitive epilepsy. Remember the seven-hundred-and-some people in Japan who had seizures while watching Pokemon? Yep, well apparently that's what it is.

Repetitive movements, certain sequences, flashing lights, specific shapes- they all have something to do with it. Approximately 3-5% of people with epilepsy are classified with this specific type. Most are under the age of 20 when they experience their first seizure. However, since computer games and more action-packed television shows are fairly new, and directed towards younger kids, there may just not be as many documented cases in adults.

Crazy, I know.

Here's more information on PSE (look, I have the lingo already!) if you so care to read it.

My head still hurts today, but it's not as bad as yesterday.

What a great excuse for me if I don't post for a while, huh? Or if I misspell something...

Snapped

I was taking a couple pictures of miscellaneous things while Jordan napped today. Dylan was extra cheery, so I got one of his beautiful face. Snap.








Then, I walked through the kitchen to go outside, pausing to admire the clock and wall background combination. Snap.







At the front porch, I noticed the rocking chairs were chipping. I started to think that I would need to repaint them next summer, then deciding that I like them better weathered. Snap.








My eyes wandered to the front door, where I noticed that I still had a wreath on my door from spring, and I knew I had one for the fall (I'm no animal, I'll have you know) So, I walked towards the basement (where all seasonal stuff is stashed) and saw the little yellow "pull" for the basement doors. Snap.





The very moment my foot stepped onto the concrete, I dropped my camera, sending it directly to its untimely demise.

These were the last images caught by my beloved camera. The entire lens is bent and dented in. It won't turn on, collapse, let me view images....nothing. I was able to get the pictures off using my (not-so-stupid-now), overpriced-but-needed-it-for-work, fancy-dancy printer.

It sounds ridiculous- most likely very materialistic- I don't care. I am devastated.

A Conversation VI:

Dylan and I were playing baseball outside the other day. After about 20 minutes, he was bored, and wanted to move onto the next game. The following conversation took place:

Dylan: Mama, how about we play "Hit the Deer with the Ball?" (He noticed my obviously confused look, so he elaborated) I'll be the deer, and you throw the ball.

Me: Stand still.

Rip it and ride it, baby.

This is truly nothing new to us. This is about the ninth time since in our house that it has been flooded. What is new to us is how quickly and hard the rain fell today. Apparently, this was a record breaking rainfall month. People in the area agree that this rain is worse than what we had during Hurricane Ivan.

Flood gates in the surrounding areas have been raised, people living near the rivers are being evacuated roads closed, and sadly, one person died already today when his car washed away in a flash flood.

Our basement has a total of three sump pumps in an attempt to drain the water at least as fast as it is coming in. We are expecting a couple more inches of rain tonight and tomorrow.

As always, we are thankful that our family is fine. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to find Mark some swimmies

Best Advice Ever

Taking my children to the grocery store can make even the most calm, saintly person leave, wanting to find something, someone, anything, and kick it. Knowing that kids have little patience, and no interest in anything non-toy related, I make my grocery list ahead of time. It’s organized by isle, cutting the chances of a dual-child meltdown, and I make sure we go first thing in the morning, ensuring no waiting in lines, and a quick check out.

Three quarters of the way through our order, Jordan started crying. It wasn’t anything to be alarmed about. So, I did the usual. I tried talking to him, singing the ABC’s, and finally, making ridiculous faces which accomplished nothing but diminish my self worth.

As we made our way through the frozen foods, I quickly realized that Jordan was becomming more frantic. I continued through the isle in a brisk jog, while Dylan hung on to the front of the cart. When I stopped briefly to grab some frozen raviolis, Dylan informs me of how much he really had to poop. Jordan was now in full screaming mode. The veins on the side of his neck were bulging. All hopes of calming him were clearly lost.

When we rounded the corner, heading into the bread and dairy isle, I watched as the bread delivery man, who was stocking the shelves and had obviously heard us coming, leapt out of our way. Smart man. Smart, smart, smart. He knew.

Unfortunately, the woman at the end of the dairy isle didn’t. I could feel it coming. I had seen her from across the shredded cheese. She was already waving at the kids. I tried my best to avoid a meeting, but she cornered me by the yogurts. As I scooped up a 16 pack of snack size yogurts, this woman began her attempt in calming the beast. She started out with the classic “peek-a-boo” move. Realizing that it would take much more than that, she pulled out what she thought was her trump card. In, what I assume is her best, varying-pitch baby voice, she says to Jordan: “Whasssaaamaaatterrrrr? Do you want to get out of that mean, old cart? Yes you do! Is Mommy pinching you?”

God love her. She was trying. The problem was, though, that she was merely prolonging the time I had to spend in this refrigerated hell, listening to my sweet child wail at the top of his lungs. I’m sure she is a very lovely woman. I’m sure she’s the kind of woman who buys a box of Thin Mints every year from the little girl next door, and happily makes “her special dish” for her scrapbooking club’s party each April. Lovely woman, really.

As I tried to politely walk away from her with Dylan (still having to poop), and Jordan (still….well you know), I was thanking her for her very valiant tries. But behind my pasted on smile and telling my children to wave, the only thing I could think of, was: How hard would I have to throw this buy-one-get-one-free, 12 oz. block of Oscar Meyer bologna at her to make her stop?

Pretty hard, I bet. Underneath it all, this lady looked fairly tough. Lovely, but tough.

In a full sprint, we made it to the registers before Jordan’s head started to spin 360 degrees. While I was busy hurling our food onto the belt, Dylan thought he would help. Faster than I could discourage him from helping, he had already picked up a jar. Before I knew it, there was sticky, purple, grape jelly splattered all over the floor, the cart, and my leg.

It was at this very moment that Jordan stopped crying.

Poor Dylan felt horrible about the jelly and instantly bent down to start cleaning up the mess. I quickly reached down, and snatched his hand up before he touched the broken glass. In that split second, it was perfectly quiet in the store. Everyone had heard the smash of glass, and turned to see what it was. It was quiet enough that when Dylan bent down to pick up the pieces, all we all heard was a huge “Pppppfffffftttttt!”

Dylan stands up quickly, eyes as wide as saucers, grabs his ass, and says, “Oh, Mama! I’m telling you, the poop wants to come out right now!”

Eventually, we got out of there, we got home, and yes, Dylan got to the bathroom in time. Phew.

I’ve decided that I will be going to the store at night, once Mark comes home from work.

All.

By.

Myself.

So, take this as advice (already known by the bread guy) and best said by Chicago:

“But if you see me walking by,
And the tears are in my eyes,
Look away, baby, look away.”

June 1st

Five years ago today.

Neither Mark nor I can remember what "our song" was, but we won't lose any sleep over it.

I'll Fly Away

Dylan and Mark went on the hill to fly his kite. As riviting as it is, Dylan still managed to fall asleep. Mark did what any other normal father would do- he tied the kite to his shoe and let him nap while he got some things done in the basement.

Happy St. Patrick's

You know what's great fun today, even before cracking open your first Killians Irish Red? Saying something, but putting a "Mc" in front of it.

Examples from tonight:

Mark: I'll do the McDishes

Dylan: I just McFarted.

Sarah: I have to stop at the McMac machine first.

Dylan: Jordan's a McButtFace.


Of course cursing allows for more humorous comments, however, with the presence of my young nieces who visit this site, I will allow for your imaginations to try them out for yourselves. Filthy McNasties you all are.

It's mine.

As some of you may have noticed, I have an interest in photography. It all started with the birth of Dylan. I wanted to document his every breath, every tiny movement that this little human being made. I wanted a way to preserve these moments forever. The problem I always ended up having, was that in an entire roll of film, I would have (maybe) one or two keepers. You see, I only had a crappy little 35mm Kodak. It never stopped me from clicking away. I bought my very first (and so far only) digital camera last January.

Obviously I like taking pictures of my kids. Okay, it borders on obsession. I attempt to take the momentous occasions that need documenting- first haircuts, first days of school, and so on. More than that, I am mostly concerned in taking pictures that truly speak of their character. I want someone to look at the picture and instantly understand that very moment, who they are, and understand what's going on. I like to capture both joyous and unfortunate times. I try to take pictures when they are unaware of my presence. They're better when they're raw. Since I have the camera on the all the time, it's easy to do that. When I get "the" picture, I feel like I've made it mine. It was my moment, from my eye, and I can then share it with others, or keep it all to myself forever.

I may take classes at our local college in photography, because I feel constricted. I don't know how to use my camera. I bought a Canon Power Shot A95, and only use two or three of the billion settings it has. I think that if I know more about the camera, design, lighting, composition, and the more technical aspects of photography, I would be able to do so much more. I mean, I think even photography 101 could take me so much further. I don't even know how to edit my pictures after they're taken. I don't know how I feel about that either. It would feel a bit strange for me to fix up a photo and say that I took it.

I have been spending some time looking through Flickr, and am completely impressed with many of the pictures there. I have added the link below, and invite all of you to take a look at the pictures that Flickr has decided have "interestingness" (their word, not mine). Some pictures are obviously taken by professionals, whose technical perfection gets in the way of a potentially good picture. There are also some pictures taken by novices who probably took the picture by accident. Some are simply amazing. In any case, they are really interesting pictures which is the whole point- "interestingness," remember? So, here's your click of the day.

Big Tex

One thing that I love about Dylan, is that he is so classic. A few days ago, Dylan informed me that he would like to be a cowboy when he is big. But, in order to do that, he will need me to get some boots, a lasso, and a horse for him, since he has no monies. He settled for snow boots, an old ribbon, and an imaginary horse, who he has named Petty.

Good Morning!

At Dylan's school, there is a bully. He is your typical school house bully. He's a tad older than all the others, he's much taller, and he looks for kids to pick on. Dylan doesn't like him, meaning- I don't like him, hence- I don't like his mother. I imagine other parents understand this rational thinking.

Anyway, Dylan came home the other day to tell me that this kid kept pulling his own pants down to run around the room with his penis before the teachers could catch him. (Side note: he was suspended for a month after the second incident)

This led Mark and I to a good touch/bad touch talk with Dylan. Nothing too serious, but just to let him know what is not appropriate, and who he should tell. Basically, he learned to say, "Hey, don't touch my penis."

Dylan was good with the conversation. Mark thought he was too young, but I believe we kept it age appropriate. We returned to playing tag and wrestling after this (literally) two minute talk.

The next day at school, Dylan walked through the door, took his coat off, and hung it up in his cubby. As always, he put his name tag on the board and made his way to Miss Sherry and Miss Lori for his morning salutations. On his way, he waves at his friends, and acts like the town mayor. He walked past his best friend, Tyler, saying, "Hey hey, Tyler! Like my new Buzz Lightyear shoes? They have lights when I walk!" As he made his way past the bully, he smiled, waved and said in a very chipper morning attitude, "Hey, buddy! Don't touch my penis." He continued walking to his teachers. The two of them and I could not stop laughing. We agreed that if he could keep saying that until he is married, we'll have no problems.

Mullet over...get it?! Mullet ...oh never mind.

Ralph's barbershop sits in the middle of town, and has been where my grandfathers on both sides have gone for years. Ralph has been the barber for three generations in my family, and yesterday, I decided it was time to pay him a visit- with both boys.

When we first arrived, both boys were perfect. They sat in their seats for about five minutes without so much as a peep. I took a picture. Jordan was actually smiling.

Dylan was looking forward to seeing Ralph. He gets a kick out of the fact that there's "always old people with white hair" there. Jordan had a natural mullet. His hair just grew like that. I like to say that he gets that from his father. Jordan was in desperate need for a hair cut, and knowing his temperment, I was scared for my life. So, I brought my sister, Lauren with me. Luckily for us, she's just as savvy taking pictures as she is watching four year olds.

Predictably, Dylan sat stoic in the seat while Jordan screached at me for not being able to entertain him properly, you know, with crackers and stuff. Dylan was finished quickly, and we all braced ourselves for the wrath of Jordan.

I sat in the hot seat, holding Jordan while Ralph fired up the clippers. Jordan started freaking out. As Ralph made his first run with the clippers, Jordan instantly stopped yelling and squirming.

Oh. My. God.

For the eight of ten total minutes it took for Jordan to be sheered, he sat silent. Once Ralph started using the scissors, Jordan wanted it to be over with.

After Jordan was finished, he stopped being "Jordan." (If you read this blog on a regular basis, and/or know Jordan first hand, you know what I mean.) For the past 36 hours, he has been a normal child. He started to make this weird noise in the car after lunch, (TGIFridays- which he smiled through)and Lauren and I turned to see what was wrong with him, and we realized, he was fake laughing.

Lauren and I decided that he was just so unhappy with his natural mullet, that he screamed (for the thirteen months he's been here) until someone had the friggin sense to chop it off.

Thanks to the magic of cameras, we have documented proof for your viewing pleasure.

First Arrival

Photo: Sarah

Photo: Lauren

Photo: Lauren

Photo: Lauren


Photo: Lauren

Dylan Before (thinking about old people)

Photo: Sarah

Dylan After (obviously unamused with me)

Photo: Sarah

Jordan Before (please note the mullet)

Photo: Sarah

Jordan After

Photo: Sarah

Ah, so kill me. I liked both pictures.

Photo: Sarah

A Lesson in Giving

On this beautiful, crisp December morning, we gathered around our friends to be with them as they buried one of their children. He was an identical twin baby boy born two months ago. He and his brother have not had an easy transition into this thing we call life.

Baby #1 was named Gavin, and baby #2 was named Dylan. Gavin was the smaller and more sick of the two in utero. Dylan was the stronger, bigger baby. Dylan helped support Gavin in his most crucial times. Dylan kept him alive.

When they were born (two months premature) they were both just over a pound each. Gavin thrived in his incubator under the care of NICU specialists. Dylan, however, did not. He had open heart surgery at three weeks of life. From that point on, he struggled to keep his head above water.

Gavin was allowed to go home just last week. He has oxygen 24 hours a day, and is still under strict medical care. His brother's condition continued to worsen.

On Thursday, our friends went to the hospital to hold their baby through his last moments here.

Though this tiny baby boy was alive for only months, he has accomplished more and touched more people than many adults who reach a ripe age. In this Christmas season, while I have been crazed to find the perfect gifts for my kids, family, and friends, I have been given a new lesson in giving.

There are many charities and organizations that need money, please keep this in mind as you enjoy the holidays. If it weren't for the incredible doctors, nurses, staff, and monetary donors of Lehigh Valley Hospital, our friends may not have had the opportunity to bring home either baby. If anyone would like to donate to one of the nation's greatest neonatal intensive care units, please click on the link. Lehigh Valley Hospital

If he didn't know before...

...the poor kid knows now.

Dylan's first day back at school was on Monday since the whole ordeal with freaking out and being out of control. I think he has been a bit anxious, probably because I have been. Dylan is very intuituve.

There were two substitute teachers on Monday, so after waiting all morning in agony to hear how Dylan did, the deer-in-headlights sub. didn't even know what just hit her at the end of the day.

The real test would be Wednesday...today.

When I went to pick up Dylan, the teacher said that he had a good day. She had a hard time getting his attention and keeping it on the task, but he was more like himself today.

Enter Mama.

I came in right when the kids were gathering on the Alphabet Rug. The Alphabet Rug has, you guessed it, all of the letters of the English Alphabet going around it. The kids try to be the first on the rug so that they can sit on their favorite letter. Dylan was distracted and was one of the last ones to reach the rug. But, as he noticed me, he quickly sat on the letter "M" to save it for me.

"Mama! Come and sit on the M! Hurry up!"

As I was flattered that Dylan wanted me there, there were two reasonms that I could not join them on the fantastic rug. 1- Each letter is about 12" tall by 12" wide. Pretty teeny. 2- I had Jordan.

Dylan sat down on the M, disappointed, but cooperative.

Half way through their song, he saw the poor kid sitting on Dylan's "D"

The kids begin singing. "Five little turkeys sitting on the wall. The first one said gobble, gobble, gobble. The second one said Happy Thanksg...

"Dylan starts with D! See!" (pointing at his blue, felt name tag) "You are on MY letter D! The letter "D" is for THE DYLAN!"

Miss Sherry must see this often, because she corrected Dylan quickly and with astonishing results. Dylan returned to his letter "M" and finished singing the turkey song, jazz hand movements and all.

When we were leaving, Miss Sherry must have sensed that I was unsettled from Dylan's unusual behavior, and she told me that all the kids have been acting up. They normally do around holidays and when they are unable to play and get their energy out because of the weather.

I swear as we were leaving I could see Dylan pointing at his eyes, then to that kid, a la DeNiro in "Meet the Fockers"

Lesson of the day: D is for Dylan, ALWAYS remember that.

I'm so hot.

Can you believe it? Out? BY MYSELF?! I left the boys for some much needed time away from them.

I love them, but I need time and yada, yada, yada...you all know that I need to get out, no explanations needed, I hope. Mark never argues when I say that I'm going out. The only thing he ever asks is "Are you coming back?"

'nuff said

I left my phone at home (whoops) and got in the car. Please, if something goes wrong, Mark knows what to do...Dylan is right there.

I went to the mall and have a little look at what was new there. I tried the usuals: Old Navy, American Eagle, Penny's, then The Gap. (Note: I stayed clear of Victoria's Secret, if any of you remember that incident.)

At The Gap, I found a cute skirt that I thought I'd try, since it would match the new boots I bought at Target without a good reason. I grabbed a size 8 in two different colors. I got into my changing room and tried 'em on.

Ugh. I didn't wear a very good shopping outfit. I wore my sneakers, which require tying each time I try something on. I also wore my jeans with a crazy belt that needs to be looped through....blah, blah, blah. You get the point.

The very first skirt I put on was too big. Gap is not known for it's consistency in sizing anyway, so I tried on the other. Wooooohoooo! Tell me it's true! I am down to a size 6?

I threw my jeans on, looped the belt, put on my shoes, tied them up, and left the changing room in search of that skirt in the smaller size.

Okay, got them. Also picked up that cute shirt to try on because now I feel skinny.

This time when I went into the changing room, I decided that I would slip the skirt on over my pants, and just pull my pants down to my ankles so I don't have to take off my shoes or the belt, etc.

Oh! It fits! It really does fit! It wasn't just a fabric measurement inconsistency! Oh, I'm so happy! I could just have a party to celebraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.......

At this point in my celebration, I trip over my stupid looped belt which is attached to my jeans around my ankles, stumble forward, and see my own face coming at me at the speed of light. My nose hits the dressing room mirror and immediately starts bleeding. My size 6 ass is sticking straight up in the air, and I am praying that the girl in the room next to me isn't seeing my unflattering, but quite comfortable, pink, striped, Hanes-Her-Way underwear from where she is.

I straightened myself up, put the skirt on its hanger and got my pants on in record time (thanks to my ingenious pants-around-the-ankles-trick). Then I sat in the dressing room for about 20 minutes, holding a baby wipe from my purse on my nose, trying to stop the bleeding.

I ended up buying the skirt when I left that room of terror. Once I got in the car, I went right back home where my idiocies are appreciated.

Smile, and scream cheese!

Today was picture day at Dylan's school. So, we made sure that he has a bath, brushed his teeth, combed his hair, all that good stuff, all befor school started this morning. Dylan was a bit more tired this morning than on other days because he has not been feeling well the past few days. His sleep has been disturbed, he's not eating normal, you get the point.

Anyway, this morning he was looking forward to smiling for the camera. He looked fantastic (ahem, as usual). When we arrived at the school, I saw that all of the other kids were dressed up. Really dressed up. Dylan was the only boy there without a collared shirt. All of the girls had dresses and skirts on. Dylan didn't look frumpy, but I had only put a nice, clean red striped shirt on him from Target, along with his new jeans, which are his "faborite." Who cares, right? I mean, it's just head shots of the kids, and then a picture of the whole class together in the gym.

Nope. I forgot what kind of area we live in. The school had hired a professional photographer who brought along a white back drop, white blocks for kids to sit on, as well as (yep) white chairs, rocking horses, and all of the other ridiculous props that they use.

Dylan has never had his picture taken "professionally" before. Gasp! A four year old who has never sat on sand mound in front of a fake summer beach scene? Never once laid down next to a ginormous number signifying what age he reached? You mean, never once had his picture taken sitting on his mother's lap, holding a bunch of plastic daisies that he is pretending to give to her, while he gazes adoringly at his baby brother, who is sitting in an old fashioned wash bin? What kind of monster raised this kid?!

As of right now, I do not know how the pictures came out. Dylan told me that he sat on the block because he was afraid of the rocking horse. Beyond that, I can only speculate.

At the end of the day, I went to pick Dylan up. He was crying because he missed me, so his nose was running all over the place, and his eyes were all red. This is not like him. Obviously, he was not feeling well. He started to say goodbye to his friends and teachers, and he turned around and freaked out on some kid. He just started screaming and crying, and yelling at the kid because it was "clean-up, bye-bye time" and he wasn't helping. Holy shit. All of the other moms stared at me like I was cracked out. I had Dylan appologize to the poor kid who was now in trauma. I grabbed Dylan's hand, and we left the school.

After his nap I am sure he will be feeling better, but I think we will take it easy for the rest of the day. Posing with stupid props when I have a runny nose would make me a bit nutty. I love my crazy children.