Things That Go Scratch In the Night

Normally, I am the last one up in our house.  Most nights, you can find me sitting at the dining room table, where I have the laptop with a heater turned on, browsing the web, replying to emails, working on some project, or otherwise just waisting time on the internet.  From my seat, I can hear all the doors open, and my children moving around.  Its a good place to sit, most of the time.

However, it not only lets me hear my kids, but also anything else that goes scratch in the night.  

We have a lot of little wild life around us.  We do live in a more rural than urban area.  We have about a billion squirrels that live in our front and back yards.  We have the most beautiful birds like robins, cardinals, and blue jays, that will just land somewhere in our yard so that you can watch them.  We have found a turtle, and often see neighborhood pets out who have gotten loose.  Once, a horse even made its way into our front yard.  No.  Really.  It is actually really great for The Littlest One.  She loves to watch the animals.  So far, squirrels and birds are her favorites.  After all, the horse doesn't wander by every day or that would be her favorite for sure.  

With all of those animals, you often hear things running across the roof.  It is a little weird at first, but you get used to it.  Occasionally, a bird or squirrel wanders onto our screened in back porch somehow, and we have to help them out.  Little things like that are no big deal.  What is a big deal, though, is when those little animals make their way inside our home.  

I'm not sure if I've posted about this before, but I HATE mice.  Hate them.  Can't handle them.  It isn't so much a fear, but the fact that they gross me out beyond all belief.  Just looking at one makes me want to bleach my entire body.  If I know a mouse touched something, I throw it away.  No amount of washing will ever take that knowledge out of my head.  

Late, late one night, right after we moved in, a saw a little tiny mouse run across my kitchen floor while I was sitting in my dining room seat at night.  I freaked out.  The next morning, my husband caught it and took care of it.  It took me days to calm down, though.  We also called our a pest control guy, the one who explain how deer hunting worked to me, to make sure the problem was taken care of.  I wouldn't open up the cabinet under my kitchen sink, where it had been hiding, without being totally prepared to jump and run for quite a while.  Eventually, though, it did get better.  I even keep just a couple of things under there now, at the front of the cabinet where I can easily grab them, of course.  

Then, last night, it happened again.  

I was sitting in my chair and I heard something.  At first, I thought it was one of The Girls stirring, and that I was about to see one walk in and tell me they couldn't sleep, didn't feel well, etc.  No one came in, though.  I kept working.  Then I heard it again.  This time, I realized it was more of a scratching sound.  I got up, walking into the kitchen quietly and listened.  There was total silence.  Just when I thought I was imagining things, I heard a very distinctive claw on wood sound of scratching from INSIDE one of my cabinets.  I immediately flew to my bedroom, not caring that The Littlest One was asleep in there, and begged my husband to come to my rescue again.  I told him there was an animal in the house and he had to come.  Had to.  He started to laugh and somehow sign at the same time, but he got up.  

He came in and heard nothing.  He opened the cabinet under the sink, scene of the last crime, and saw nothing.  He checked under the drawer where the last offender had also lived, and saw nothing.  He hit the cabinet, and nothing moved.  He hit the cabinet harder and still nothing moved.  

He told me I was imagining things and went back to bed.  

I knew what I heard.  

I left the room to close the computer, after all, there was no way I was sitting in there by myself anymore last night.  

Then, I tiptoed as well and as quietly as someone of my age and size can still do back into the kitchen, and I didn't move.  It took a few minutes, and I heard something again.

I knew I wasn't crazy.  At least not in this instance.  

I took about one tiptoe step a minute until I got the the kitchen sink.  I could hear it.  

My husband heard me trying to be stealthy, and he came back in to tell me to give up.  

I restated my case.  This time, he got out a flashlight.  We opened the cabinet again.  In the back of the cabinet under the sink is a big hole, larger than a softball, where someone who has no real know how of anything construction related tried to cut a hole for the pipes.  The hole goes all the way into the sub floor and makes a great little hiding spot.  That was where we found him.  My animal was a tiny field mouse.  He was little and gray, and freaked me the hell out.
  

I started backing away, but not slowly all while yelping "I told you!"

The field mouse was stuck to a sticky trap we had left in there from the last time.  He was still very much alive, though.  After a lot of poking fun at me, and a little bit of discussion about how the mouse needed to go or I was, he ask for the cheapest set of long barbecue tongs we had.  I didn't even flinch.  I told there where they were, because they were located in close proximity to the now diseased cabinet, and nearly started to cry.  Not for the animal, but because I knew he was going to carry that thing though my house, and I was terrified he would try to torture me with it.  

Instead, he got a bag, got the mouse out, and carried the whole thing outside.  I have no idea where he put it, or what he did with it from there, and i don't want to know.  

The tongs are in the trash, where they will stay.
I just can't handle the mice.

Today, I will be going out for more traps, lots of bleach, and new BBQ tongs.  It will take a long time before I can open that cabinet again, without flinching instinctively   I will be checking for scratching sounds for days when I first walk into the kitchen.  Ugg..

I suppose, if there is any upside to this at all, after all the cleaning today, my kitchen will be sparkling clean, even if it will all smell like bleach.  

You Have Value As A Mom

In all my time as an organizer of a moms group, I learned a lot.
Right now, one of the most valuable lessons for me personally, and one that I am struggling with myself, is that being a mom doesn't mean you are just a mom, you have value no matter who you are and what you do, or don't do.
When people would request to join our group, they are required to fill out a profile sheet of a few questions. The first thing on the list is an introduction.  It can be simple, but we do request that you actually put something about themselves.  So many times, women would come in and their introduction would read something like "Hi.  I'm Jane Doe, and before I was a Mom, I was a ...." It wasn't simple a way to let us know their interest.  It was as though they needed to let us know that they did something before becoming a mom, that with out that, they weren't a valid person.
I realized, after talking to so many moms over the years, that we so often lose ourselves when we become a mom, and forget how important we are.
When you become a mom, everything changes, especially if you quit the work force to stay home with your children.  When you do that, you lose touch with so many people, and what could easily be called "the outside world", meaning anything outside your home, or the scope of what revolves around your child.  Your day to day life is determined by the child's needs and schedule, not what you necessarily want.  If you let it, it can become very overwhelming to find your life so turned on it's ear.  Especially because, though you are raising a child, probably keeping the home, and all that, you often don't feel that you make a real contribution.  Your life feels like an endless cycle of the same thing.  It's like the old Dunkin Donuts commercial, and every day you wake to make the donuts, except your feeding the baby, changing the baby, cleaning the house, making lunches in the morning, etc.

For me, when we moved, I left everything behind.  I had a great moms group I ran.  I had a Girl Scout Troop I loved.  I had friends that are really more like family.  I loved the area.  I could go on, but I might cry.  So, I find myself back in that position, as if I were a new mom, just at home, with the baby.  I live by her schedule again, and end up cooking, cleaning ,and doing those kinds of things all day.  Part of me hates it.

The thing is, even if what you are doing is just feeding the baby, changing her, etc, you are making a contribution that is more than you can possible understand in that tired moment.  You have a job, though often a thankless one.  You are the toilet paper fairy, the dinner fairy, and every other fairy that makes things seem to magically happen for everyone else in your home.  You are the reason it goes on.  Without you, the house wouldn't run, the baby wouldn't be happy, and life would be even more chaos than it already is.
So, don't feel like you aren't making a contribution, because you are.  You will get your own outside life back.  Search online for groups of moms that you can hang out with, with baby.  Take her to the park and hang out.  Take her shopping and play with her.  Enjoy this moment because it won't last long.  There will be a day when you aren't needed at home in the same way anymore.   There will be a day when you long for the moments where you were "just" taking care of things inside.
Until, know that your contribution is invaluable.
You are awesome.
You are a mom, and there are few jobs in this world as hard and yet as wonderful and rewarding as that.

I Am The Car Lane Jackhole

School pick up and drop off are never, ever fun for me.  Even if it means getting the kids out of the house after a long winter break where they have been fighting with each other since the moment I picked them up at the start of break, I still don't look forward to taking them back.  It isn't just because I will miss them, which I will, but it's because I hate the actual pick up drop off process immensely  and it causes me great anxiety.
The school, which I am slowly learning to love, is a pretty good about most things, but they are very particular about pickup and drop off.  They want any parent not using the bus to use the car rider lane for pickup and drop off, and they strongly discourage walking your child in or personally picking your child up unless there is a special reason to do so.  We get notes about it all the time.  We are not even allowed down the halls in the morning.  We are to go no where near the class rooms.  They say it is all for safety reasons.
Ok.  I can live with that idea, though I'm not exactly sure how letting the kids go by themselves, without adult supervision, is much safer, but I am trying to get with the program.  I think for the most part, it is just a huge change from CA schools, and I'm not handling the change too well.  In CA, the schools were outdoor schools, more like shopping malls with no interior hall ways, and you just walked right up to the classroom door.  Here, the school is much more traditional with a main entryway, then hallways going left right, or to the back.  Also, the parking lot is honestly terrible.  You park on a lower level and have to walk across the road (the pickup/drop lane really not so much a real road) to get into the school.  So in that regard, it is much safer to just drop them off than walk through all the cars trying to drop off in the mornings.

Regardless, I hate it.

Aside from it being different, the reason that I hate it would be that we suck at the process.  We do.  I know it may sound odd to say that I suck at dropping my kids off at school, but trust me, we do.
I am that parent who always, nearly every single day, holds up the line, doesn't move when the other cars do, etc.  I screw up the whole thing.  Even the crossing guard lady gets confused and irritated with me sometimes.  She has to hold the walkers crossing the lane while the cars move, but I take so long, she starts letting them through, but just as soon as she has given up on me, and starts letting them through, I'm ready to move, and now were all holding up the line of traffic.  Yes.  It's like that nearly every single morning.  The only hope I have of not screwing up traffic is to be in the back of the line, giving me more time before all the other cars go.
I know you must think I'm nuts, I mean, how long can it take to get the kids out.  Currently, all of The Girls are in some sort of car seat or booster.  Even The Biggest One, at 9, has yet to hit the hundred pound limit of her booster.  So, I make her sit in it.  It is safer, until she outgrows it.  Middie is a in an extended use 5-point harness, which she still can't buckle on her own.  Of course, The Littlest One is still rear facing at 21 months, now that the official recommendation from the American Pediatric Board is a two year minimum, in a 5-point harness, which she will keep for a long time yet.
So, how does having kids in seats that make us suck?  We are the only parents who do that, as far as I can tell.  Middie, in all honestly, usually can buckle her self, unless she is wearing a coat (No discussions about coats and car seats now, thanks.  I'll be glad to post about that later.)  The problem here is that she is super, duper, maddeningly slow.  The kid moves at a crawl.  Two years ago, I gave her The Pokey Little Puppy for Christmas because I tell her all the time she is my Pokey Little Puppy.  This year, I got her The Pokey Little Puppy's Christmas.  You may note that means the theme lasted for more than a year, as she has always been, and will probably always be the slowest kid ever.  She just can't do quickly.  She dawdles.  You get it.  So, getting her out of the car, or into it is painful.  Someone has to assist to get the process moving, or she won't move.  Right now, we have a system down.  As we are shifting in to the drop off position, I tell the girls to get ready.  On the word "Go", The Biggest One unbuckles, opens her door, jumps out, runs around the front of the truck to her sister's side.  While she is running around, I unbuckle, turn behind me, and unbuckle Middie.  We get her arms out of the straps, too.  By this time, The Biggest One gets her door open, and grabs Middie's back pack, so it won't be in the way or an issue.  Trust me, if I let Middie get her own backpack, we would be there until lunch time every single day.
This is generally the point that I realize break lights are going off in front of me, and the line is getting ready to move.  I start yelling "Go! Go! Go!"  Middie takes a moment to stand, get her grip on the truck, and finally, jumps out. At this point, The Biggest One starts yelling, "The Door!  Shut the door!" as Middie has yet to do so.  It takes a moment, but she eventually gets it shut.  The Biggest One starts handing over the backpack.  I do not allow Middie to put the backpack on for the sake of time.  She must simply hold it by a strap until she is near in the front doors of the school, if there is time.  If not, she can carry it like that to class.  That saves several minutes.  Once the hand over is made, they clear the the car, and I can see them both on the sidewalk, I can start rolling.
If we are at the very back of the line, I make it just in time sometimes.  If not, I screw everything up.  I'm sure there are parents yelling at me.  Always.
Pick up is a little better.  We are in a double line for that, with a sign that has our child's name on it in the windshield.  Someone comes walking down the middle of the rows, calling out names for each car.  As soon as they call The Big Girls, I unlock the doors, jump out, run around, and wait on Middie.  The Biggest One always gets to the car and gets in quickly. As soon as I see Middie sort of plodding her way toward me, I start yelling "Backpack off!  Backpack off!"  Sometimes she has it slid off so that I can grab it when she gets to me, sometimes she doesn't and I have to slide it off as quickly as I can.  Her door is already open.  I pick her up, put her in, strap her in as fast as possible, and run back around to the driver's door.  I jump in and a immediately put the car in drive so that I can roll while I buckle myself up.  WE don't usually hold up the line as badly this way, unless of course Middies doesn't hear her name, and she has to be called twice, or I am the first or second car in my row.  The bad thing here is that I'm not just holding up a few cars in one line, like in the morning.  They won't get any other kids started until both lanes have finished moving all the loaded kids out, and have empty cars.  So, if we take too long, I'm holding up like 16 cars or a so at a time, plus all the people waiting behind them.  Its awesome.

I have to wonder how many times I have gotten the finger, been called ugly names by people running late for work, etc.  I;m sure it happens.  I don't, though, ever get mad.  On the off chance that one of them has a bad day, and holds up the line, I just go wit the flow and totally get it.

I don't expect this to change for a while, either.  I don't plan on changing the car seat situation in our car anytime soon.  I'm happiest when they are safest, regardless and what other, possibly finger waving, people in in front of or behind may think.

She Just Won't Talk

I always thought that all of my children would be talkers.  If you know me well, you know I like to talk.  My mother will talk your ear off in a minute.  My sister is a chatty Kat, too.  The Big Girls talk a lot and they both spoke pretty early as babies.  The Big One spoke very early and very well.  Midi not as much, but still pretty early.  My brother, sister, and I were all the same.  My nephew (my brother's son) doesn't stop talking.
I have one nonverbal stick in the mud, though, with The Littlest One.  She won't talk.  She just won't.  She doesn't speak much, and won't use actual words in stead of grunts very often.  I was actually concerned enough to bring it up at her last check up.  I realize that she is the youngest of three, and lives in a house where everyone talks for her. She also still uses a pacifier (Don't judge.  We are weaning off the boob and only one can go at a time.)  So, I get that all that means she will talk later, but this is driving me crazy.  At her age, The Big One would already make two or three word sentences.  "Cup, please" and sentences like that were easy for her.  Midi spoke early enough and well enough that I was never concerned.  The Littlest One, though, makes me try very hard not to be worried.  Her pediatrician went over a secondary developmental assessment with me, and she was great.  The only indicator of a developmental issue she pegged on was the question about whether or not they stare off at nothing.  She does.  All the time.  More so than the other two did.  The Dr began to question me about it, and ascertained that she does it while pointing to the nothing she is staring at, and trying to show it to us.  Freaky, but no longer an indicator if she communicated with us in some way during the process of seeing things we don't.

     The thing is, she does communicate.  She knows body parts already and will point to the one you ask.  She can follow commands, like "Get your hand out of my shirt" or "Take that to the trash".  So, her language skills are there as far as understanding words.  She just won't speak.  I will occasionally hear her say a word, a big word even, and then never say it again.  It is as if she is torturing me and being incredibly obstinate with full realization of what she is doing.  Perhaps she is aware that I want her to talk and won't.  That would seem to go right along with her personality so far.  So far, I have her pegged as being the most difficult child in regards to behavior   Not that she is a terror or anything, but because she constantly does things for a reaction   She already knows what she isn't supposed to do, and looks you straight in the eye and does them, while laughing, to get you to come after her.  She is a constant joy, I tell you.
Probably in a year or so, I will come back and tell you this is all cleared up, and she won't ever stop talking, just like her sisters.  Maybe by then she will be driving me insane with the almost three year old constant conversation.  Hopefully.  

I Always Thought Blankets with Arms Were Stupid....

There have been a lot of things I should have chronicled in my move back to the south.  Yes, I do realize that I am from Tennessee, born and raised.  However, I have been gone for about 12 years give or take a bit.  That is a great portion of my adult life, and certainly more than enough time to totally adjust to and absorb a different culture.  Second, I was born and raised in North Eastern Tennessee.  It makes a difference.  The people in North East Tennessee are just different.  They are truly in the smokey mountains.  The land is harder.  They have always been of a different spirit than most of the rest of Tennessee in some ways because of it.
So, readjusting has been interesting.
Learning to understand some of the people here has been a joy.  No.  Really.  I'm not sure if I published the blog (yet) about Midi (my new nick name for The One In The Middle and pronounced "MidE")'s first Kindergarten teacher not being able to say the word jewelry, but in cased I missed it, I will give you the short version.  It took me about 5 minutes to understand in our first meeting that she wasn't talking about a jury of some sort, but telling us the girls were not allowed to wear jewelry, and "jury" is her exact pronunciation.  She is a very nice woman, but I can't say I was entirely unhappy when they moved her to 4th grade.  Though, that meant The Big One has her for science.  That I am much more ok with, since The Big One learned to read, write, and speak more clearly elsewhere.
The is just the tip of the ice burg when it comes to adjustments, and I will try to cover more of the fantastic ones again later.
My biggest adjustment right now, though, is the freaking weather.  It is cold here.  I mean really, really cold.  I was under the misapprehension that because we are about 3 hours south of where I grew up, it would stay at least a couple of degrees warmer than home.  I was wrong.  I failed to take a couple of things into account in that theory.  First, My home town is geographically blessed when it comes to winter.  It is one of the more low laying areas in the middle of the mountains.  You can think of it as sort of a basin, though not really low, surrounded by mountains all around it.  The mountains protect is from lots of different weather patterns, and manage to help it stay a little warmer.  Second, there are a couple of very large businesses who actually contribute to the weather.  The largest plant, the Eastman Chemical Company, probably keeps the town at least a degree or two warmer because of all the steam that it emits by itself, at least if you live close like we did.  I know, that isn't really good in some ways, but when considering the fact that I am freezing to death, in that regard alone, I would take it.
Now, I live int he land of lakes.  I live closer to the water's edge than i have since I had the Gulf of Mexico in my back yard (it really was when we lived on base in Corpus Christi, TX).  There must be 3 or four different large bodies of water here.  I blame the fact that it rains constantly on that, whether there is science to back that up or not.  So, we get wet weather most of the time, mixed with freaking cold temps.  For some reason, though, that doesn't mean snow so far, or not much, just ice.  Lots and lots of ice.  I'm over it already and it is just barely January.  The lows are into the 20's just about every night. The highs sometimes reach 50, but many days it doesn't.  Freakin' cold.  
I don't own a good coat anymore.  I have one that is too big now, but I will use it when I have too.  I don't want to buy another one because I refuse to buy either wool or a puffy jacket, and my options are limited because of that.  When I find one I love, I will snap it. Instead, I wear lots, and lots of layers with a thin jacket.  I have t-shirts from Old Navy made of fleece.  I wear fuzzy socks, even with shoes.
To top it all off, our house is a monster house, and who ever renovated it did some of the worst DIY jobs ever.  There is no insulation in the entire garage addition, something we didn't know when we rented it.  That isn't the only room like that, either.  Any room that was built on seems to be constantly freezing.  It doesn't help that at least three rooms have no heat in them, because lines weren't run from the heating unit.  We try not to run the space heaters until we have to, since they cost and arm and a leg to use.  So, I don't even get to really be warm inside.
That is all why I no longer think those blanket with arms things are totally stupid.  I would use one.  Every day of my life.  I would live in them, as just another layer.  I might even use two, one on the front, and one on the back to cover up the hospital gown opening.  Yes.  I am that cold.  No.  I don't care how stupid it looks.  At least then I might be warm.

A Better Lunch

When you space your children 4 years apart each, you tend to forget things in between.  I usually can't remember what I did yesterday.  So, the fact that i have to re learn some of the best little parenting lessons each time they pop up shouldn't be a surprise to me, or anyone that knows me.
Today's little parenting lesson relearned, if you want to actually each your own lunch, you must make two.  You see, we have entered the phase with The Littlest One where whatever we have on our plates looks infinitely better than what ever is on her plate or high chair tray, even if it is the same exact food.  It must be the presentation, and the big silver fork.  She does like the shiny things.  Regardless, she likes our food far more than her own.  As any good parent would, I tend to give up a good portion of my lunch to her.  The thing is, I usually don't want to trade back for what she has, again, even if it is the same food.  Once she has it, she tends to destroy it, or in foodie terms, she likes her meals deconstructed   I'm more into a polished, total meal, than a deconstructed one that might have a little snot, or who knows what else, mixed in.  Therefore, I need to remember to make two plates for myself from now on.  The first plate will be my decoy plate.  I will star off by pretending to eat from it.  Then, once she makes her move, I can start surreptitiously eating from the second plate, while feeding her everything from the first.  I know it sounds difficult, but I am hungry and desperate to eat an actual meal.  I am glad she likes real food, and good food, too, but I wish she would like it a little more on her own plate, and not so much just from mine.

I Know I Have Gone Insane

I'm updating my blog, not really because I want to at the moment.  In fact, I would much, much rather be sleeping, like the rest of the people in my house.  However, in 18 minutes, I can grab more booth slots for my Girl Scouts.  So, even though every little person in currently snoozing away, I'm up.  Here.  For you.  No.  For me.  Whining.
Its moments like these that I realize just how insane I am.  Even though I am currently in this alone, since my co leader had to move quickly thanks to military life, and my husband is still yet deployed, I am going, full throttle, into a cookie season where I am leader, cookie parent, and more.  All of that, along with running my moms group, volunteering at my daughter's school, and simply trying to survive with three kids all by myself isn't easy, in fact, sometimes it feels like I suffocating. I know I'm not though.  I'm going to muddle through each and every bit of this, and ride the tide of crazy that comes along with doing too much sometimes.  I know I can handle this.  I may not do the best job that any one has ever done on all of it, but it will all get done, and that is just going to have to be good enough.  I may not have the time to take long showers and get my hair done, or keep myself looking like I want to, but those things aren't really important in the grand scheme of life.  I can be a little unkempt.  I can wear nothing but jeans and t-shirts, if that is where life takes me.  If I brush my hair as I am walking out the door, and the first mirror I look in is the rear view when I take off each day, so be it.  For the moment, that may be the best I can do.
So, you will have to excuse me as I keep this post short.  I'm about to go pick times to take my kids and stand in front of a whole bunch of stores, trying to sell cookies.  I may go looking like I've been raised by wolves, but I will be there.

I Know You Don't Care, But...

I know weight loss blogs are generally about as interesting as watching wall paper peal.  So, sometime ago when I wanted to blog about my weight loss journey, I created a separate blog all about it.  That, though, fell by the wayside.  I have a hard enough time blogging on this one, let alone one that was really just for me.
So, if you will, please, humor me for a moment while go off about my weight loss struggle.  it won't all be a food journal, I swear.
For those who don't know me personally, let me tell you that am obese.  In fact, I was morbidly obese.  I'm talking the biggest person on the Biggest Loser ranch big.  I started working on it, slowly, though.  Over the course of quite a while, I lost about 130 lbs.  Yes.  I'm serious.  I suppose I'm really putting myself out here now, but oh well.  I worked very hard to lose that weight.  I did it all with diet and exercise.  I even gave up coffee because I can only drink coffee by adding calories into it.  I exercised at least 6 times a week.  Started a couch to 5k program and was trying to learn to run.  On the days I didn't go try to run, I worked out at home with DVDs.  Anything I could do to add extra movement in, I did.  I even mowed yards voluntarily, just to exercise more.
Then, I got pregnant.  It was really not expected.  I was losing weight.  Getting my body to finally start to look like a normal person should.  We never got pregnant easily, either.  It took forever to conceive both of the other two.  So, when, after my husband come home off a boat, I suddenly found my self pregnant, I was shocked.  I was also scared because of all my body had been though.  while I survived the pregnancy, I also gained weight.  I gained 40 pounds back.  It really hurt to see that coming back on.  A lot.  I worked so hard to lose it all.
Anyway, now, I'm trying to lose it back again.  I want to start moving back down the scale to not only get back to where i was, but to continue on that journey and do even better.
The problem is I'm stuck.  I can't.  It took all the motivation I had last time to really get rolling an d serious, something I'm not sure I can duplicate.  I got about 10 pounds in, and pretty much quit on myself.  Again.  I will tell you, though, I know what the problem is.  Depression.  I'm eating my feelings away.  Life is so freaking emotionally difficult right now, nearing the end of a long deployment after him being in and out for the last year, dealing with being a physically single mother of three with no help, trying to plan our life after he retires very soon, all that is just too much.  I can't help it.  I don't have the will power to not eat Oreos.  Heck, I'm pretty lucky I haven't gained even more while he was gone.  It is also a million times harder to exercise right now.  Having an infant who isn't on a set schedule, and is super clingy, makes it really hard.  If I could get The Big Little One to agree to be in a double stroller, I could at least walk, but that isn't going to happen.  She refuses.  In all honestly, she is nearly five, and hasn't been in one since she was about three.  So, I can't blame her.  All that together means that there is practically no way to get in a good workout.  Not working out, and not eating right don't make for good weight loss.
I've got to turn this around.  I have got to get over myself, an everything going on, and focus on what I can control.  It's hard, though.  I suppose if it were easy I would have been thin years ago, and there would be be no weight loss industry.  Maybe I should stop feeling so bad that its hard, since the hard way means thousands of jobs.  I'm totally trying to find a bright side, here.
The reality of this all is I know what to do.  I've done it before.
I need to get off my butt, literally, and start moving.
I need to stop stress eating, and start finding a way to channel that into working out.
I can do this again.
I will do this again.
I will rebuild my self...better than before.

Life Is....

...Not a box of chocolates, before anyone thinks I would ever be so cliche.

You might have noticed a little, or really large, lapse in blogging.  Life has been busy, crazy, hard, and so much more lately.
I do have a few blog posts that I just haven't finished yet, but I thought I would give a brief synopsis just to catch everyone up, and a promise that I will do better.  I need to, for me.

So far, we are nearly five months into what will be My Husband's last deployment.  If you missed it, or I didn't publish it, he is retiring next year.  To say that life here is stressful now, is a total understatement.  When I think of all the things we are thinking about, planning for, and dealing with, I picture Atlas.  I know it may be very narcissist of me to compare myself to a mythological god, but when you are dealing with not just your own life, but the lives of three little people who depend of you for everything, it is a little like that.
Not only do we have the normal, suddenly single parent stuff to deal with this deployment, which let me assure you sucks beyond belief, but I am also doing it over Christmas, which adds a whole new level of suck in there, with a child who isn't coping well this time around, at all, again, adding to the suck fest.
On top of doing all this, don't forget that I have an infant this time around, too.
Anyway, much to do, places to pick to live, and so on.
As normal, we went home for Thanksgiving to help my mom with The Country Christmas Show, (google it if you want).  That meant that I took about 5 to 6 hours worth of plane rides with 3 children.  Just me, and The Girls.  That was fun.  Not.
That meant I was totally out of touch for the two weeks we were home, or almost totally.  That show takes up so much attention in a very short time, it feels like I do nothing else when we are there.
Thankfully, and really one of the only 2 reasons I braved it, My Mom came home with me for a week to help me get Christmas started.  I can never thank her, or love her, enough.  Additionally, she drove my car, that I really did love but couldn't fit three car seats in, back home to my brother who bought it from me.  I hate to admit it, but I have to get a bigger car.  No point in doing it now, since no one else drives around here at the moment, and I can drive the truck.  So, we will be a one car family until I pick out what I want, and actually buy it.  If you know how indecisive I am, this may be a while.
Anyway, Christmas is nearly here.  I am almost ready.  The Girls are super excited.  The Big Ones are, anyway.  The Littlest One just like to watch them get all excited about things.  She is getting bigger all the time.  Kind of scary.  Already standing at 7 months, and has 6 teeth.
We still have a few more months to go in this deployment, but we will survive, just like w do everything.
I'll go into more later on, but if I don't blog for a bit, 1)please understand its because I just can't get to it, and 2)you might want to send help.  I may be in a corner rocking myself and humming/mumbling a little tune by Gloria Gaynor.

No More Soup Poop

This post is going to be really crappy.  By that, I mean it will be a post all about crap, poop, or what ever you want to call it.
As your children grow up, you tend to forget, or really block out, many of the things you endure when they are babies.  In my case, I think I blocked out the soup poop.  Soup poop what I like to call a totally liquid bowel movement that babies can have in the beginning stages.
Having a baby that is only fed breast milk, they can only poop liquid.  Its awesome.
The Littlest One inherited her father's digestive track, and I can assure you she won't thank him later.  That kid can poop like no other baby I have ever seen.  She actually managed to squirt poop on my shirt one day during a change.  It was amazing, totally freaky, and gross all together.
Her poops are also massive.  She eats a lot, but only poops once a day.  So, you get a massive, totally liquid poop.  Again, awesome.  It almost always comes out of the diaper.  It can't help but do that.  We seriously deal with a blow out practically every day.
So, when the Dr told me that as I started her on food, she may get a little constipated, I laughed and told her I would welcome it.  I think the Dr was shocked, and she ask me if she still had loose stools.  When I described what i dealt with, she told me I might like what I get then.
I have to tell you, after just the first day of food, I already do.  The smell is terrible, far worse than before, but we managed to get a non liquid poop, that was much more manageable!  I was so thankful, and I look forward to the poops getting less and less soupy as we go on.
I realize that few people will read through this post.  After all, not many people will really want to read about poop in general, but seriously, people, I've never been so happy to share such crappy news in my life as to tell you that my daughter now poops like a normal person.  It really is awesome.

The Breast Kind of Meal

Yesterday, I finally gave The Littlest One food.  I was going to hold off until 6 months, but she just kept reaching for my food, and so I gave in.
Truth be told, I've had the food and stuff for weeks, along with the go ahead from her Dr some time ago.  I just couldn't do it.  Part of me just doesn't want her to grow up so fast, especially knowing that she is my last.
However, let this be a joyous post in celebration of her major milestone: Eating.
I opted for baby oatmeal cereal.  You know, that noxious smelling pasty stuff that we give our babies in lieu of real food at first.  I always make mine with breast milk.  Generally, I will pump enough milk for the cereal, the pour it into a bowl and mix it.  With the first feeding, though, you give them so little, that I felt the pump wasn't warranted.  I could just quickly, and privately, express enough to make that little bit of cereal I needed.  I've done it this way in the past, too.  However, in the past, I've never had a child old enough to really question it.  Let me just say that adding an older child into the mix really changes things up.
As I was prepping The Littlest One's food, the big one comes in and looks at what I am doing: mixing a little cereal into the breast milk I had in one of the baby bowls.  She stopped, stared at the bowl for just a second, then looked at me with huge eyes.

"Did you squirt milk into the bowl?"
Yes.  I just expressed some milk to make the cereal with.
"Oh that is so gross, mom!"
What?  She gets breast milk all the time.
"No, mom!  That is just gross.  Into the bowl mom?!?"
Well, what do you want me to do?  I have to give her milk.

At that point, she started doing that laugh, head shake thing you do when you have just witnessed someone do something that you think was ridiculously gross but still kind of funny, like the kid who licked paste in school,  and just walked away.
It wasn't the fact that I gave the baby milk in her cereal, but the fact that I expressed it directly into the bowl that bothered her.
I guess I could have used the pump, but for only a couple of ounces the first feeding, why bother?  I did it privately, I just used a funny receptacle.  Same difference to me, but apparently not to The Biggest One.
The Littlest One liked it no matter where it came from, and I don't think she will care in the future, either.

Good For Us All

The only time that The Big Girls will leave me alone is when i clean.  They know that if they come within eyesight, they will be given a task, and they don't want that.  At all.  So, they stay away.  Far away.  They tend to be quiet.  For that reason, I have taken to a few cleaning tasks that warrant me some small sort of peace. Vacuuming has become a favorite of mine, especially now that i have one i love.  I even find the white noise enjoyable, because it covers any noise The Girls make, and for some odd reason calms The Littlest One.
Today, though, the white noise just wouldn't cut it.  I needed more.  There are times that I just need to have that little something that is totally inappropriate for them, but totally fantastic for me.   Like any good Gen Xer, and I am though barely by the skin of my grungy pants, I love and worship Kurt Cobain like the tragic, godlike hero he was.  Nirvana is hands down the best band that ever played on this planet.  The problem therein is that the lyrics aren't quite rated appropriate for my children, or any children.
No matter what I wanted, I couldn't get The Littlest One to let me put her down.  She seemed to want to eat, or sleep, both while being held, all day.  On top of that, The Big Girls were pushing it with me.  After a particularly ire inducing episode of "I didn't get what I want from Mom so I will ask another adult" they were in the serious dog house.  I needed some space.  I needed some me time.  With a deployed spouse, that doesn't come easy, or at all.
So, I did the next best thing.  I gave up, recognized what I had available to me, and inspired by the words of Tim Gunn, made it work.
I pulled out my head phones, grabbed my phone, which has my Napster app all loaded up and ready to go, found the moby wrap, and strapped the baby on.  She will usually hang there for quite a while, depending on what I am doing.  As long as I don't bend down with her, which really pisses her off I might add, she tends to like it strapped to my chest.  Once i got her on, we pulled out the vacuum, and I turn on the music.  It was like heaven.  I could rock out to my 90's grunge play list, and no one was the wiser.  It was, in fact, pretty good for everyone.  I got a little exercise, and could almost pretend i was in my own world.  The Littlest One got some god bonding time and wrapped up and strapped on.  The Big Girls got to sit in the back room and not have to do housework.  They also got quite a show.  They thoroughly enjoyed watching me dance to music they couldn't hear.  I think they might have though I was a little nuts, but I really don't care.  I'm sure this won't be the last time they think I am just a tad bit crazy, and I kind of like it that way.  Thinking their mom might be just the tiniest bit nuts might actually help keep them in line just a bit.  I'll take all the help I can get, however i get it.

Some Times You have To Give Back

I think I spent 20 minutes today, trying the hardest I have ever tried just to keep a straight face.  It was work, but playing dumb for those few minutes, gave me enough joy to makeup for the crappy day, and really weekend, we have had around here.
The Littlest One sleeps in a mini play pen or play yard in my room right now.  It has a small bassinet in the top.  The weight limit actually says to remove the bassinet when they are over 15lbs, and when I weighed her last week, she had just it 15, but the thing had started to tilt a little too much for my liking, and I decided to make the big change today.  While The Two Bigger Girls were down stairs playing, aka fighting, I went upstairs with The Littlest One to vacuum and tidy up a bit.  That was when I removed the bassinet.  I never said a word about it.  I just removed it, put it in the storage bag for the bassinet, and put the bag away.  It was like nothing was different, on first glance.  I put the baby in her newly revised bed to check it out, and she seemed pretty happy hanging there with her favorite giraffe.  So, I went off to finish my work.
A bit later, The Big One comes up.  I was starting to vacuum the stairs.  She goes into my room, and I note the absence of sound from her for just a minute.  I can clearly picture it taking a second for the fact that her sister was now two feet lower to the ground than normal to sink in.  Then, I hear my name yelped, but I pretend not to.
She comes over to me rather quickly and starts to tell me something about the baby.  I know where this is going, and I instantly decide to take it somewhere a little more fun for me.

"Mom, The Baby is in the bottom of her bed!"

She is supposed to be in her bed.  That is where I put her.

"No, Mom, she is all the way down in her bed!"

You mean she is laying down?  Good!  I'm glad she is resting some.

"Mom!!!  You put her crib down!"

I didn't do anything to her crib.

""Arg!   Didn't you tell me that you can adjust her crib."

Yes.  You can adjust the crib to make it lower.

"See!  You moved it."

No.  I just told you.  I didn't do anything to her crib.

The conversation went on for quite a while.  I tried my best to model it after something like "Who's On First".  Once she got that I was being sly with the difference between the crib and the play pen, she finally started to pen me down.  I couldn't hold it too much longer, anyway. She really should have known, from the moment I didn't rush to check on The Littlest One, that I was knowingly messing with her, but this is my lovable, and slightly dingy child, who never thought about the fact that I should have been concerned, if I didn't know what she was talking about.  Once I smiled, and possible snickered just a little, she knew I was messing with her, and she was done.  She just turned and walked away.  Then I laughed out loud, the good kind that you don't get to do often.
I tell you, it was a good time, maybe not for all, but certainly for me.  It also made up for the cup of spilled orange juice, and the cup of spilled milk.  See, in this house, we don't cry over spilled milk, we just get even.

The Cake Leg Conundrum

I shaved my legs today.
I don't do it every day.
In fact, during the winter,  I shave just enough to keep my husband from mistaking me for a stuffed animal left in our bed at night.
During the warmer months, any month I might wear something other than jeans in public, I try to do a little more upkeep.
Honestly, though,  I tend to shave my legs more for my husband these days than I do for myself. It is something I know he appreciates.  Therefore the effort is worth it to me.
Today, though, I shaved my legs and afterward I wondered why. He isn't here to appreciate it. No one else is going to be feeling up my legs. So, who would have noticed my incredibly blonde leg hair but me. 
The more I think about it, I realized shaving my legs is a little like baking a cake for me, which I also did today. (Well, cupcakes, but you know what I mean).  When you bake a cake, you do it to enjoy it, but it just isn't the same if someone else doesn't get to enjoy it with you, and tell you how wonderful it is and what a great job you did. Tonight, I went through the effort of making vanilla cupcakes from scratch with The Girls. Afterward,  they went on and on about how good it was and how happy they were that we made them.
See, if I am going to go through the effort of shaving and them exfoliating my legs like I prefer to do, I need those accolades afterward to make it worth my while. With my husband deployed,  I just don't get it.
The Girls do occasionally touch my legs, complain about how prickly I am and request that I shave. So perhaps I could show them, just to get some kind of reaction, even if it is relief that they no longer get poked when they try to snuggle with me.  That really isn't the same, though. 
I don't think This is a major break through of any kind. I'm sure I will still have to begrudgingly shave my legs a few time over the next few months even though he won't be here to appreciate it. Moreover, I am absolutely positive That I will making cupcakes for and with The Girls again as well, perhaps even more often than I will shave my legs. After all, at least they really appreciate that and will even go so far as to clean up after only being ask once for the cakes. That is worth way more than a smooth leg to me right now for sure.

No Go Granny

Something I just had to share.
While sitting in the Dr's office yesterday, I couldn't help but listen to two people having a conversation about dialysis and the location of the shunts they use for it.  A man in his late 30s to early 40s was just got a new one that goes around his waist, and he was explaining the whole process to a 70ish year old grandma.  They talk about it for a while before she suddenly has what you could tell was a very important question.  She looked at him with all sincerity, and ask if you could see it were she to wear a bikini.
He told her it would show.
You could see her face drop.  She told him that just wouldn't work, then.
I tried my best not to smile or giggle, but I'm not sure how well I did.  My head was a little confused, too.  I wasn't sure if this was a "You Go, Granny" or a "No Go, Granny" moment.  Either way, I kinda hope I have that kind of spunk when I am her age, and hope it made you smile, too.

You Use Honey, Not Vinegar, Moron

Today is one of those days where no one needs to piss me off.  I'm tired.  Scratch that.  I'm exhausted.  The Littlest One wanted to nurse for over an hour just off and on.  She couldnt' sleep and was super cranky.  That means I couldnt' sleep and am super cranky.  Then, because out of desperation for some sleep, I nursed her laying down, she is all gassy today.  (I have found that I have to nurse her in an upright seated position or she gulps down too much air and has a bad belly.) So, on top of tired and cranky, I feel bad because she is all gassy now.  And of course, her being all gassy means she is having a bad, hold me, kind of day.  It's just not working.
So, as the day is, she is crying and I take her to my room and try to lay down with her.  Then I decide that maybe I should try to comfort nurse her to sleep.
As she is nursing, and I get a moment with no crying, the phone rings to break the peace.  The caller ID comes up as Anonymous.  Now, normally, I wouldn't answer that.  Actually, normally I have an anonymous call blocker on my phone.  However, we learned that now when my husband calls from the ship, where is presently is, the ID shows up that way.  So, I unlatch her, put her down, and grab the phone.  Of course, it is someone wanting money.  It was a cancer charity and he told me they were making gift baskets for children with leukemia.  I was waiting for him to take a breathe so I could tell him I needed to go, but apparently he knew better and just kept talking.  So, I interrupt him, and tell him I can't talk.  At that time, I have the phone on one ear, and I pull The Littlest One back up to my other should, with her now crying again.  I hadn't even put the phone down yet, because I was tyring to get her first.  Then in my ear, I hear "Oh yeah.  Go ahead and put the baby right up to the phone so that is all I an hear" all nasty.  AS I was about to respond, he hung up.
Now, let me assure you that I was not putting the baby up to the phone.  She was legitimately crying and I was picking her up.  It was no ploy to get out of talking.  I wouldn't have gievn them any money today even if she had been calm.  The only thing he managed to do, is ensure that I get all pissed off, and try to write a letter to his charity to tell them why I will never given them money.  You see, this is not the way to act when you are asking for something, even if I had done it on purpose.
So, to the guy who raised my ire on a day where it needn't be raised, my 5 week old daughter was crying, and I thought you were my deployed husband calling.  I'm sorry this all added up to pissing you off because you had to hear a moment of it.  I live it.  Get over yourself.  If you don't like your job because people do crappy stuff to you all the time, then quit.  I worked in a call center for years, and believe me, I do know what people do.  If you want to complain about them, at least have the courtesy to hang up first, and then turn to say your smart ass remarks to the person in the cubicle next to you.  You have succeeded in making my day a little worse.  I hope you happen to call again one day, because I do remember your name.  Oh, and I totally take back that, "have a nice day" I said after I told you I couldn't talk.

I Get The Van Now

WE are currently facing a serious car dilemma.  Since just before The Littlest One arrived, we found out that our three necessary safety seats will not all fit in my car simultaneously.  Before you assume I drive a MiniCooper or some such, let me tell you that I drive a nice, normal, crossover vehicle, made for the modern family.  More specifically, I drive a Mazda CX-7.  Google it.
I love my car.  With two girls, it was beyond fantastic for our family.  The problem isn't really that we have too large a family, now, its that the modern family car is based on a two child per family ratio.  I swear all things are based on two kids.  When someone wins a family based prize, like a trip somewhere fantastic, its always two adults and two children, or maybe you win four tickets to something.  You see, life now is based on a four person household maximum.  My car fits that idea perfectly.  That, however, is not the idea of our perfect family.  We went bigger. So, now we don't fit the norm, not that I have ever aspired to do so.
Currently, I must drive my husband's truck because it is bigger than the car, and will fit all three children simultaneously.  He has a really, really nice new truck.  It is lovely to look at, and even pretty easy to drive, but I have to tell you, I am not a big car person.  That would be why I selected that nice little Mazda last year.  It was plenty big enough at that time, without my thinking there would be a third, but not way too big.
Now, I really need to go bigger again.  I have no idea what to get.  I don't want to jump to a beast of a vehicle and I have always sworn off mini vans.  I have always loathed them, and the fact that driving one is seriously giving up every bit of sexy a car can give off.  I have to admit, though. that for the first time, I really got the appeal of a mini van during school pick up yesterday.  Right now, I get all the kids on one side of the street, open the door, and let them climb in one at a time, very slowly, before we can move on.  The Littlest One sits in the middle of the other two.  So, one child goes, then there is a long wait while I put her into her little carrier base thing.  After that, the other child gets to slowly climb in.  It takes us forever.  It hit me that if I had a mini van, I could hit a button on my remote, have the door open as we got there, and tell the girls who can currently walk to just jump in and get in their own seats at the same time.  I imagine that would cut 5 minutes off our morning routine.  That is a ton of time for us when we need every minute sometimes.
So, now we have to decide what to do.  I don't want to keep driving the beast of a truck and parking on the street because it won't fit in our garage.  I want to drive my car, that sits in the garage at night, and always has a nice, cozy place to park.  We are going to have to really think about our next vehicle purchase. I want to give my husband his truck back as soon as possible, And I'm sure he would be glad to give my mom mobile back to me. 

It's Hard To Blog Without a Brain

I know I have't been blogging much lately.  I have started a few posts, but I haven't been able to finish them.  My brain isn't functioning at full capacity right now.  I would say we are somewhere around half my normal at this time, and it is all due to sleep deprivation.  I'm not just tired, I'm whooped.  Quite frankly, I think I've lost the ability to be interesting, let alone witty.  I've also lost the ability to hold onto a thought for more than a minute or two at a time.  So, completing an entire blog post, in my normal long fashion, is a challenge that I just can't muster too right now.
The lack of sleep isn't just keeping my from blogging.  It is starting to affect my ability to actually function in my day to day routines.  As a prime example, yesterday, I had to pick The Big One up from school twice.  We were getting ready to go, and I was running late.  I was trying to top off The Littlest Ones tank with milk so that she wouldn't go nuts while we were waiting to pick up, and The Big Little One wouldn't cooperate.  It just wasn't working.  WE were leaving the house about 15 minutes later than normal, and I knew that meant I would mean I would have to park like a block away and walk.  I was frustrated and rushing.  I didn't even pee, choosing instead to hold it for the next 25 minutes until I got back home, in order to save time.  As I get to the school, and start looking for a parking place, I realize there are few cars there.  Then I realize that there are practically no cars there. I panicked.  I thought I was very, very late.  I looked at my clock again, and it took about 30 seconds for me to realize that I was an hour early, not late at all.
So, we turned around, and headed back to the house.  That would give me time to do a popper feeding, at least.
As I am driving home, and thinking about what a moron I am, I suddenly look up to realize that I have no idea where I am going and that I have turned on the wrong street.  I was really only off by once street, but still, I was going to my house, making a drive that I should be able to do on nearly automatic pilot, and I messed even that up.
Yes.  Tired.  Very, very tired.
I know that The Littlest One will grow quickly, and hopefully I will be getting at least 3 hours of sleep at a time in the next few weeks.  That would be great.  By the time we get to 4 full hours at a time, I will think that I am in heaven.  Until then, I just have to hope that if I really screw up another pickup or drop off, it will hopefully be on the early side again, and not the late side.

The New Normal

When you have a baby, life turns upside down.  Everything you knew, your routines, your favorite TV shows, even your personal grooming habits get left behind.  You have to learn an entirely new way to live, and it takes time to find your way again.
I think that we are slowly adjusting, and starting to find our own new groove.  It has already started to feel like a routine, and not a brand new challenge, to get up, get ready, and get The Girls all out the door in the morning for school drop off.  I'm thankful for that routine feel.  It means we are gelling into life as a family of 5 pretty well.  That doesn't mean there aren't challenges some days.  There definitely are challenges and not all of them stem from The Littlest One.  The Big One still takes time, and I have to make sure she follows our schedule, and isn't lost in her own world or the new baby each morning.  I think I must say "focus on you" more often than anything else to her.  That is actually kind of normal for us, though.  She has always been easily distracted, we just have another distraction to add to the lot for her now, albeit a much more enticing attraction.  The same goes for The Big Little One.  She has always been a dawdler, and that hasn't changed.  Of course, The Littlest One does throw a monkey wrench in, when she decides she needs to eat right around time for us to go, but we are working on that, and trying our best to time feedings just right.
Honestly, it seems like this is the way our life has been for years, though, instead of just a few weeks.  It seems very normal.  IT seems right.
No matter what other people have told me about adding a third, I think we are adapting pretty well.  Being a mother of three seems to be pretty great to me so far.

The Dr Said To Stay Pregnant, But I Don't Think They Heard Him

Today, I realized that my family is trying to kill me.  Well, if they aren't trying to kill me, they are absolutely going against Dr's orders, and they are trying to make me go into labor, two weeks before I should.

Today has been a long, long day.
It started when My Husband, back from a month at a training mission, thought we all needed to get up, and get out of the house as soon as possible.  I'm tired.  I'm really pregnant, and two stores a day is about all I can muster.  We have a lot to do, though, in preparation for The Little One's birthday party, which we are going to have after all.  So, we headed out, and hit the Dollar Tree, in search of stuff for the goody bags.  The Girls were all over everything in that place.  They couldn't keep their hands off anything.  I swear it was like moths to a thousand brightly colored, plastic wrapped flames.  The worst part is always at the very end for me.  There, behind all the registers, are what looks like about 100 helium filled mylar balloons with ribbon hanging down.  The Girls always go nuts, and jump for the balloons, even though we are not about to get one.  It isn't so much the balloon jumping that is the problem, but the fact that they don't pay attention to anything else going on around them from the moment they get near the balloons, and nearly get run over by every shopper who checks out around us.  I have to grab them over and over again.  I'm surprised neither one got plowed down by the time we finally got out of there.

After that torture was finally over, we headed over to the WalMart next door, just to add a little salt to my wounds.  Walmart is often torture by itself, children or not, but taking them with you just amps up the pain level you have to endure.
As if all that hadn't been enough, we needed to hit Target, too.  No seriously, three stores, two kids, and one very pregnant momma.
When we finally got out of there, we headed to my OB's office for one of my last two checkups.  Now, if you read my blog, you probably read about the last time I took The Big One, and I thought my ears were going to bleed.  This time, though, I was so thankful that My Husband was here, to take care of them while I got to go in and actually pee int he cup by myself, and help distract them once we got in the office.  I was wrong, though.  Very wrong.  While I did get to pee by myself, he apparently thought the story of what she did to me last time was so funny, that he needed to see it for himself.  As soon as the medical assistant closed the door on the exam room, and we were by ourselves, he walked right over to the little desk, picked up a model of a Nuva Ring, and ask the girls what it was, by name.  It was intentional torture.  I thought I was going to die.  HE started pointing out all kinds of things, but they were stuck on the Nuva Ring.  They wanted to know what it was.  I indicated as nicely as I could that he was to stop, but he just couldn't stop himself.  I didn't want him to answer them, but find a way to distract them.  So, he started showing them other models and diagrams, on purpose, to see what they would say.  They were still on the Nuva Ring, though.  It kept getting louder and wilder in there.  Finally, I told him he would answer any questions that he caused himself, hoping that he would stop instigating things.  It didn't matter, though.  By that point, they were both chanting "Nuva Ring" in unison and the chant was getting louder and louder.  I know the entire staff heard my two children chanting "Nuva Ring, NUVA RING, NUVA RING" before i could get them to stop.  They had to have an answer to what it was.  They got one.  My husband my be a prankster, but when it comes to our girls, he is also a prude.  Which is why only making him answer the questions would in any way have an effect on his behavior.
He told them that was the name of the special ring lions jump though in the circus, and showed them the model, which had the clear ring standing on its side, similar to what you might actually see.
No.  Really.  He did.
I'm not sure what I was supposed to do at that point, but bad parenting or not, I left it be.  I also "indicated my displeasure" every time he started to show them something else.  If I felt like I was going to die the last time we went through this, I realize now that was nothing in comparison to what he did today.  I was actually praying under my breath for the Dr to walk in.  I've never been so thankful to be examined by a Dr in my life.
The day went on.  There was more torture.  More walking.  More of me trying not to just lay down and die in the middle of a store, but none of it can compare to what he did to me in the office.
Just wait, though.  When they go to school and tell all their friends about the Nuva Ring at the circus, I'm letting him field those phone calls.