Noah has been sick, Y’all. The kind of sick that makes a momma want to cry. Well forget the wanting, I HAVE cried. It’s not like the RSV sick he had in December, but it’s really close. I finally took him to the Dr. and found out it was a virus. We’re on the tail end of it. My poor, sweet lil’ man!

Thursday: Awful grumps. AWFUL! He cried all. day. long. When Jeremy got home, I begged for a break. Noah was sooooo unhappy! I thought it was teething until:

Friday: 101.7 temperature. Grumps. Crying. Crying. Oh, and did I mention crying?

Saturday: 101.7 temperature. All day. Crying. No naps. Crying.

Sunday: 101.7 temperature. Crying. No other symptoms, not even a runny nose. But crying? Check.

Monday: Fever gone. Strange rash all. over. body. Call Doctor. Can’t see us until Tuesday. Oatmeal bath. Oh, and crying. Did I mention that the whole family is crying too? Yes, even Bella. I’m not kidding! She would cry because she was so upset over his being so sad. My poor babies!

Tuesday: Rash. Grumpy baby. Doctors appointment. It’s a virus, can’t do anything to help. It’s a waiting game.

Wednesday: Feeling better. Crying spells cut in half and he took naps too. Yay!

Wednesday night: Frazzled Momma. Wine? Check. Ice cream? Check. But not at the same time, no. Ice cream and wine don’t go well together.

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Michelle got me thinking about sleep. Do you sleep well? Are you a hard sleeper, a noisy sleeper, a light sleeper? I sleep on the same side all night long; I hardly move. Jeremy stirs all night and it makes the bed squeak really loud. I give him dirty looks while he sleeps so peacefully. He snores too, which makes me really mad at him! He’s like a caveman or something! If he drinks 2 beers, he sounds like a freakin’ hurricane! I don’t know what the connection is with his nose and beer but the two are a bad combo! He also could sleep through an air raid! I lie in bed listening to the house moan, the heater kick on, the dog scratching his ear, Bella sleep talking (clear on the other side of the house), Noah stirring, and the trees outside rubbing on the siding. I lie there thinking about fire alarms and whether the batteries are fresh. I lie there imagining that if someone tried to break in, it would take me 3.2 seconds to grab my handgun and greet them. The latter is really silly but? one time? at band camp? (Ok, nevermind if you never saw American Pie). One time (last year when I was pregnant with Noah) I was sleeping soundly when someone came by and took a bat to the window over my head! No kidding! Glass everywhere, police, fingerprinting, pacing all night, plucking shards from my hair until 4 a.m., etc. They had the wrong house, obviously, because we don’t know anyone much less anyone who wouldn’t like us enough to break our windows. Stupid kids or something. Anyways, since then I have had my gun bedside. Locked and safe from children, but ready and waiting for a whacko. The world is crazy. And you can soooo totally tell that I am sleep deprived because not only do I have a long, drawn out run-on sentence going here but also? I am not using my punctuation correctly. And? I’m totally getting off track here. What was I talking about? Oh, I’m a light sleeper. Jeremy could sleep through a meteor shower. And? I’m going to bed now.

Sweet dreams, snores, sleep walking, or whatever your slumber brings you tonight!

Like I needed any help being a big scaredy cat. Not only am I the dumb ass who bought plane tickets traveling on SEPTEMBER 11th, but I also hate flying, AND now I have this crap adding a bit of reality to my fears!

That’s just great.

Why can’t these bomb happy freaks just leave us alone? The last time I flew on a plane I had another woman molest my breasts as she checked my bra for explosives. I heard one woman was made to drink her own breast milk because the security guards thought she had liquid explosives in her platex baby bottles. The world is weird, People!

I don’t know who the bad guys are. But I wish they would leave all the women, children, and peaceful men out of their war play. I want to see those cowards get in a boxing ring together and fight it out like men, or women. Or let’s ship them off to another planet with their warheads and H bombs or whatever the latest rave is in war play and let them blow each other up. That’s fine. I don’t care if they do that. I’d probably even toast their departure. I wish they would leave the youngsters alone. Leave the women and men be. Let us fly on planes and raise our children in peace. That goes for the women, children, and men on both sides. There are certainly more innocent victims over in Iraq now than we could possibly fathom.

I wish terrorists & war makers would just go fuck themselves. Sorry. I needed to say that. As much as I paid for those flippin’ tickets, I’d like to have some PEACE with that flight.

Nothing worries me more than the fact that there are people out there willing, able, and wanting to keep my children from growing up and living happy lives. Nothing infuriates me more than that too. I try not to think about it much because it’s depressing and I have no control over it anyhow.

One thing I would say to “them” (the villians, whoever they be) is this: We weren’t all born to die. Some of us like to think we were born to live.

I could not possibly curse enough in this post. My home has been invaded and I am a little pissed about that. But, I am probably the biggest ninny in the world where bees and spiders are concerned…

This morning Bella was in our bedroom with me and discovered that under my curtains was a window that looked right out to daddy who was working on his truck. We always keep the window covered because it is right by our bed. She was lifting the curtains, laughing at daddy, and banging on the glass to keep his attention on her instead of the work he was doing. I let her do that long enough to make my bed and when I went to grab her out from under the curtains I looked down and saw a BLACK WIDOW crawling around on the curtain, just inches from my baby! Hell No, Bitch!

For those of you who are at peace with spiders, I already understand that the spider was probably trying to flee from my wild toddler who was disrupting her home. Whatever. But the bitch would have bit my baby in a heartbeat and I have issue with that. I yanked Bella up from the window, put her several feet away while I inspected the spider, and when I saw the hour glass I absolutely found EXCITEMENT in squashing her fat guts all over my curtains. I squished her and made a mad woman’s victory call while doing it! “Taaaaah-WANDAAaa!”

Then, tonite Jeremy came to me and said, “I didn’t want to tell you about this but I found a black widow in the hallway on the wall and I killed her.”

The exterminator is coming this week first thing. That was the 5th black widow we have found in the wide open where any of us could have been bitten. Nasty, mean ass buggers! I cannot co-exist with these critters. I can deal with the skunk who eats the dog food and lives under the shed. He’s actually kind of cute. Though he stinks terribly. I can live with the ant issue. I can even live with the daily man sized yellow jacket that sneaks in (”JEREMY, HELP!”) and buzzes around. But I CAN-NOT, CAN-NOT live with a black widow.

“Sleep well tonite in your warm cozy home, bitches. Tomorrow is a new day for you!”

We had an unfortunate event happen, in which I did what I do best: FREAKED THE HELL OUT!

Bella was contently eating her dinner in her yard sale bought highchair. She had a little buffet of her favorite yums: cheese, pasta, peaches, and carrots. I was sitting on the couch, Jeremy and Austin on the floor playing video games, Bella in the kitchen just a few feet away. She started fussing a bit so I asked Jeremy to move her chair into the living room with us so that she feels like she’s with us. He grabs the chair by the tray and the back of the chair and suddenly, CRASH, the back broke off of the chair and our baby fell to the ground! She instantly had the breathless, momentarily quiet cry of the worlds most awful ouch known to mankind. Her entire face was red and squinched for what seemed like minutes before the first scream was heard. I knew it hurt because it was such a horrible fall, and she had been so content before I asked him to move her. THE GUILT! The CRIES! The BUMP! THE GUILT! Once I embraced her, she clung to me like a tree sloth, arms and legs locked so tightly around me! Save me, Momma! Make it better, Momma! Awwww! Crazy how trusting they are of us parents and how they come to us for comfort. The same parents that are the ones who dropped them on their little noggins in the first place!

Anyways– I paced, hugged, sang, stressed, wimpered, sweat, rocked, kissed, rubbed her little hurt head. She was sweating and crying, and for the first time ever, could not be comforted with my love. So, by this time I was freaking out and trying to keep cool. Finally, she fell asleep on my lap. I waited a bit and then layed her down to change her diaper and put fresh sleepers on. She woke after I changed her diaper and instantly threw. up. everywhere! You wouldn’t have known this much food and fluid could come out of one tiny little person! I had it in my hair, down my arms, my lap, between my bosoms.

PayBACK, Momma!

After I got up with her and handed her to Jeremy so that she didn’t get the throw up on her too, she then threw up all over him. I instantly picked up the phone and called the doctors office because I-Am-No-Dummy! I know a brain injury when I see one!

Check her pupils! I don’t know what you’re looking for but JUST LOOK! Can she stand up, can she walk around, does she look at you when you talk to her, is she going to sleep because DON’T LET HER GO TO SLEEP!? Is there clear fluid coming out of her nose? Of course there is, she’s been crying and her nose is running. IT’S NOT SPINAL FLUID, STEPH! It’s SNOT! Breath. Steph. Breath.

Jeremy said, “Chill out woman, she is fine!” But no, I had to call the after hours number to cry and whine to the nurse on the other end of the phone who, of course, confirmed that I was again being a a bit of a neurotic ninny. But. It’s. THE LOVE, people! The LOVE makes me this way!

It’s me that has a brain injury. But, really, don’t buy your babe’s highchair at a yardsale. K? See my “Wish List” Link to the right? Well, highchairs for BOTH babes is on that list!