Mother of the Year

Malcolm in the Middle is now the boys new favorite show. I guess a show about a family full of boys torturing their mother in various and sundry ways really resonates with them. I must admit I like the show too. I liked it even before I had kids. I found it to be a funny and well written show. Now that I have two boys I have a much deeper appreciation for the trials and tribulations of poor poor Lois. Tonight, I had a very Lois moment.

Last weekend the boys went on their annual St. Patrick's Day outing with Supermarket. When the boys go anywhere with my mother, it is understood that I am to pack the very expensive electronic toys that she purchased for them for various gift giving holidays. Without these toys, what would be a relatively pleasant sit down dinner turns into a tedious whinefest of "How much longer before the foooood gets here", "I'm staaaaaarving" and finally "I'm full. Can we go now?" If, upon arrival, these video screen goodies are not in the suitcase, Cheri becomes very cross. Cross Cheri is quite unpleasant to deal with, so, you can see why I was in a state of near panic when I could find neither the Nintendo DS nor the iPod Touch. I turned the house upside down. Finally I had to give up and just hope that the boys knew the whereabouts of said expensive electronics. Jakob did. Max did not. In fact, Max admitted, after intense questioning, that he had not seen his iPod in about two weeks, in other words, since we had gotten home from Florida. This made me shudder, since the last time I remembered him having it was at the Ponderosa in not too close Ashland, VA. (Just as an aside, Cheri sure does love her some Ponderosa. She really does. No really, it's all she talked about the last two hours of the ride. Despite all her fancy and expensive trappings, there's something about a Ponderosa steak that she just can't resist.) All I could picture was some lucky Ponderosa busboy playing TapTap Revenge on Max's Touch. Of course, I yelled and hollered and said how "disappointed" I was about his inability to be "responsible" for his things. This is not the first time Max has heard this speech, as there is a long list of lost (and relatively expensive) items to his credit. On our first trip to Disney he lost his Leapster. On a flight down to St. Augustine he lost an entire case full of DS games. In our regular life he somehow managed to lose two, that's right, TWO scooters in the span of two months. Now, don't go thinking I stupidly bought him a replacement scooter. No, after he lost his, he went right round and lost his brother's scooter. Lesson learned for Jakob. I can't even begin to count the number of other toys, jackets, gloves, lunch boxes, balls, et cetera, that were lost forever on Max's watch. Max was subjected to the "disappointed""responsibility" speech more than a few times this past week. He got an especially guilt inducing rendition yesterday when he asked Andy if we could get a dog. I'm sure you can picture it, blah, blah, blah, "living thing" blah, blah, blah, "can't even take care of" blah, blah, blah.

The problem came to a head today when Jakob's DS went missing. I decreed that there would be no fun of any kind in our house ever again until the missing electronics were finally located. There were grunts and groans of disapproval which did not at all put me in a better mood. More speeches about disappointment, responsibility and general messiness flowed from me and Andy. The situation seemed so grave that there were even prayers to St. Anthony. And, then, lo and behold, the DS turned up under the couch that Andy insisted had already been searched thoroughly. This little fact convinced me that the rest of the places in the house that had been "searched thoroughly" needed further examination. We pressed on until dinner with no luck. Then it happened. Right after dinner. I suffered an epiphany while Andy was putting the kids to bed. What was this great moment of truth you ask? Well, it suddenly struck me that I had hidden the iPod under the plastic lining of the pencil drawer two days after we got back from vacation because I felt Max had had more than his fill of screen time while we were in Florida. I checked the pencil drawer and, sure enough, it was there. I ran to Andy, half excited, half in panic. I whispered "I found the Touch under the pencils where I hid it. What should I do?" He looked at me with a smirk and said "I don't know what to tell you. Other than you're a bad mother." I felt really really guilty. I wanted to confess to Max, apologize profusely and buy him off by, maybe, putting a pudding in his lunchbox. But there were a few things wrong with that strategy. First, whenever he looses anything in the future, which he surely will, the first thing I will hear is "Maybe you hid it, like the last time!" The second, and much bigger problem, is that, eventually, he will tell my mother. Keep in mind, this is the woman who, to this very day, reminds me every time I lose something, of the time I was nine and lost the money she gave me to buy her a Mother's Day present (I know) while making the 10 ft trip from the door of her Monte Carlo to the door of the Hallmark. Can you imagine what she could do with this new information? I can and it ain't pretty and I ain't having it. The two of them ganging up on me every time Max loses something in the next 20 years is a situation I find completely untenable. Therefore, I have decided to say that it was found underneath the seat of my car (which any mother with a junked up minivan will admit is a completely plausible explanation), live with the guilt and make a deathbed confession. The way I see it, Max get's his iPod, I get a life of doubt every time something goes missing. Win, win.

My Day At The Beach

So, we're back here in St. Augustine after a wonderful, whirlwind trip to Chicago. Finally, a little rest and relaxation after a go, go, go trip. This was my expectation anyway. Unfortunately, the boys didn't get the memo. They were so rough and rowdy with each other that Jakob got a nosebleed right before bed, which was very distressing to me since his nosebleeds are often and interminable. A nosebleed before bed means a greatly postponed bedtime and at least one or two late night/early morning follow ups. Sure enough follow up one came around 4:50 a.m. where a sleepy, and therefore, selfish me told the boy just to shove a tissue up his nose and get back to bed. I should have known this was a foolish course to take if I wanted to prevent follow up number two, but when I am half asleep, my logic tends to be a little faulty. So, follow up number two happened around 6:30. Remarkably, Max was still asleep, so I tried to deal with Jakob as quietly as I could. I got him a cold rag for the back of his neck (the only thing that ever fully stops his nosebleeds) and got him back into bed once again. Unfortunately, he was wide awake and determined that his brother should be too. After about fifteen minutes of Jakob shuffling, jostling and coughing, Sleeping Beauty arose. This turned out to be a good thing because they both ran off downstairs to watch TV. I could finally get some sleep. But, just as I was drifting off, I remembered my mother's newly reupholstered couch and love seat. I ran downstairs as fast as my sleepy feet could carry me and issued the boys stern warnings. I told Jakob he could only sit on the tile floor or the easily cleaned naugahyde dining table chairs and I told Max that he could not wrestle, hit, kick or touch his brother in anyway that might cause another nosebleed. Finally, I could go back to sleep. Now, you would think my children would know by now that Mommy is mean as a snake in the morning, and therefore, only to be messed with at your peril, but I guess eight years is not enough time for that lesson to sink in. About an hour later Max came in to ask me where his DS was, which was bad enough, but shortly after that he came back in and said "Mommy, look what I can do with my tongue." I thought I was going to lose my mind. Thankfully, my dad took them out for a large part of the day and everything seemed to be going better until after dinner. When we got home Jakey took his shoes off and said "Oh, I fogot to mention that I stepped in some bwown stuff in the bafwoom at the westauwant." My mother investigated the bottom of Jake's shoe, quickly decided that the brown stuff was poo and proclaimed this was a Mommy Job. So I took the damn shoe outside and tried to rinse it off. Unfortunately, Jake had down a pretty thorough job of getting the poo in there so I had to find some implement strong enough to get it out. I found an ice scraper, a seemingly unlikely find in a Floridian utility closet, with a stiff brush on it and after four or five minutes, that did the trick. About a hour and a half hour later, it finally occurred to me that the source of the "bwown stuff" was probably Jake himself. When I gently inquired about this, he said he didn't "want to discuss it." An incriminating sentence on its own, but then he offered up this tidbit "when I went poo it wanded not neaw the toiwet." He also held up his hands to indicate exactly how "not near" the toilet the poo ended up. At this point, my father and I were laughing way too hard to continue any serious discussion about how the poo ended up where it did and what Jakob may or may not have done to rectify the situation. And, really, what good would it have done anyway, what's done it done. But, just to be safe, I don't think we'll be eating there again anytime soon, the potential of being scorned as the "Poo party" is too great. It really is a shame. They're wings are really good.

This Little Piggy Went To Kaiser

So, last week totally sucked. It started out alright. Finally, it was time for day camps to start, so I was looking forward to a whole week to myself. But, first things are first, so I spent the whole of Monday reclaiming the house from the mess that always ensues after having Andy, Max and Jake in the house for an entire weekend. With that done, I was all set to start my new exercise regimen on Tuesday. I am determined, I will, once and for all, be disciplined and thin again. I swear it!

Camp pick up time came all too soon, so I headed off to get the boys. Max seemed a little listless, but he had been up way too late most of the week before, so I wrote it off to that. He is a definitely a boy who needs his sleep, that being said, he is not the type to get it on his own. No matter what time you put him to bed, he will always wake up between 5:30 and 6:00. AM. Surely, this odd behavior can only come from Andy's gene pool for it absolutely is not in mine. To me, 10:00 am is the crack of dawn and you are taking your life in your own hands if you mess with me much before noon. I began to suspect that something bigger was afoot when Max got a blanket and laid down on the couch during our post-camp visit to the Davis' house. "Does he seem warm?" I asked Mike. "Yeah, he seems warm." But we left it at that and finished our beers. Can we say Mother Of The Year? Then the coughing started. That's when the light bulb went off. Gasp. What if it's swine flu? I called Kaiser immediately and they said to bring him in straight away. First, I had to drop Jake at his swim meet and find a mother too look after him until Andy could get there. That job fell to Samira's mom because, unfortunately for her, she was the first person I saw who I knew could pick Jakey out of a lineup. On my way out the door she said to me "You know, a couple of kids on the swim team were diagnosed with swine flu, you might want to mention that to the doctor." Now I was in full on panic. On the drive to Kaiser, I managed to distracted myself from that horrible thought, by counting the number of people I would have to notify if Max did, indeed, have swine flu. The list was extensive when I took into account day camp kids, swim team families, the 80 people from the birthday party the day before, immediately family and our friends visiting from abroad whose son and Max spent most of their four days together, literally, head to head, watching each other play various handheld video game machines. As daunting as the list making turned out to be, at least it filled the whole drive. When we got to Kaiser, there was a giant sign by the door, "If you are showing signs of having the flu, please put on a mask and cleanse your hands." So we did as told. It was sad to see Max looking like he was one of Michael Jackson's kids. After a great deal of testing, waiting and brouhaha, it was finally decided that he did not have swine flu, but some other unpleasant and long lasting virus that happened to be going around. I was relieved that Max had something relatively benign, not to mention not having to make all those phone calls, but I was a little annoyed about being homebound with a sick child for a week. Oh well, fitness would have to wait.

The next morning Jakey woke up complaining that his ear hurt. I sent him to camp anyway, hoping it would resolve. I know, another notch in my Mother Of The Year belt, but the thought of the two of them being home and sick and fighting all day, was more than I could bear. You would think illness would make them less abusive toward one another, at least physically, but not my kids. My uncle explained this behavior to me when I asked him why he beat up my father, his younger brother. He said simply "Because he was there." Sort of like Mt. Everest. By the time Andy picked Jake up at camp the ear was hurting worse, so it was off to Kaiser for the second time in as many nights. No mask this time though. Swimmer's Ear was the proclamation. Hallelujah, he could still go to camp. In retrospect, this may not have been such a good thing. When I picked him up Wednesday, guess who had a fever. You guessed it, Jake. And not only Jake, but the Davis twins too. We had paid it forward. I was not feeling all too well myself, but I was preemptively medicating with copious amounts of 800mg ibuprofen and cold medicine refusing the acknowledge the baying wolf at my door. Evil virus, I rebuke you!

By Thursday I was really tired and quite unwell, so I went to bed at a decent hour, which I may have mentioned before is really not like me. Sadly, sleep was not in the stars for me. Jakey woke me up at 11:30 "Mommy I can't bweve." He had this horrible gurgling sound in his throat. It didn't quite sound like asthma, but the nebulizer was already out for Max and I didn't know what else to do. After the neb, he sounded a little better, but I thought I should take him in anyway, just to be safe. When I called Kaiser they said they weren't seeing any pediatric patients that night and I would have to take him to the emergency room. I was annoyed that I would now be paying a $50 co-pay instead of a $10 one, but I had no choice, so I got dressed. We were just about to go out the door when the gurgling sound got really, really bad. Jakey couldn't catch his breath, so after a few seconds of panic we decided to call 911. That's when Jakey started throwing up. Andy dealt with Jake, while I was on the phone. The dispatcher said she would send an ambulance right away. I went to the bathroom to tell Andy and Jakey looked up and me and said "Hey mom. I feel better!" Then he gave me a thumbs up. Again, I was relieved he wasn't dying, but was not looking forward to being treated like a hysterical mother by the paramedics. Of course, they came with lights and sirens a-blastin', despite the fact that it was now a little after midnight. Now the whole neighborhood was awake and witness to Christina's overreaction. Great. The paramedics came in and quickly realized that all was well. I tried to explain to them the intensity of the situation at the time I called, but they didn't seem to be buying it. Andy asked them if they were from the West Springfield fire station and they said they were. "Oh, you guys were the ones who delivered him." I wasn't really too happy with Andy bringing up the story of me giving birth in front of my sister-in-law's house with a group of people who already thought I was a crazy, histrionic and hysterical woman, so I hoped his comment would go by quickly, when one of the paramedics said "Oh yeah! You were in the front yard when we got there! I was telling someone about that just the other day" Swell. What a reunion.

Friday managed to go by without a visit with any medical personnel and I thought the week was finally looking up. Then Saturday came and along with it Jakey's first A Team swim meet. It seems with all of his regulars out of town for the 4th, Coach Christopher was desperate to fill a couple slots on the 8 & Under Relay team, so he recruited Jake simply because he was there and mildly capable of swimming from one end of the pool to the other without touching the bottom (an immediately disqualification) or drowning. Of course, nothing with Jakob is easy. He whined and fussed and fretted from start to finish. He refused to do warm ups. I tried to talk him into it, then Coach Christopher tried, then Coach Michelle tried, then Andy. He steadfastly refused. Then Andy and I got in a fight on how best to proceed. He comes from the school of "let's give him some time" and I come from the school of "get your ass out there and do it NOW!" A mix of our approaches finally worked and the big event came. He was the second one to swim and all seemed to be going well until he realized the first swimmer on his team was losing to the other team's swimmer and he knew they would only get further behind when he swam. That's when the waterworks started. But, to his credit, he jumped in the pool and made his way across, crying every time he pulled his little head out of the water to catch a breath. His group lost horribly, but we were very proud nonetheless.

We made our way home to get some much needed rest before the Davis' 4th of July party. I was looking forward to getting a nice hot shower and good long nap when I discovered what looked to be some sort of poo-like substance in my bathroom sink. Ahhh, the cherry on top of a spectacular week. I called Andy in for a consult. His estimation was that it was, indeed, poo, so we brought in the usual suspects. It turned out to be Jakey's handy work. He had a little accident in his underwear and tried to take care of it himself. Andy's reaction was "aren't you proud of him trying to take care of it on his own? He handled the situation like a big boy." I thought to myself "Andy hit the nail right on the head, Jakey handled it just like someone afflicted with that pesky Y chromosome." Then I realized they had all wandered back downstairs to play video games and left me with a sink full of poo. That's when I gave up and decided to take a page out of their book. I laid down and left it for later. I refuse to clean poo out my sink on a national holiday. That's what the 5th of July is for.

Take the A Train

Max sleeps as his ChooChoo Chewys go uneaten.

Spring Break '09.  Off to St. Augustine with Supermarket.  Oddly enough, she did not show up with a pre-planned theme.  Apparently, she decided to wing it.  After a few minutes of loud arguing by my loving children, she announced that a theme had come upon her. "Tranquility" was to be our new mantra.  I wished her lots of luck.   Of course, when going to Florida with Supermarket, this means traveling by Auto Train.  For those who have never done it, it sounds fun and exotic.  Well, I am here to tell you that it is neither.  First of all, everything is tiny, like airplane bathroom tiny.  Which would probably be totally fine when traveling alone, but with two children and a grandmother in tow, things are tight.  It's amazing how much space two smallish kids can take up.  When you account for the DVD player, DVD's, DS's & games, reading material, coloring books, obligatory stuffed animals and snacks, their footprint is sizeable. In preparing for this trip my mother stressed that I should "pack light", owing to the smaller size of the trunk of her new convertible and the large amount of stuff she "needed" to bring to the condo.  I was none to pleased when I opened the trunk to find several large blue paper fans that were once on display at the fancy paper store across from her office.  I not-so-nicely persuaded her that these items could wait and, so, we got a little extra space.  Sadly, the boys still ended up sprawled out in awkward positions in the back seat among the computer cases, document boxes and snack bag.   Unfortunately, in my effort to lighten the load, one of the items I decided was no longer needed was an extra pair of underpants for the boys.  I should have known I was inviting trouble.  Half way through the pre-launch snack presentation (styrofoam bowls of off-brand snack mix, cheese cubes and wilty vegetables)  I smelled something I hadn't smelled in a very, very long time.  I leaned in and, a little puzzled, whispered "Jakey, did you poop in your pants?"  A vehement "NO" was his response.  So, I knocked it down a category, "Did you toot?" A sheepish "yes" and I was satisfied.  Nothing more was needed on my part than to wait it out. Sadly, the odor did not dissipate, so I did what any mother-on-the-go might do, I ignored it and hoped the problem would resolve itself.  When my mother marched Jakey to my compartment and announced that he was ready for his shower, I knew the jig was up.  So, I took him down the tiny hall, down the tiny stairs and into the tiny shower stall.  He was, of course, hysterical when I had to leave to door opened as he stripped, but I was not about to risk an all too likely poo mishap due to our confined quarters, so opened it remained.  My first inclination was to throw the offending underwear away, but I knew there was not a snowball's chance in hell that Jake would go one hour with underpants, let alone a whole day and a half, so I had to leave Jakey to his shower, while I went to the tiny bathroom with the tiny sink to wash a fair amount of poo out of his tiny underwear.  I knew it was going to be a tricky task, since the sink was so small and all, but what really added to the challenge was that in order to get the water to come out of the faucet you had to continually press down on the levers.  And, of course, the hot water was SUPER HOT and the cold water was SUPER COLD, so there was no way to wash out the poo one handed AND get water that didn't burn or freeze my skin.  What was worse, is that the only soap available was the mega-cherry smelling hand soap, so even after my best efforts, Jakey's underwear came out smelling like a not particularly well kept McDonald's bathroom. 

The other main problem with train travel is that it's almost impossible to sleep.  For some reason, the geniuses as Amtrak decided to put the sleeping cars right behind the engine.  The engine happens to be where the train whistle is located.  So, all night long you get to hear "whooooooo, whooooooo", which is really not nearly as charming as it reads.  Especially at three in the morning.  Another thing that makes sleeping difficult is that trains move.  A lot. So, your room, your bed and everything else around you shakes worse than Amy Winehouse in detox.  This trip was particularly vexing because the window in my door was loose, so it rattled all...night....long.  And, it didn't just rattle in some sort of rhythmic way that might ultimately become white noise, no, it rattled intermittently in loud, jerky, nerve fraying ways.  I tried stuffing things around it, propping my suitcase against it, laying with my leg pressed against it, nothing stopped it, so I laid there pissed and sleepy.  Which made problem three even more unpleasant.  

The last problem with train travel is that it is inconsistent time wise. One trip you could arrive an hour and a half early, the next trip, you could arrive three hours late.  Guess which one this was. When the train finally does stop you have to wait, a very long time, for all the old and infirm to get off first. Then you have to wait, a very long time, for the guys to unhook the car cars. Then you have to wait, a very long time, to get your car off the car car. All told, this trip we were on the train or at the train station for 21 hours. Twenty-one long, hot, sleepless, annoying hours. No, train travel is neither exotic nor fun. Seriously, flying scares the shit out of me usually, but I would rather be antsy for an hour and a half than pissed off, bored and annoyed for 21.

For Healthy People We Sure Go To The Doctor's A Lot

"When we went to Boston in February Max fell and hit his head. I spent the whole trip yelling at Max to get down off of the snow piles because he was going to fall and I didn't want to spend part of my trip at Mass General, and what happens, my mom sends me off to take the boys skating in Boston Common two hours before we're supposed to leave and Max falls and hits his head. He seemed ok at the time and during the walk back to the hotel, but at lunch things started heading south. He was a little groggy and then fell asleep at the table, but Max has a history of falling asleep in fine dining establishments and he had been up very late for several nights in a row. Then on the way to the airport he said he felt nauseous. I tried to put the windows down in the cab, but the child locks were on. I asked the driver to turn them off. He did, very briefly, long enough to put the windows down about 2 inches. I thought "hey, if this kid yaks in your cab, buddy, it's all on you." I guess it was the driver's lucky day since we pulled up to the airport with no upchuck incidents. No, that didn't happen until we were waiting at the gate. Max was laying down when I had the bright idea of giving him a ginger pill to calm his stomach. When he sat up to take it though, he had that horribly pained look on his face that every mother knows means a copious amount of vomit is imminent. I quickly scanned the area for a suitable recepticle. I found a trashcan about four feet away, next to a businessman eating a muffin, and ran over to take the top off since the hole was way too small for a panicky, regurgitating eight year old to navigate. Oddly enough, there was no top, it was just one large cover piece for a smaller ugly trashcan beneath.  But my mommie superhuman strength kicked in and I was able to wisk it off deftly despite its great size and bulk. Max was mere moments behind and, really, his timing could not have been any more perfect since he projectile vomited almost the exact distance to the now awaiting smaller ugly trash can. About ninety percent made it in, the remaining ten ran down the side. I was pretty pleased with the percentages, considering the timeframe we were working in.  I'm guess that the businessman was not all together happy with the situation seeing as he decided to take himself and his muffin elsewhere. Since there was some mess to be dealt with, I went over to the woman behind the counter and told her what happened. "He doesn't have anything contageous does he?" she snapped. "Nope, just a concussion." I tried to say casually, so I wouldn't cause any more alarm. She was eyeing me incredulously when I looked over and saw Max giving me the thumbs up, "I feel a lot better now!" After a nap on the plane, he seemed right as rain and the Kaiser advise nurse agreed with me. No need to do anything more than watch him for a couple nights. Then Natasha Richardson hit her head and died. Shortly after that Max started getting headaches. Of course, I panicked and rushed him the doctor, who assured me that any headaches he's having now could not possibly be related to a head injury that happened over a month ago. "But I am wondering about these swollen lymph nodes," the doctor said "if they don't go away in a week, bring him back in and we'll test him for mono." Great. So a week passes, the nodes are still swollen and Max practically begs to take a nap one day, so I took him in. Not until we were waiting at the elevator did Max realize what was about to happen. "Mom, do they need blood for the test?" When I answered "yes", the water works came on and the whining started too. I bet no one has ever heard an eight year old boy beg to go to school with so much fervor. When we arrived at the lab, it was all I could do to persuade Max to get off the elevator. I realized quickly I was going to have to bring out the big guns. I called Daddy. I was sure I was going to need some muscle to hold the boy down for this extraction, since eight year old boys, like people on PCP and mothers who lift cars off of their children, have the strength of ten men. Unfortunately, Andy had a meeting and would never make it in time, but he was able to talk Max down to a level where he could sit calmly in a chair without muttering "I can't, I can't, I can't." It seemed as if we may have turned a corner, when they called his name, Max actually stood up, but then he froze right where he stood. I had to stand behind him and start walking, using my body to push his along, sort of like herding cattle. Then we got to the doorway and he managed to get a death grip on the door jamb that was nearly impossible to pry loose. After cajoling, threatening and a little bit of cursing, I finally got him into the room. A woman directed us to cubicle two. Max began to wail.  Then she directed us to cubicle four. Cublicle four being for the more difficult patient, which Max more than qualified as. We eventually made our way to down to our awaiting phlebotomist and things seemed to be improving, when Max started to hyperventilate and got the vomit look. Being a medical facility there was an easy to reach recepticle right next to us, Max leaned over and spit and cried into it, but, thankfully, no vomit came. Our phlebotomist really was a pro, she got Max to stand up, quit hyperventalating and even sit in the chair, but once she put the rubber band around his arm, it all started again. Desperately, I tried to shield his eyes and distract him with playing Connect Four on my phone. He wasn't having it and the phlebotamist knew it. She decided to get this fiasco over with and take the bull by the horns. She just put the needle right in, bang, first shot, proving she was given cubicle four for a reason. I knew she was a pro. Immediately, all the hystrionics ended and Max looked right at me and said "Oh, that wasn't bad" but I'll bet you cash money right now that the next time he needs blood drawn he won't remember that at all.

Some Things Don't Need To Be Modernized

Sunday sucked. All sorts of electrical things that could go wrong, did. But, the worst thing that happened that day was a man-made error. Really a Christina-made error. I lost my flipper, which is like a retainer, in that, it goes in my mouth and it costs a whole lot to replace.

My mother-in-law offered to take Andy and the boys to see "Monsters vs. Aliens 3D", but Andy couldn't go be cause he needed to stay home and mulch. I realized later that he really wanted to go to Justin's man party. I realize now that he is going to read this and take acception, but one only needs to drive by and see my mulch-less beds to see that I am right. So I went to the movies with Louisa and the boys, since "Monsters vs. Aliens" is one of the few children's movies I have ever had the desire to see while it was playing in theatres.

Because we are living in a trying economy and because I am cheap in general, we all stuffed ample amounts of snacks into our pockets to avoid those high snack bar fees. Luckily we had a well filled pinata at Jakey's birthday party the day before, so cheap sugary treats were in great supply. The boys had the candy bags, Granny had the Pirates Booty and I had the water, we were set. When we got there, my mother-in-law was very anxious to get a good seat so she ran in with the boys while I secured our 3D glasses. After walking back and forth between "Monsters vs. Aliens 3D" and "Monsters vs. Aliens" not 3D, several times, I finally located my family in the very back row of the theatre. Out came the snacks and on went the glasses. About halfway thru the movie I decided that I wanted a piece of gum and lucky for me Jake's candy bag contained some. So I took out my dental appliance, placed it in my lap and promptly forgot about it.

The whole way home I had the feeling that something was missing, but I just couldn't put my finger on it until I walked into the kitchen to get a piece of gum, then it dawned on me. I took off like a flash, weaving in and out of cars, all the while trying to call the movie theatre on my cell phone. I am not afraid to admit that I was a traffic menace that afternoon. I screeched up to the front of the building, dashed inside and breathlessly asked the "movie consierge" if anyone had turned in a retainer (I didn't feel like explaining what a flipper is). He said "no", so I made a b-line straight for the theatre which was now very very dark, since the next group of movie goer's were nestled in and watching previews. I raced up to our seats with iPhone flashlight in hand and began crawling on my hands and knees over the super sticky movie theatre floor. It was gross, but the thought of laying out another $400 to my dentist was even more distasteful to me than hearing my jeans pealing off the floor with my every move. I excused and pardoned me all the way down the line finding nothing but the half empty bag of jelly beans we'd left. Very disappointing. My next stop was the trashcan I deposited our remainders in as we left. I sifted through popcorn and candy wrappers and blue slushie cups all the way up to my elbows and still no luck. I even asked the slack-jawed "usher" where they would dump the stuff they swept up. "Uhh, it was crazy in there, cuz people were already sittin' when we went to clean up, so we didn't get much cleaned up," my heart leapt with excitement, "but what we did get would be in the compactor by now." Upon hearing "compactor" my heart sunk back to its original spot. This happened the last time I lost my flipper, when I threw it away after eating at McDonald's on New Year's Eve day. You see, dumpsters have gone high-tech. They have incorporated compacting technology originated in suburban kitchens throughout the seventies. Unlike the trash compactors of yore however, the liability from someone being wholely crushed is great, so once something goes in, no one is getting it out, no one. I knew I was done for. I returned again to make another search after the show was over, but I knew it was futile. The only thing my second search did for me was piss me off more. In the light, I could see tons of cups and popcorn and wrappers and nacho trays and straws and lots of other flotsam and jetsom left behind, so someone please tell me how it is that those pimply faced, half-stoned teenagers were so efficient about sweeping up my flipper and getting into the dumpster of no return?

Jakey's Birthday

Jakey had a very eventful birthday.  First to school, where he received his birthday crown, birthday pencil and a morning with the "Birthday Monster" who apparently sings "Happy Birthday" in some sort of monster language.  Then it was off to the doctor's office for his six year check-up where he promptly became moody and fussy about his state of undress.  Jakey is modest in the extreme and I have no idea where he gets it.  I clean the house naked and Max greeted a former teacher at the door naked and even spoke with her for several minutes.  Our house is a virtual nudist colony, yet Jakey is so shy he had me actually tie the back of his paper gown together.  Go figure.  After that ordeal was over, we brunched at Bob Evan's.  We were joined later by Daddy and Uncle Danny.  They had plenty of time to get there since the argument among the servers as to who was going to be forced to take our table lasted quite a while.  When we finally did get a server, I politely asked how she was, to which she only replied with a Slingblade type grunt.  I did not take this as a good sign.  But, the food was tasty, even if it was not timely.  No worries though, we were still able to get in a photo stop at Jakey's birthplace in front of my sister-in-law's house before he needed to be back at school for "networking". After school he walked straight to Granny's where he received his first present of the day, then it was back to our house for more presents.  I am very happy to report that he was thrilled with the shoehorn I gave him.  Andy scoffed, but Jake fell in love with the one at our hotel in Boston, so I knew it would be a hit.  Sadly, present revelry couldn't last too long because Jake had baseball practice.  Luckily, it was cut short due to our extraordinarily frigid spring weather.  So we were off to Chuck E. Cheese's, the highlight of any Ames' boy birthday. While the boys played, I was treated to a rather disturbing show of 80's hits from the Chuck E. Cheese Band.  (See below) Thankfully, they both made short order of their tokens, so after a tricky family portrait where we had to squeeze four people into a two person frame, we came home and the boys were off to sleep before their heads even hit the pillow.  This went for Andy too.

Lessons Learned From the Bathroom Of Kate's Irish Pub on St. Patrick's Day

St. Patrick's Day 2009.  It all started so nicely.  Mike and I got there just as the evening singer was starting his first set.  He began by playing my all-time favorite Irish song with one of the best lines ever written, "and we all got stone blind, paralytic drunk as the Old Dunn Cow caught fire." We even managed to get a seat.  Unfortunately, after a few pints of green beer, the necessity to visit the facilities arose and it all went downhill from there.  While waiting in line on my first trip, I was informed by the first girl coming out of the multi-occupied handicap stall that the toilet paper supply was nil.  No surprise this late on St. Patrick's Day.  I reached over and deftly grabbed a paper towel, to which the first girl replied "That's brilliant!  What a great idea. Can I have one?"  I gave her mine with the instructions to "put it in the trash can, not the toilet or we're all done for."  She promised she would and I felt that particular satisfaction when useful knowledge gets passed from one generation to another.  While waiting for the other occupants to emerge from the stall, a very drunk woman who was also in line suddenly glanced at the mirror and slurred loudly, "Gahhdammit.  Alba got me.  The bitch got me."  It seems, Alba, the bar owner's wife, was responsible for the woman's suddenly green hair and she was none too pleased.  I don't know how she missed someone coming at her with a big can of green hairspray, one more of the dangers of drinking to excess I guess.   "I'vvve got a big gahdamn meetin tomorrow" she went on "thisss ssshit better come out."  We all assured her it would.  "You better be right!  I gotta big gahdamn meetin' tomorrow!"  I told her again that it would come out with one, maybe two shampoo, rinse, repeats at best.  "It better.  I cahn't show up to the gahdamn meetin like this.  Gahhdamn Alba."  Apparently, showing up to a meeting bleary eyed, hung over and reeking of booze isn't what puts a blight on one's professional demeanor, it is the green hair that takes you from competent career woman on the go to whispers in the boardroom with no hope of advancement.  Lesson one learned.   

On my second foray to the ladies room, I was blissfully surprised to find it completely empty. This was especially advantageous since the particularly greasy basket of chips had worked its magic on my delicate system.  I took my position in the stall and decided, since I had some time on my hands, to check Twitter on my iPhone.  Shortly thereafter a woman came and occupied the only other stall in the bathroom, which was unfortunate, since two completely hammered girls came stumbling in, one of them exclaiming loudly "Ohmygahd, Igottapee! I'mgonnaexplode! I'mgonnadie!  Igottapee, Igottapee, IGOTTAPEEEE!!!!!"  I guess her friend decided to take the bull by the horns and come to her distressed friends aid, since all of sudden I looked up from my Tweets to see her foot come bursting through as my bathroom stall door wildly flung open with a crash.  Rest assured, I was in no position to receive visitors and quickly became very ill tempered.  I believe I said something eloquent like "What the f#$*?"  They then both sauntered in and just stared at me.  When I informed them that I wasn't "going anywhere until they got the f@#* out," the one who kicked in the door looked at the one who had to pee and said "Oh, I guess we've got a bitch." (Insert long pause of shock and dismay)  This is when I thought I would truly loose my mind, but I wasn't about to get up (for a good many reasons) and the only thing I had to throw was my iPhone and I probably wouldn't have hit either one of them since, thanks to the beer, my aim was probably not at its best and I throw like a five year old girl on a good day.  So, I simply reverted to screaming and cursing until they sauntered back out.  I knew then that I would sit there all night if need be because it would be a cold day in hell before I let either of those bitches come within inches of my now entrenched position.  Sadly, the woman in the other stall finished up before the girl who had to pee could explode and find herself in a large puddle of her own shame, which is exactly what I was hoping for.  They both wedged themselves into the tiny stall, whereupon the peeing girl, not having peeing on her mind anymore, began to expound on her feelings for Mark.  "Ohmygaahd. I'mssoogayforMahhrk. I'mtotallygonnablowhimtonighhht.  I'msooogayforhim."  At least I was free to go.  

On the way back to my table I passed one of the bartenders and the aforementioned owner's wife, Alba, and thought I would take the opportunity to tell her of my bathroom tete a tete. Thankfully, I got the outraged response I was looking for and hopes of a gleeful revenge sprang forth.  I accompanied Alba to the restroom, pointed out the offending drunkards and quickly took leave before a near certain fisticuffs ensued with me in the middle of it.  I jauntily walked back to my table with the assurance that justice would be done and excited by the happy ending to my wacky tale of woe.  I took my seat, removed my shamrock tiara so I would be less noticeable to two girls seeking revenge as they were being very publicly hauled out of a bar and waited for satisfaction.  So, you can imagine my surprise when ten minutes later they were both shakin' a leg out on the dance floor. Not only that, but some guy (who I can only assume was the previously slurred about Mark) was bringing them MORE BEER.  I was outraged.  I was pissed. And a little more worldly wise.  Lesson Two:  Cowardice will not bring you justice.  If you want to see justice served, you can't just waltz away and hope for the best.  You have to stick around and risk getting embroiled in a cat fight.  And if you're not willing to do that, there is a single room bathroom with deadbolt at the 7-11 down the street.

The Price of Fame

                                               

It's been an eventful week for Jake.  The day after his dramatic emergency room rescue, he got to go to a Wizards game with Supermarket, Max and me.  The original lineup included Max's friend Jordan instead of Supermarket, but it turned out he had baseball practice at the same time, so he couldn't go.  Max was bummed at the time, but it really turned out in our favor, because when you travel with Supermarket, you travel in style.  Instead of the snuck-in, free, healthy snacks they would have gotten with me, we all went to the fancy, gourmet, buffet perched above center court.  Not only that, we got the best center, front row, balcony seat because Supermarket tipped the Maitre' d her free travel coffee cup that was the front door give away that night.  He admired it.  She gave it to him.  We got a great seat.  Go figure.  It wasn't really much of a loss for my mom anyway, she doesn't drink coffee.  At halftime, we went to our official seats.  I was a little disappointed because during the move, we missed those guys that balance each other in various astounding positions, which for me was the most interesting part of the night because I hate basketball.  The saving grace was the Dunking Contest during one of the breaks.  First they had their very nimble mascot, G-Whiz come out and stuff the ball through the hoop by running and jumping on a trampoline.   Then they had some regular Joe's take a go at it.  Hilarity ensued when the slightly heavier and certainly less limber Joe Six-Packs made their runs only to hit the trampoline a little short and go flailing through the air the the awaiting ultra thick safety mat.  I'd really like to read the waiver these guys surely signed before being allowed onto the court.  "Joe Six-Pack agrees to release Verizon Center, The Wizards, G-Whiz, and all their representatives, agents, successors and assigns from any and all claims or causes of action for all injuries including, but not limited to, slipped discs, sprained knees, pulled groins and loss of dignity, that may result from or occur during participation in this ridiculous grasp at fifteen minutes of minor fame and a free t-shirt."

The Saddest Story Ever Told

So, the whole family came over to the house yesterday for an impromptu "Yay!  Erica's pregnant!" celebration.  Dessert time came and my mother-in-law brought out the the Key Lime Pie that she made. As she was cutting it, I realized that it was March 14, 3/14.  I turned to my sister-in-law and said, with complete glee and enthusiasm, "Oh!  It's Pi Day!  We're having pie on Pi Day!" They all looked at me with great pity like I was the biggest geek in the whole wide world. Even my nephew who had a Rubik's Cube Off with the janitor at his middle school. 

One More Reason For Christina To Dislike The Medical Establishment

Tuesday afternoon started off pretty much the same as any other afternoon.  Max came through the door with a hearty "hi mom".  Jakey followed a few seconds later screaming and crying about Max shutting the door on him.  Max looked dismayed, "What?  Were supposed to close the door." This argument might have held some water if, at any previous time, he had ever shut the door without being reminded.  As with every other afternoon, the fighting gave way to pleas for food.  So, I lovingly prepared a hearty and nutritious afternoon snack consisting of whole wheat Goldfish, organic applesauce and a low-fat, part-skim cheese stick.  Half way through his apple sauce, Jakey hobbled into the living room doubled over, "My tummy huwts.  I need a wittle gween pill".  The little green pill in this case was Gas-X.  Jakey is very familiar with the stuff.  Ever since he was a baby he's used it in copious amounts.  Now we regularly buy the big box from Costco.  300 pills for $8.99.  I gave him one.  No relief.  Another.  Still no relief.  He wanted more, but I told him he was cut off.  "Maybe he needs to poop", I thought. "Jakey did you poop this morning?" I asked.  "No" he whined.  "Did you poop yesterday?"  Again, "No". Uh-oh.  I asked once more, this time a little more panicky, "Well, did you poop Sunday?" "Nuh-uh." I was somewhat relieved when I recalled my mother mentioning that Jakey had pooped at the hotel on Saturday.  It seems my poor father was left cooling his heals while Jakey spent a good 20 minutes in the potty.  Apparently, the situation became so desperate that my father had to make other arrangements for himself.  This is why my mother found the episode noteworthy enough to mention it to me.  

Now that we had the cause, we aimed straight for the cure.  Jakey was barely on the toilet for a minute when he decided the effort was futile and that he wanted to get up.  I assured him that, in matters like these, patience is, indeed, a virtue. This argument was lost on a five year old, so I had to go straight for scare tactics.  "You know, Jake, if you can't poop on your own, we'll have to get some medicine that you'll have to put in your bottom."  He laughed and laughed.  That was not the reaction I was going for.  Sadly, all the laughter made his belly hurt again and he became convinced the butt medicine was for him.  A few minutes later, we were off.  We dropped Max at Chess Club, then headed straight to CVS for suppositories.  Jakey was still in too much pain to walk, so I carried him in and put him in a buggy and wheeled him to the suppository section.  They had plenty of remedies in stock, unfortunately, all of them had the warning "DO NOT USE WHEN ABDOMINAL PAIN IS PRESENT." Shoot, now I was truly at a loss.  Not knowing what else to do, I decided to called the Kaiser advise nurse to see if she had anything useful to say.  I told her the whole story, she asked me a few questions and then she put me on hold.  For a very long time.  In hind sight, I should have hung up, bought the suppositories and gone home, but I didn't.  I sat there, dutifully, waiting for some sage advice from those better educated than myself  in these matters.  What I got instead was: 

Nurse:  "Ma'am?  You need to take him to the closest emergency room as soon as possible." 

Me:   "Wait.  What?  Seriously?"  

Nurse:  "Yes, Ma'am."  

Me:  "Because, I'm pretty sure he just needs to poop."  

Nurse:  "Ma'am,  we're concerned he may have appendicitis."

Me:  "Um.  Wouldn't he have a fever or being throwing up..."

Nurse:  "Not always Ma'am.  It could be in the early stages."

Then she throws this at me, "Ma'am, it may be inconvenient, but it's for the safety of your child."  So, now I'm a bad mother and if I don't heed their advice my son will die and I'll have to live with the terrible guilt forever and then they'll arrest me for criminal neglect and Fox News will run story after story about what a bad person I am

 and people will write in saying things like, "What kind of mother, blah, blah, blah"...  So, we went to the damn hospital.

When we got there, Jakey wouldn't let me carry him, so he hobbled in mumbling the whole way, "This is so embawassing."  They sent us back to the pediatric waiting room, which was super kid-friendly, but they seemed to have forgotten there would grown ups accompanying the sick children, so the room was a little too small for it purposes, as was all the furniture in it. There we sat in our tiny chairs, in a tiny room, watching a very large TV that had a hand written sign on it that said "Please leave on child appropriate programming."  So, you can understand why I was a bit mystified as to why it was tuned to "The Good, The Bad And The Ugly", but I also wasn't in the mood to go toe to toe with the one dad who seemed to be paying attention to it, so there it stayed.  

After awhile, they finally called us, brought us to "Room"  3 and gave me a gown to put on Jake. The boy who thought simply walking into the ER was embarrassing was certainly none to please about this particular indignity and so the tears started to flow.  Not in the mood for a fight, and keenly aware that social workers were mere steps away, I turned to bribery.  Luckily, there was a little TV in our little curtained off area, so I told him he could watch Disney Channel once he put on the gown.  He quickly caved.  It's handy to know that my children will trade their dignity for the promise of a little weekday television viewing. Eventually, a doctor made her way to us and in very short order decided that Jakey was not suffering from appendicitis and was probably just constipated.  BUT, "why don't we run a few tests, just to make sure."  So I was left with the unenviable task of getting my bladder shy son to pee in a cup in front of me.   We made our way to the bathroom veeerrrry sllloooowwwllly, since I had to walk very closely behind Jakob, all the while holding the back of his gown completely together.  No gaps allowed.  I expected an epic battle once we got there, but lucky for me, the promise of looking away as I held the cup was enough for Jake.  Maybe he sensed Mommy was a little on edge and now was not the best time argue the nuances of who stands where and holds what when peeing into a cup.  When we arrived back at "Room" 3, I stood there with the curtain open looking around to see who might want to take my son's urine off my hands.  There were no takers.  Only a direction to set it on the metal tray in our "Room". Then, about 20 minutes into Hannah Montana, the x-ray tech popped by.  Again, we made our way veeeerrrrry sllllooooowwwly to the x-ray room.  Jakey was surprisingly cooperative there, as well.  

All seemed well, until we returned to "Room" 3 only to find that Jakey's cup 'o urine was still sitting on the tray.  I quickly found our nurse and let her know that someone needed to take it to the lab tout de suite or I might lose my mind.  She then informed me, in a punishing tone, that not only would the test results be another 45 minutes to an hour, but we would also soon be removed from "Room" 3 because they needed it for another patient. Sure enough, within a minute there someone was to boot us out of our "Room" and into the hall.  This is when I lost it and went on a mini-tirade about them letting my urine sitting there forever, but when they needed something from me, they sure worked lightening fast.  The woman who was moving us handled me very deftly, I could tell she'd been to at least one seminar on "How to Handle The Irate Mother".  She led us to an out of the way gurney, whipped out a Wii for Jakey to play and promised to check on the lab results immediately.  About five minutes later, a young woman came by and asked Jakey his name, then she looked at me and said in a fey voice "We're so crowded we put people all around and we forgot where we put them."  She tittered then walked away.  Clearly, she had not been to the same seminars as the first hallway lady. Meanwhile,  Jakey was having the time of his life.  He remarked "I got to watch TV AND play the Wii.  And, it's past bedtime!  I can't wait to tell Daddy."  "Yeah, it's a real shame he can't be here to experience it."  I thought.  

So now, having 45 minutes to an hour to kill, no desire to watch Jake play video games and a woefully uncharged iPhone, my only entertainment option was reading bulletin boards.  The one immediately to our right was a breakdown of how to achieve Inova Fairfax's goal of making peoples ER stays more enjoyable, or least less unpleasant.  I noticed under Length Of Stay, their goal was 120 minute (Oops, already missed it) but last month they were averaging 167 minutes.  "We'll see" I thought.  It was closing in fast.  I moved on to bulletin board two.  This one had flyers for continuing education seminars. My favorite one ended "Esphogeal Ruptures and much, much, more.  Prizes too!"  Finally, the doctor came back by letting us know that lots of technology confirmed what we all knew in the beginning.  Jakey was constipated and we were free to leave.  It was only after paying my $50 co-pay and leaving the hospital that I realized that I never got an answer to my first question about how to get Jakey to poop.  I was bitter, but not bitter enough to go back in.  I figured a very berry breakfast would probably do the trick.  Out of curiosity, I checked my watch as we walked to our car and, by god, it was exactly 167 minutes after our arrival. Uncanny.

Annual St. Pat's Parade Outing

                                           

The Dr.'s best guest about what's making me dizzy is that it's some sort of viral inner ear thing. Since this was my best guess too, my visit seems to have been fairly futile.  Apparently, I have to be dizzy two more weeks until I can be referred to an ENT.  Then it will probably be at least another 2 weeks until I actually see an ENT.  So, I'm just going to press on through, dizziness and all.  

Alexandria had their St. Patrick's Day parade this past Sat.  My mother, for the third year in a row, got a room at the Hotel Monaco so she and the boys could watch the parade without having to deal with weather or people.  I have to say, now that it's a "boutique" hotel, instead of your run of the mill, pedestrian Holiday Inn, the place is much more interesting.  You get a gold fish in your room and animal print robes in your closet.  They also make much ado about their "dog friendliness".  I find this feature particularly comforting, since any mess my children make should not stand out too much when compared with the hotel's furrier and, slightly less, potty trained guests.  

My father surprisingly decided to accompany my mother on this outing. When I dropped the boys off Friday afternoon, my mother announced the theme of the trip was "Make Grandpa Ron Feel Welcome."  (Previous vacation themes include "Cooperation" and "Love Thy Brother"). My father seemed skeptical.  I didn't blame him, since the children immediately came in and took over.  Out came the snacks and on went the Disney Channel.  Once their bellies were full of Smart Corn, the boys decided they wanted to go for a swim.  My father, again, surprisingly, decided he would swim with them, so off we went.  The boys had a great time diving, jumping, running, screaming, and basically flouting all the usual pool rules.  We were the only one's there, so it didn't seem like too big of a deal.  They also enjoyed getting thrown through the air by Granddad.  In fact, this was the highlight until I heard my father say "What the hell is that? All right, everybody out!"  That's when I realized there were odd bits and chunks floating in the pool.  I quickly scanned my children's faces for any traces of guilt.  I landed on Jake and asked what happened.  "I'm embawassed to say...it starts wif an 'f'."  I quietly asked "Did you fart in the pool and something came out?"  He replied, "No, I fwoo up"  To which Max ever constructively replied "Jakob, you dummy, 'threw up' starts with a 't'."  So, let it be known, Smart Corn + Horseplay= Pool Closed Due to Vomit.  It goes without saying that this incident did not really further the theme of the weekend.  I'm guessing this parade weekend will be Granddad's last and next year he'll send our part-time pooch, Butters, in his stead.

I returned with Andy the next morning, so we could watch the parade too.  It was entertaining, as usual.  It started out with Pat Troy berating the local businesses that chose not to put an ad in the program and his annual warning that this could be the last year for the parade if people don't shape up.  My favorite group was there, as always, Shriner's in mini-cars. Although, a new club came this year that might give them a run for their money, the Beard Brigade.  There were lots of ZZTop looking fellas and they even had a full on Moses.  I tell you, if he had turned his staff into a snake, they definitely would have taken first.

Waiting Room Aesthetics

I am now sitting in the waiting room at my Dr.'s office. At first I was happy to see the switch from Fox News to generic, bland, nature scenes accompanied by non-descript Muzak. The C.A.R.E. Network, it's called. For Continuous Ambient Relaxation Environment. They've even added a couple water features to the waiting area in the form of "trickling water over zen rocks" fountains. But, after waiting here for 30 minutes, I'm not so sure these things are improvements. I feel like they're more designed to keep me from getting irate about the fact that I have been sitting here for 30 minutes. I'm surprised that the office staff aren't all comatose listening to this stuff day in, day out. Perhaps this explains the extreme friendliness of everyone here. Maybe there are subliminal happy messages embedded in the C.A.R.E. Network programming. I'm pretty sure Fox New's embedded messages lean more toward the cranky and domineering. Probably the reason for the switch. I'm still mad about waiting though.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

OK.  For anyone who has met them, you'll know that my children are quite loud.  What's more, is that it's exponentially worse when they are together.  Now, there is something that makes it even more unbearable.  Apparently, I have some sort of ear infection that, instead of dulling my sense of hearing, enhances it.  So, now I feel like I have Bionic Woman hearing, only it's not a good and helpful tool for government spying.  It's more like, every scream, every whine, makes my head rattle like I'm chewing rocks.  Bright lights are now a problem too.  I took the kids to McDonald's for dinner (I know, I get Mother Of The Year) and between the noise and the lights I thought I was going to go crazy.  I had ear plugs in too.  So, the sight of the wincing woman with the blue earplugs likely made anyone there think I was already crazy.  I have a Dr.'s appt. tomorrow. Hopefully, they will have something useful to say.  Whatever they say, I hope they say it quietly. 

Could it be? A blog from my iPhone?

This fickle technology is vexing me today. Apparently, it's my day to be disappointed with Apple. First, the long awaited and much anticipated release of the new imac finally happened and it was as much of a big dull dud as Macworld. Where's my quad? I was promised a quad. Then, I thought I would give this blogging thing a go using iWeb, only to find out you can only edit your blog directly from your Mac, not from your iPhone. Huh? This seems like a no brainer. It's sad to say, but a post-Steve Jobs Apple is looking more and more woeful to me. And, The Woz is on Dancing With The Stars. A sure sign of the apocalypse.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]