RenovationGirl

A Year Ago Today

It is now past midnight.  The date has turned to April 9th.  Upstairs, asleep, are my two children.  Two. It is only in the past month or so that I can say "children," plural, and not feel awkard or uncomfortable.  I have multiple children.  Not one. Two.  It's crazy. Not a day has gone by during this past year where I haven't marveled at this fact.  Not a day has gone by during this past year where I haven't thanked God for these amazing gifts.  It has been an amazing and joyous year.

Dear Baby,

It is 12:34 AM on April 9th, 2014.  It's your first birthday!  A year ago today, we were all wondering when you'd make your big entrance.  I was four days late, bigger than a house, and so very ready to meet you.  I went to bed the night before anticipating meeting you.  Somewhere in the middle of the night, mild contractions started.  Enough to disturb my sleep, but not enough to wake Daddy.  (Really, does anything wake Daddy?)  My contractions were getting stronger and by 5 AM, I couldn't stay in bed anymore.  I took a careful and quick shower and then got back to bed.  I started timing things and realized that this was probably game time.  I had one goal in that morning-get your brother to school without knowing we were headed to the hospital.

You see, after almost nine whole years of being an only child, your brother wasn't so thrilled by the idea of you. He was confused and worried about how life would change for him, for us, once you arrived.  He's a worrier, that brother of yours!  So, we just wanted him to go to school and not worry all day.  Somehow, through the onslaught of intensifying contractions, we got your brother to school and he had no idea!

Once brother was at school, mommy called your yaya  to let her know we'd need her to pick up your brother.  Being the worrier she is (see, your brother comes by it honestly), she left the house immediately, even though she wasn't needed for 6 more hours!  In the meantime, we called the doctor who let the hospital know we'd be on our way.

At this point, mommy's contractions became more sporadic, so daddy and I took our time getting things ready and leaving for the hospital.  Even though we had done this before, we were still scared and worried and nervous.  Our lives were about to change yet again and we didn't know what was in store for us.  When we got to the hospital, instead of mommy getting a wheelchair to go up to the labor and delivery floor, mommy decided to have daddy park in the regular parking lot and walk the whole way.  I can remember the looooooong hospital hallways and having to stop regularly to breathe through a contraction.  I remember a hospital volunteer offering to get us a wheelchair.  But then the contraction would pass and off we'd go again.  

As we headed into the last stretch, the nurses saw me coming and called out my name.  They didn't know me, but they heard I was coming-and I was to get special treatment.  The head daytime nurse was the mother of one of my friend's and she had told everyone to treat me well.  It felt special and comforting and welcoming.  They marveled at the fact that I had walked the entire way and this felt very affirming to me.  This was around 11:00 AM.  They got me into a room and began to get me hooked up to monitors to see what you were up to.  

Not much.  You had decided to take a break.  I was not having regular contractions, although the monitors showed they were pretty intense when they happened.  I was working through them well, so it appeared that they might be sending us home.  The doctor ordered that I walk for awhile and then see if things progressed.  If not, home we would go.  We walked and looked at all the construction (the maternity wing was being remodeled) and once back on the monitors, things were still status quo.  They consulted Dr. L. about me and she asked me if I'd like her to break my water.  I was four days late, I was 40 years old, I said yes!  So, although I'm not sure of the order now, they started the epidural, hooked up just a little bit of pitocin, and broke my water.  At this point, it was now around 1:45.   I asked the nurse about how long they thought everything would take (I was worried about your brother) and they assured me it would probably take about an hour per cm and I was only 3-4 cm (and that was being generous).  So we settled in to wait.

About 40 minutes later, I felt some serious pressure.  I mentioned it to daddy who kind of shrugged it off.  With the next contraction, I felt that serious pressure again.  Again, I mentioned it to daddy.  Again he kind of shrugged it off.  On the next and third contraction, I knew this wasn't normal pressure-this was getting urgent.  I knew I was going to need to push very, very soon.  I asked daddy to get a nurse, and warned him that she would probably poo-poo him, but to tell them I still wanted them to check me.  They came in to check with an air of appeasement and a look of surprise crossed the face of the nurse.  In that short time, I went from 3 cm to 10 cm.  It was go time!

They called Dr. L, who had left to go run errands (she was at the post office when they called her)-after all, we all thought it would be hours!!!!-who gave one instruction-Don't push!  The nurses set the process into motion-transforming by room into a delivery room-as we waited for the dr to get there.  I was worried my friend's mom wouldn't make it, but she arrived shortly before the doctor did and her presence was calming and comforting.  Dr. L swooped in and quickly checked me.  She was surprised, but pleased.  Without even putting on a surgical gown, she began to give me instructions.  First push.  I could tell I was pushing wrong.  It had been awhile since I'd done this and we hadn't taken a refresher class.  Next push came along, I worked hard at pushing correctly and out slipped your hand over your head.  Daddy loved that!!  One more push, and out you came.  Boom.  Three pushes, less than 40 minutes of tough labor, and there you were.  

to be continued...

In the Quiet

It's quiet right now...save for the hum of the baby monitor...and the occasional banging of wood from the workshop below as Remodel Man crafts posts for our front porch...and the soft laughter of Builder Boy and his friend playing Legos two rooms away.  It's nice...

I've been dwelling on the idea of quiet a lot during the past six and a half weeks since my daughter was born.  It started out when I realized that when she and I are home alone, there is often a lot of quiet during her awake times.  When Builder Boy was an infant, I talked to him nonstop.  I was nervous and worried that I was doing everything wrong, so I read parenting books and heeded their advice to just talk as you go about your daily routine.  So talk I did.  Constantly.  (At nine years old now, guess what Builder Boy does?  Yep, talks. Constantly!) This time around, I'm okay to let their be silence in our days.  She actually seems to relish this quiet time.  She kicks her legs and checks out her surroundings.  Often I find her smiling.

This quiet started at the hospital.  I was tired of having been pregnant and tired from delivery.  We were often alone (Did this happen with everyone's second child?  No one really came to visit in the hospital...it was weird and I tried not to be offended by it.)  and during this alone time, we would sit quietly, gazing on one another.  When I took my first shower post-delivery, I remember what a friend said about how lonely she felt in that first shower.  All of a sudden, after nine months of always having "someone" with you, here you are, alone. I felt that loneliness, although I willed myself to not dwell on it.  Hyper-aware of postpartum depression, I didn't want to think about such a sad thought,  yet it would creep in during other showers. 

Once home, pensive quiet would continue.  I would find the slippers I took to the hospital, the booties she wore, or event he spritz bottle for my sore girl parts-and in those moments, I was intensely aware of the silence.  I was watching to see if I was slipping into a depression, once again willing myself not to feel the intense sadness I encountered the first time around.  Thankfully, almost seven weeks later, I have not sunk into that horrible pit of postpartum depression and I thank the Lord daily for this.  

This time around, when I find myself pensive, thinking on the moments that can cause intense sadness, the falling off of the umbilical cord, the packing away already of newborn clothes, the awareness of how fast she is already growing and how much better she fits into her car seat, instead of reprimanding myself how I am wasting valuable time, missing precious moments, this time, I just enjoy.  I enjoy the momentary wistfulness of the passage of time.  I allow myself to experience the bittersweet.  This time around, I know that even with the passing of time, from newborn to toddler to preschooler to grade schooler, new and exciting experiences await her-and I get to watch.

The quiet has taught me so much this time.  So has experience.  So has the fact that she is a content baby.  Or maybe the fact that she is so content stems from my peacefulness.  Who knows?  All I know is this...I am enjoying the quiet.  

 

 

Happy 2nd Week Birthday

Dear Baby Girl,

Today, at exactly 2:51 PM, you  turned two weeks old...in the grand scheme of your life, this is just a blip of time.  To us, your parents, it is a time of celebration.  It is eight years of waiting.  You have already filled our lives so full that is seems like you have always been with us.  I suppose, in a way, you have.  With every negative test, failed cycle, and loss, the Lord had you waiting for us.  Waiting for YOUR time, the RIGHT time. While we will never forget our 5 little angels, you have filled our hurt a bit and our hearts are overwhelmed with joy and love. 

In the past two weeks, you have taught us much about ourselves...you have taught us that just like that mean ol' Grinch, a heart really can grow many sizes in a short period of time.  You have taught us that we are, ahem, older, and that helps us and hurts us.  Bending over that changing table to change you only to have you pee on your sleeper mid-change, then explosively poop on mommy before she can get that diaper on, lets us feel every creak in our middle-aged bones.  But having the life experience of 40 years behind us?  Well, that has filled us with patience beyond compare.  We know exactly how blessed we are and how lucky we are to have you.  You have taught us that teamwork counts and that big brothers are slow to fall in love sometimes.  You have taught us that our friends and family are amazing people who love you almost as much as we do, recognizing the precious gift you are to us.  You have taught us that even after so much pain, joy is possible, boundless joy.  

In the past two weeks, you have already shown your personality.  You are a good baby who actually sleeps.  I had heard these types of babies existed, but I always thought they were the stuff that stories were made of.  But no, you sleep.  You are rarely fussy, but when you are, there's always a reason.  Sometimes, you get yourself so worked up that when you cry, you sound like a little lamb bleating.  And while this should upset us, it's so stinking cute, we just smile and hold you tighter. You love your hands and constantly have them at your face.  You actually came out of mommy arm first before your shoulders.  Sometimes, the way you hold those hands around your face, you look angelic.  Other times, with a slight gassy grin, you seem to be plotting your first evil plan.  (Perhaps to pull the cat's tail?)  You love to snuggle up on someone. but at night, it's mommy.  You love sticking your butt in the air and nuzzling on mommy's chest nice and tight.  (Mommy loves this, too!) You are a good eater and took to nursing right away.  Unfortunately, you also have a tendency to spit everything up, but no worries-you're gaining weight (13 oz in 10 days!) and mommy and daddy comfort you when this upsets you.  You make a ton of noises, whether eating or sleeping or just hanging out with us.  You have the brightest eyes we've ever seen that seem to see deep within us and you follow the sounds of our voices with those beautiful eyes.  When we change you, your legs never stop moving.  Your right leg often sticks straight out and hangs out mid-air, until we're ready to put that diaper on you, and then BOOM, it curls back up again.  Sometimes, it looks like you're bicycling  as fast as you can.  You like a little "me time" in your pack and play sometimes.  It soothes you.

Baby girl, in just two weeks you have stolen our hearts and the hearts of many.  You have fulfilled our dreams and we spend many an hour gazing on your sweetness, in awe of this gift we have been given.  We love you.  Happy two week birthday!

She's Here!!

Our miracle baby girl arrived on April 9th after being almost 5 days late.  It was an easy and fast delivery and so far, she is an easy and sleeping baby.  We are beyond thrilled and in love!  I'd love your input on what blog name she should have...

Pictures and more to follow...

 

I'm Still Here, Just Bigger

Hi. I'm still here.  Doubtful that many of you are.  I've committed a grievous sin in the blog world: I have left my blog unattended for months and months.  But I am still here. Hi.

Right now, I'm having trouble typing on my Chromebook.  Even with it's little size, the computer is still too big for my significantly smaller lap.  This is a pain, one that my cats (who are on the "pleasantly plump" side) are very upset about.  But I'll take it.  

I am in the home stretch, friends.  I am over 36 weeks pregnant now and we are all doing well.  It would be a lie to say this was an easy pregnancy-being 40 as opposed to being 31 has proved much more difficult than even I thought.  While we've had no complications, things have been tough.  My exhaustion is more intense this time around.  I have not yet had the lovely "nesting" syndrome that hits pregnant women.  There was no "Superwoman" second trimester phase.  Since week 16, my feet and ankles have remained swollen in an alarming manner. (No worries, blood pressure is fine.)  My back aches constantly.  I haven't breathed through my nose easily since we conceived.  And while I know this sounds like complaining, it's not.  I delight in it, even when I'm uncomfortable and out of sorts.

I have lots more to share.  Like how Builder Boy reacted to the news of becoming a big brother and how he has come to accept it and possibly even be excited by it.  Or all the things I had forgotten about being pregnant-good and bad. About the people praying for this baby and how incredibly blessed this baby is.  And how my house right now has been overtaken by all things pink.  :)  But we'll save that for a later date.  Just know I'm still here, just bigger, and a lot more quiet than I've been in a super long time.

Well Hello!

It's been months since I've written.  Thank you for the emails I received checking in on me. I'm fine.  Truly.  I just have had no desire to visit this space.  I wish I could say I was soul-searching, trying to find my place in the blog world, but really, I just didn't care to write.  Have you ever been there with your blog?  Of the blogs I read, it does seem to be a trend that people aren't writing as much or commenting as much.  Perhaps it's the saturation of blogs or perhaps people are actually out there living their lives instead of writing about them.  Nonetheless, here I am. 

Here's what you missed during my hiatus:

1.  Miscarriage #5-done naturally at home.  This I do NOT recommend.  Go for the D&C people-much less emotionally traumatic!!!

2.I got medicated!!!!!Hooray for me!  Anti-depressant AND  anti-anxiety meds.  I'm much better, although still battling serious anxiety due to #3 and my fear of taking the anti-anxiety meds and getting addicted.

3.  Finished out the worst school year of my career.  Many teachers were fired for no apparent good reason leaving us all feel very unsettled and terrified.  It was a year filled with drama and crisis and change and I'm hoping this coming year will be totally boring because I can't handle another year like that.

4. Cub Scout camp for Builder Boy-a wonderful experience for him!  He learned so much and had such a great time.

5.  Our church festival where I learned lots, made lots of new friends, and cooked more cabbage rolls that I ever thought I could.  It was a lot of fun!!!

6.A heat wave and we don't have air conditioning.  I really like it when I tell people we have a couple of window units and they reply, "OH, that's good!!!"  Really? yes, it's helpful, but it's not good.  It's hot as blazes in all but one room in our house during the day, and that room is a freezing 84 degrees.  It's even been too hot to go to the pool during the afternoon hours. Ugh.!

7. Teaching summer school...always interesting and challenging, especially because it's online.  I do enjoy it, though, as it keeps me fresh and teaching is never far from my mind.

8. Restoring out front porch. Oh.My.Gosh.  What a project!  Remodel Man is doing it all himself and it is quite a project.  and in this heat...

9.  Getting ready for vacation in the near future.  Beach time is always good for the soul. 

10.  Prepping lessons for the entire school year-I am determined that THIS will be the year I am organized and ahead of schedule planning-wise.  (Please pray for me on this one!)

11.  Cooking!!  Lots and lots of new recipes and new foods.  I had lost my cooking mojo for awhile, but because of a CSA program and Pinterest, I have my groove back.  Remodel Man is quite glad about this!

So that's me...how have you been?

Firsts

I finally have a friend who can fully relate to me...years and years of infertility heartache, a miracle baby, but only one. She has a son, just one, and only one child. It's nice to finally have someone who doesn't throw their many children in my face about how hard their lives are (what I wouldn't give!!!) or who doesn't understand why Builder Boy can't just "sit and color" when I need to do something. She understands what it's like to have one child, specifically a boy child. She understands that the mere nature of having an only includes spoiling not because you want to spoil, but because there's not one else who requires your attention. It's so refreshing! When we talked last Saturday morning and I relayed to her our Friday night adventures, she commented, "Well, of course you freaked out...this was a first, and as the parent of an only child, everything is a first."

She was commenting on our very first trip to the ER with Builder Boy. I feel blessed to say that in almost eight years, this truly was our first time. We've had our close calls, but nothing ever requiring an emergency trip. Builder Boy was in the after care program at school on Friday (and yes, if you know me, this added to my guilt immeasurably...you know, if mean mommy didn't have to work then mean mommy wouldn't have had to have him in after care and then this wouldn't have happened...) and when I went to pick him up, I noticed an aftercare worker rushing over to a child. In that split second, I thought, "Gosh I hope that's not my kid." Not even for one second did I think it was Builder Boy. Not even as I got out of the car and headed over to the sidewalk. Even when the kid started walking slowly, head hanging, blood pouring from his face did I think it was him. Because that day, of all days, he was in a different coat than usual and it took me a bit to realize that this kid, dripping with blood was mine.

"What happened?!" I screeched in the hysterical, high-pitched way I have when my kid is dripping blood. "Oh," said the dad watching the playground, "He fell." In retrospect, I should have slapped him across the face for his nonchalance. Oh, okay! Thanks for filling me in!

Turns out, Builder Boy was playing on the the playset, tripped, and landed on his face, full force. His bottom teeth went completely through his bottom lip, hence the obscene amounts of precious blood spilling from my baby boy. He was an absolute champ throughout it all! I got him to the bathroom to clean him up and he did not shed one tear, not even when I hugged him (which you know will do most kids in when they're trying to hold it together). He did take one look at his face and started hyperventilating, almost throwing up, but with some slow, cleansing breaths he calmed himself down. One look at his cleaned up mouth, which was still gushing blood, showed all teeth were presented and accounted for. The mothers at after care sprang into action, getting me a cup to rinse his mouth and a bag of ice to sooth it and work on the swelling. One looked at his mouth for me (again, I'm a novice at this) and pronounced the necessity for a check up. All this time he was holding it together while his adorable friends, even the older kids who didn't really know him well, hovered around him, making sure he was okay. He started to get teary, and so we made a beeline to the car.

We headed to the ER to see if stitches were needed. (They weren't.) On the way there, he sobbed his little heart out while I patted his leg from the driver's seat. Somehow, someway, I got him there and without shedding one tear myself. This is short of a miracle. Once we were there, as he was sitting on the hospital bed, I noticed the gaping wound on his jaw. I thought for sure I would pass out. I didn't, but he noticed my face turn ashen and asked if he was getting worse. I assured him that he was fine and he said, "but your face is funny." So much for that theater degree!

For a child who freaks out about every.little.thing, he always handles the big stuff well. At two, he went to visit his grandma after her hip replacement surgery and was not the least bit overwhelmed by her walker and immobility. At four years old, as he watched his grandfather having a stroke, he calmly asked me if his Pappap was dying. For the past three years, he has seen his mama have four surgeries and waited sweetly at home, preparing the couch with his pillows and stuffed animals. Now, his first ER trip and when asked how the pain was, he shrugged and said, "Not bad!" He cracked jokes with the nurse, challenged the doctor on how long it would take to heal, and asked for something to eat.

This was a tough first, but we did it. And while I'm sure many people can trump this visit with numerous ones of their own, I wish they would remember that this is my first. Every single time something new happens with my child, it's a first. I don't wish these types of experiences on anyone, but trust me when I tell you, I'd love to have this be no big deal because I have so many more kids.

Get Off the Phone

Certainly, there are some pretty strong opinions about cell phones and driving. I try to be very honest on my own blog so I'll tell you: I spend much of my hour commute home on the phone catching up with friends, making plans, calling my online students. I also will be honest and tell you that I don't have a hands-free device. I have wanted one, but I haven't made the trip to the store and picked one up. My car is far too old to have the fancy blue tooth built in. So I drive...with a phone in my hand, distracted. You may do the same, too. (Do you?) I'll ask of you now-please stop.

One week ago, my parents called to tell me there had been an accident. The car my sister had been a passenger in was hit head on by a man on his cell phone. He didn't even hit the brakes because he didn't even realize he had swerved across the center line and into oncoming traffic. Not one brake mark. The impact pushed the car back 200 feet. Up an embankment. Did I mention that there was a four month old baby in the back seat? No, uh well, there was. It was SUV against Honda. (Honda owners will delight in the fact that the Honda held it's own!)

Luckily and miraculously, the baby was unharmed. The driver of the car my sister was in was bruised and sore, but unharmed. My sister bore the brunt of the impact, breaking her leg and her sternum. Instantly, the choice to take that phone call changed my sister's life. In the blink of an eye, the next 3-6 months of her life and possibly forever were changed, altered, transformed. Instead of planning vacations, she is in a walker, just trying to get from bedroom to living room. Instead of starting with a new department at work, she is figuring out how to breathe through her pain, how to walk with both a broken leg and a broken sternum. She requires 24 hour care when she used to live independently.

All because a man chose to take a phone call. Please think about this the next time you are driving. Remember that no phone call is that important to jeopardize the well-being of your life or others. Buy a hands-free device and use it. Or, like one of the nurses at the hospital who constantly sees the trauma caused by cell phone distractions does, lock the phone in the trunk. Please.

It Was a Long Time Coming

I have numerous drafted posts that continue to sit in my drafts folder. It seemed that every single one was filled with bitterness, negativity, and cynicism. They are downright pathetic and depressing. They were also raw and honest. I wanted to post them because of that-their honesty-but during the Christmas season, they didn't seem to have a place. The blogosphere was filled with joyous posts filled with all a litany of how every feels so blessed and hopeful and peaceful-and I just wasn't feeling it. Until Christmas Day. There on Christmas Day full of the stress of hosting my first Christmas dinner in a house that continues to be messy, cluttered and dirty, this feeling washed over me. Of relief. Of joy. Of contentment. Of hope.

Life continues to throw what feels like a constant curve ball at me. The bills continue to pile up. I am still confronted with my body's failure to reproduce again successfully. The clutter that envelops my home has a strangling hold on me. Yet, at a particularly stressful moment on Christmas Day (you know that moment when your home is filled with guests and the meal is just about to be served and every.single.food item.needs to be hot ten minutes ago!!), I felt washed over with peace because...

There sat my aunt who just finished her chemo treatments, whose hair is starting to grow back, who delighted in the presence of all of us...

There sat my dad whom we almost lost three years ago on Christmas Day. He sat contentedly with Deconstructor cat #1 filling his lap in all his big-boned sweetness, watching my son explore the new toys and Lego sets and books he had just received...

There played my son, revelling in the most exciting of days as Santa brought him two of the three Lego sets he wanted (yea, Santa couldn't afford the $400 Death Star Lego set!) loving on all of us there...

There sat my mother, who has had a tough year, yet never complained, who finally allowed herself to relax and let me and my sister handle the meal...who adores her grandson more than anything in the world...

There sat my newly engaged cousin with her about to deploy fiancee, happy and full of excitement about their future life together.

All this unbridled joy in my home, under my roof, not marred by the clutter or dirt or disorganization. Just there, filling my home. And for the first time in a long time, I felt lighter and happy and content.

I hope this same feeling reached you and yours this Christmas season. I am hopeful it will stick around in the new year...for me and for you.

Let's Bake Some Damn Gingerbread Pirates

Today is our last day off after Thanksgiving. I am always grateful for this extra day. Since I worked Black Friday (and by Black Friday, I actually mean Thanksgiving night as we head to clock in by 11:45 to work the opening midnight shift...another post on that to follow...), I spent all of Friday recovering. Apparently, my body can't handle a 24 hour day like it used to! Builder Boy and I are both off today, and after a weekend of work, recovery, cleaning, and more work, I set a to-do list that included mostly things we do together, and with as little television as possible. On my list was read together, work on his homework, and study for yet another test (did I mention that he has a test almost every day of the week???). On his list was bake gingerbread pirates. Yay! Get some holiday baking done, spend some time together, and have him removed from the television for a few hours-it was win/win.

Our day had been going well...shortly after he got up, he asked to watch Empire Strikes Back. I was still finishing up some grading I was working on, so I put the movie on, made him some popcorn, and knocked a few things off of my list of to-dos. We had lunch and then settled in to bake some cookies. During a conversation, I answered a question he asked (when can he start using his advent calendar?) and he was not pleased with the answer (Thursday). "But Dad told me advent started Wednesday!" Me: "Well, he must have not looked at the calendar...December 1st is Thursday..." BB: "No, it's not. Dad said Wednesdsay." Me: "Well, buddy, I'm looking at a calendar and it says Thursday." BB: "Well, it's wrong. Dad said..." We went round and round like this for awhile until I hit my breaking point.

This happens a lot around here...Dad is always right, mom is always wrong, and stupid, and not as smart as a teenager (Builder Boy's words, not mine...). I have told him before how hurtful these words are. I've asked him to imagine what it would feel like if someone said that to him, but he doesn't get it. I'm his mom, a metaphoric punching bag for him. I get it...he and his Dad are the best of buds...a lot of that comes from the common interest in all things boy. But a lot of it comes from the fact that I am always working. Always. If I'm home, I'm cleaning, cooking, paying bills, working my cyber teaching job, grading papers. Or I'm at school or my retail job. Dad is here in the morning to get him off to school. He's here on the weekends and nights when I work my retail job. He's here to play with while I make dinner or make calls for work. Dad is here. Mom is not. To say I am okay with this would be lying.

I see the major divide. Them versus me. The boys against the girl. I have no other children to take to a movie or read with or be stupid for. When Builder Boy hangs out with Remodel Man, I am alone. Just me. By myself, existing in all the failure I see surrounding me. Being reminded of my infertility. Forcing me to acknowledge how I've failed to reproduce and even worse, failed to be the mom I wanted to be to the child I do have. Friends are too busy or too far away to fill the void. Just me.

So today, as I informed Builder Boy in no uncertain terms that I am NOT stupid and it's hurtful when he says that, I turned to him and said, "Now let's bake some damn gingerbread pirates!" Yea, how's that for some good bonding time with the world's greatest mother. Perhaps I should just find a fourth job to take...