Since I'm a Doctor...

I have my M.D.*, so I can now diagnose medical problems in my children.  Most recently, I have diagnosed Ella with colic.  This child cries more than Emma, Charlotte, and Cristina combined. I'm pretty sure if she was my first child I would have tied my tubes myself.  At first, I thought maybe she wasn't getting enough attention and that is why she was crying all the time.  I quickly realized that was not the case considering that Brian and I have both spent hours trying to comfort her.  Emma, Charlotte, and Cristina have all done their part to try and soothe her.  It seems that none of us are very good at it and we are all starting to lose our patience with Ella.  Case in point....

Today, Cristina, Ella, and I were all sitting in the car while Brian was pumping gas. As usual, Ella was crying, while Cristina was trying to watch a movie.  After a few minutes, I hear Cristina say, "Shut up."  I turned around and she is staring at Ella.  Then, she pulls her pacifier** out of her mouth and says, "I SAID shut up."  I about died laughing.  When Cristina realized Ella wasn't going to stop crying, she sighed, looked at me and said, "Will you turn it up?"  (She was talking about the tv volume.)

*Mother's Diploma
**Don't judge.  We don't have the energy to get Cristina to give up her pacifier. 

Living in the Moment

Brian totally called me out for yesterday's post.  He said I wasn't living in the moment.  So, I'm going to share a funny story from today.  It might be just a little jab at Brian for calling me out.  First, I have to share a little backstory.
In January, we made the decision that we could only handle four children, so we decided we needed an effective form of birth control.  You know, something more effective than an IUD.  Brian decided on a vasectomy.  He went in and got snipped.  He left with instructions to return with a sample after twenty emissions or six weeks whichever came first.  (No pun intended.)  That brings us to today's story.

Brian went in this morning to drop off his sample.  When he is checking in at the lab, the receptionist is confused as to why he is bringing in a second sample.  According to her records, a sample was received on March 2 - six weeks after his procedure.  Brian tries explaining to her that this is not a second sample, while she keeps telling him that there is no order in the system for a second sample.  (Perhaps she was confused as to why it has taken him five months to get one sample in.) Finally, exasperated, Brian says, "Listen, I have four kids at home, I could barely get this sample."  That cracked the women up and she finally agreed to take it. 

Little House on the Praire

I hope you aren't expecting a post about the Ingalls family.  This isn't really about the Ingalls.  It's just one of my crazy thought chains.  I was randomly thinking about Little House on the Praire, which got me thinking about family.  Then, I got depressed because we don't live near family. It made me wish I could move closer to family.  Or better yet, my family could all move to Atlanta.  That would be perfect.

It's tough raising children without family nearby.  The kids don't have cousins nearby to play with or grandparents who can come to school plays and dance recitals.  Brian and I have no one that we can drop the kids with on short notice, so we can go out on our own. Sometimes it feels really lonely.  Well, as lonely as you can feel with a house full of children.

When I was a kid, I grew up in the same town as both sets of grandparents and a mess of aunts, uncles, cousins, and extended family.  We were always going to Grandma's house for dinner - feasting on fried chicken and macaroni and cheese.  We spent summers playing outside with our cousins where we created all sorts of crazy games.  We watched old movies with my grandparents - Gone with the Wind, The Sound of Music, and The Parent Trap.

It makes me sad that my kids won't have the same experiences.  If only we lived on a big homestead out on the praire.....

The Long Commute

If you've spent any time around me, you know I have a long commute because I'm always whining about it.  Waaaaaahhhhh....I have to leave my house at the crack of dawn to ride to the bus stop to catch the bus to catch the train to finish with a brisk walk to work.  Waaaaaaahhhh....I have to do it in reverse to get home.  I spend a lot of time traveling with the other commuters in the Atlanta metro area. 

In my quest to live in the moment and not dream about the day that I have a helicopter and personal pilot to drop me at work, I've been thinking about the perks of public transportation.  I've determined the main perk is the opportunity for people watching.  I've been riding the MARTA for almost two years and I have a few favorites on my daily route.

There is the man who works for the water department.  He has gigantic ears, a long ponytail and a giant bald spot in the middle of his head.  I'd really like to tell him that the long hair does not distract from the bald spot.  In fact, it makes it a little more obvious.

There is the woman with an abundant amount of hair who jumps out of her seat when the train reaches the end of the line.  She rushes to the door often knocking people with her bag, so she can be the first off the train.  For the longest time, I thought she was the rudest person ever.  Last week, she was sitting next to me and told me that she likes this particular seat because she can get off the train fast.  She said that she is afraid of being in the middle of the crowd when going down the stairs to the exit.  Okay. 

However, my personal favorite is Jeffrey Dahmer.   Well, not THE Jeffrey Dahmer, but a guy that bears a resemblance.  For the longest time, Brian and I were calling this guy Jeffrey Dahmer. Jeff has a habit of staring at people on the bus.  One day, I told Brian he was staring at me - probably thinking that my breasts would make a nice snack and my hips would be great on the barbeque.  Well, one day, something happened that really made me think I commute with Jeffrey Dahmer. 

It's Friday morning and Jeff is at the bus stop with a cooler.  He gets on the bus in front of me and the driver says, "ahh, you got some cold ones in there?!"  Jeff responds as if he is not amused at the idea, "It's nothing like that."  Okay, you can't convince me that the cooler was filled with anything other than elbows and toes. 

Monday, Monday

Monday, Monday.  Who doesn’t hate a Monday?  The weekend is over and it’s back to work, school, routine.  In my quest to enjoy the present this week, I’m going to refrain from wishing for Friday and embrace Monday. 

It got me thinking about who might like a Monday.  Being the chronic dieter that I am, I realized that Mondays are great days for dieters.  Everyone seems to think that Monday is the perfect day to start a diet.  On Mondays, dieters everywhere pack their lunch - salad, an apple, and some bottled water- and throw their gym shoes into their bags.  Monday is a day of resolve.  They won’t be tempted by the doughnuts by the coffee machine or the call of the snack machine at 3:00 p.m. On Monday, they’ll eat their perfect lunch and go for a run. Oh, Monday, so full of hope for a lean and fit body.

Monday is so far away from Thursday when, exhausted from the week, dieters will have “just one” muffin, scrounge in their desk drawers for an old bag of candy, order fast food on the way home from work and eat their kids' left over french fries.  The gym shoes won’t leave the bag on Thursdays because of some urgent meeting or other excuse.   The resolve of Monday is long gone.

So, today, I am embracing Monday in all its hopefulness, carrot sticks and celery.

How old do I have to be?

Emma, aged 6: How old do I have to be to get my license?
Me: 16
Emma: Can't I be 12?

Emma is always asking how old she has to be for different things.  For example, how old do I have to be to walk to the bus by myself?  How old do I have to be before I can watch The Suite Life? How old do I have to be to stay home by myself?  And, my personal favorite, how old do I have to be to get an iPhone? (Answer: when she can pay for it herself!)

It's funny how we obsess about the future and things that we don't have now.  I find myself playing my own "how old will I be?" game.  For example, how old will I be when I can go to the bathroom without uninvited guests? How old will I be when I can have an uninterrupted conversation with my husband?  How old will I be when I can sleep in on Saturdays again?  How old will I be when I lose all this baby weight?

In case you didn't notice, most of those questions come up because I have a house full of little girls.  These sweet darlings demand quite a bit of attention and their need is greatest when my bladder is full.  This weekend, I found myself wondering when the questions about the future start to fade away and are replaced by "I remember when" stories.  If it isn't the future we are thinking of, it is the past we are remembering.  When do we stop and just enjoy the present?  I'm going to challenge myself to spend a little more time enjoying the present this week. 

I have a reading problem

I feel like I need a version of AA for book lovers.  My name is Kristina and I am a reader.  I love to read.  I will read most anything.  I would say everything, but a few weeks ago, I discovered a book that was so awful that I couldn't convince myself to keep reading it.  It was one of those self-published books, signed by the author himself and given to me free of charge.  Thank goodness I did not pay money for it.  It was so awful - the ego jumped out of the pages and was really quite nauseating.  Despite the fact that I was on the MARTA ride home, I could not compel myself to keep reading.  I normally have the opposite problem.

Ever since I was a kid, I have been unable to put a book down once I start reading.  This is the reason I am blind today.  Seriously.  I used to stay up long after I should have been to bed literally reading from the light from the telephone pole outside my bedroom window.  Thankfully, our house was on the corner, so there was a decent amount of light. (Are those things called telephone poles anymore? I digress.) I would stay up until I was finished reading the book I'd started that day, no matter how long it took me.  Thankfully, I'm a fast reader.

This is actually the reason that I am up late writing. I just finished reading The Handmaid's Tale, which I started reading on my train ride home yesterday.  It is one of those books that makes you really think about things.  It is kind of like 1984 in that it is in the future and shows what will happen if extreme elements take over.  In this particular book, women have been forbidden to learn to read (the horror!) and are basically vessels to deliver babies.  The woman telling the story makes the remark that is all happened so slowly - the changes were so gradual that people just accepted them.  The reasons for the changes made sense at the time.  They were lulled into believing the right decisions were being made for society.  Things would be better, but they were only better for some, not all.

It made me think of gas prices.  The prices rise sharply and we all moan and groan.  Then, they start dropping a few pennies here and there.  We are happy.  What we don't realize, is that they are still way more than they were before, but we've been lulled into being happy about being given back a few pennies.  It kind of creeps me out how easy it is for those with power and control to manipulate the masses.

And now, I have to stop thinking because it is late. In the morning, when my early bird children are awake watching The Voice at 6 a.m., I will greatly wish that I had gone to bed earlier. 

Stop Order

Over ten years ago, Brian and I decided that we were ready to start a family.  We figured since we were ready, we'd get down to business and have a baby in the next year.  Little did we know that life doesn't work this way.  Just because you want something doesn't mean that you get it.  We were still waiting for a baby, while everyone around us was popping out babies left and right.  At least, that it how it felt.

Three years, one month, and seventeen days after we decided to start trying to have a baby, we were finally blessed with the pregnancy the resulted in our oldest daughter, Emma.  Not that we were counting or anything.....  Fast forward to 2010 and we find out one random Friday afternoon that we are about to have baby number four.  Imagine our shock - the IUD is missing and a baby is chilling in my uterus.  It is really almost comical.  First, we can't have a baby.  Later, we can't stop having babies.

Today, I had the thought that maybe there was a backlog in the prayers we'd sent up ten years ago.  God is just now getting around to answering them for us.  Maybe I need to put in a stop order?  Make sure God realizes that we are QUITE happy with four and we REALLY don't need anymore? 

I wish I was 3

Charlotte: I wish I was three, so I'm three.

This is what Charlotte tells me when I come home from work today.  She is dancing in the livingroom to some song playing in her head.  I smile.  It reminds me of when I was a kid.  I remember wishing that I was someone else.  Then, I was convinced that I was someone else somewhere out there in the world. The "me" that remained was a new person.  This doesn't make a world of sense to me now, but it did as a kid.  If I wished something, it must be true. 

I recently read The Time Traveler's Wife, which I recommend if you like to read. In the book, one of the main characters, Henry, travels back and forth over time.  While I was reading the book, it reminded me of when I was a kid and wished that I could go back in time and change just one thing.  I'm not really sure why I could only change one thing.  I always put funny rules on things that I thought about when I was young. Anyway, I would debate all these things that I thought would change my life and make it better.  The wish that I often made was that my youngest uncle had never been born.  This is one of those chain of thoughts that follows like this....if he was never born, then my brother, T.J., would have never wanted to go to my grandma's house the day that he got run over by a car.  If he hadn't gotten run over by a car, then my parents wouldn't have had a lot of medical bills.  If they didn't have medical bills, then we would have had more money.  If we had more money, then we wouldn't have had to move out of the Big House.  Everything would have been better.  There were other reasons for this wish, but I'll save that for another day.

Alone Time: Rated PG-13

Late one evening recently, Brian and I are sitting in the livingroom in a semi-quiet moment.  Emma, Charlotte, and Cristina are all in bed, but Ella is up and being her general fussy little self.  Brian says, "I wonder when we'll have alone time again."  Translation: When will we ever have sex again?  My answer, "In about 15 months.  Think about it, all our kids are 27 months apart, so that must be when we get alone time again."  Brian says: "When Ella is 16 months old, I'm getting checked again."  With our birth control luck, I'm thinking that isn't a bad idea. 

I sometimes wonder how it is possible that we've had four kids.  Finding alone time when you have a house full of children is a little tricky.  It was easier when it was just Emma - wait until the kid is asleep and you're home free.  You might think that it is okay to engage in a little "alone time" when the kids are entertaining themselves, but I would caution this thinking.  As young parents, we once made the mistake of trying to sneak in a little afternoon "alone time" when Emma was happily playing in her room.  Seeing her little head peeking over the bed with her saying, "oh, oh," put an end to that naive thinking. 

In recent history, it has been even more difficult to find alone time.  I may regret sharing this, but it still makes me laugh.  A few months ago, poor Brian and I were desperate for some alone time, but the children were not cooperating.  We had a few minutes alone in our room and were thinking about "alone time" when Emma comes in and asks what we are doing.  So, I tell her, "Mommy and Daddy are trying to have a very important conversation.  Would you help us out by watching Charlotte and Cristina until we are finished.  I'll give you a dollar."  Now, Emma is a sucker for a dollar.  Her favorite store is the Dollar Tree and a dollar means a trip to paradise for her.  So, she is an eager volunteer.  We lock the bedroom door.  Best dollar ever spent.

Whatcha thinkin'?

I decided to start a blog.  I couldn't decide on a name, which reminded me of sage words from my graduate school advisor, Peter Magolda.  He said to me, "Kristina, you're a good writer, but your titles suck.  No one is going to pick up your papers to read them with the titles you give them."  He had a point.  I often titled my papers -"Application Paper" or "Reflection" - pretty much whatever the assignment was became a snazzy title for my work.  So, when it came time to title this blog, I figured I shouldn't even waste my brain power on an area that is clearly not my strength.  "Untitled" allows me to skip right to the writing and not be confined by any particular topic.

Now back to my original thought for this first blog entry.  Brian often asks me, "Whatcha thinkin?" I often answer, "nothing."  It's not because I am not thinking of something.  It's because I am generally thinking of so many things in rapid succession that it would be difficult to explain the exact thing I am thinking at that moment.  In the two or three minutes that we have to talk before being interrupted by one of our darling children, I just don't have the energy to explain all the things I am thinking.  The one time I attempted to really tell Brian what I was thinking, he was left with a dazed look on his face as if he had just been run down by a Mack truck.  It is just too much for a man to bear on a regular basis, so I spare us both by saying nothing.  So, I'll use this blog to share just some of the things that I am thinking - it's just too  hard to limit it to one subject.