Please, Can I?

Can I call him officially potty trained if he has gone three days without an accident? Including trips to the grocery store (the infamous Blackout Trip), the pool, the dentist, breakfast at IHOP, storytime at the library, and three hours of church? And woken up dry in the morning and stayed dry during naps? Can I please? Or will that jinx the whole thing?

Always something

I took my 28 week glucose test last week. I was so paranoid about failing it and having to take the three hour test that I didn't eat anything remotely sugary for a full 24 hours beforehand. And then I prayed that my breakfast of peanut butter toast wasn't enough to put me over the edge. All that worry paid off. I came in at a safe 105 (anything under 130 is considered good).

However, I did register as anemic. It wasn't a huge surprise; I was anemic with my first pregnancy, but only enough to receive an admonition about my diet. It must be worse this time around because now I have to take iron pills. Even after a week I don't quite understand how these things work. The directions recommend I take them on an empty stomach, with a "vitamin C drink," but not within two hours (before or after) of eating wheat, eggs, or milk. What else is there to eat? Everything has one of those ingredients! So instead of snacking my way through the evening (hey, my stomach is the size of a walnut these days so I get hungry often, but can't hold much) and then going off to bed with a glass of chocolate milk and my prenatal vitamin (the perfect way to unwind after a long day), I am starving myself and heading off to bed with a glass of orange juice, an iron supplement and prenatal vitamin, a growling stomach, and a headache. It doesn't make for restful sleep or pleasant mornings...as I found out on Friday.

Friday I really needed to go grocery shopping. The best time is first thing in the morning after I drop my husband off at work, because it is not too hot and there is no one else in the grocery store. I'm quite lazy (i.e. I love sleep more than looking good) so I pretty much roll out of bed and leave the house in my PJs. Anyhow, as we were making our way down the grocery aisles I started to feel a little queasy. I scolded my self for not eating something but continued with the shopping; after all, who wants to leave what they've started and have to come back and start all over again later? Well then, as we were paying for the groceries my vision started to go a little fuzzy. I silently begged the cashier to hurry it up a little so I could find a display to sit down on for awhile. She didn't oblige, being too interested in her conversation with the cashier in the next lane, but eventually we were done and on our way.

As soon as I started pushing the cart, I knew I was going to pass out. There is a bank at the front of the store with a couple of chairs for customers, so I aimed for those and prayed we would make it before I was out cold. The world started to spin and my vision narrowed until finally everything went black. I thought we were close to the chairs so I started waving my hand around, like a blind woman, trying to find contact. "Where are the chairs Addison?" I asked my son. I never could find one and was somehow mildly aware that I probably looked like a fool, so I gave up and put my head down between my legs instead.

I'm not really sure how long I stayed that way, but thankfully my hand on the cart never came loose so I didn't suffer a terrific public fall. When my vision came back, a few foggy inches at a time, I found the chair, plopped down, and reached for the first thing I could find to eat in our cart (Quaker Oatmeal Squares - the best cold cereal ever!) My son was distressed to say the least and kept asking why we weren't going home, but I found it impossible to answer for a few minutes. When speech returned, I told him mommy was sick and so we sat snacking for a good fifteen minutes. I didn't want to risk driving home and killing my kids if I happened to black out again.

Thankfully, we made it safely home, despite my woosiness, and once the kids and cold groceries were inside, I did what any sensible, emotionally instable, pregnant woman would do...sat on the kitchen floor and balled my eyes out. I swear, it's always something. The question of the day remains, was it the anemia or the blood sugar that caused the black out, and how in the world am I supposed to balance it all?

Attack of the Dishwasher

Have you been to the ER with your kids yet? My son is three and despite my expectations for several rounds of stitches by this age, we have yet to take him in. Yesterday we got pretty close, but no cigar.

We took a family trip to Sears last night to buy a new water filter and some vacuum bags. (I don't do errands alone with the kids anymore; it's just too much of an effort for a fat pregnant lady.) We had barely arrived and were making our way to the back of the store when my ever curious son (you know the type, always looking everywhere except where they are going?) walked straight into the edge of the dishwasher display. He immediately starts screaming bloody murder. Knowing that he has a tendency to overreact, I give him a hug, tell him it's going to be OK, and to watch where he is walking in the future. He calms down after a few minutes, lets go of my legs and turns to follow my husband. And that's when I notice that there is a fountain of blood pouring down the back of his head and into the collar of his shirt. It was like a scene from "The Sixth Sense." That one where the boy is smiling and beckoning and then turns around and there is an bloody axe sticking out of his head.

Needless to say, we grabbed Addison and made for the bathroom pronto. Keith was justly worried, but I insisted that all head wounds bleed a lot, so we should clean it up and assess the damage before rushing off to the hospital. We located the men's room first so Keith had the honors of clean up duty. I felt a little weird standing outside of the restroom listening to Addison scream while men walked up to the door, hesitated for a minute or two, and then either entered or walked away. I almost felt like I needed to explain our circumstances to everyone who passed by so they wouldn't think a child was being molested in the men's room. Seriously, what would you think if you heard a little boy screaming in the bathroom?

Anyhow, I finally asked a saleswoman if she had a First Aid kit handy, just for something to do. She walked nonchalantly into the back for a few minutes and then told me someone would be coming to help me shortly. A young man walked out a bit later, empty handed, and asked what he could do for me. I told him what had happened and suddenly he was defensive.

"It happened here? Do I need to fill out an incident report?"

"No, but do you have some Neosporin or something?"

So he disappears into the back and comes out with a band-aid. A Band-aid! How is that going to help with a head wound, especially on a head full of hair? Whatever...

I tell him where to find my husband and son, "Just follow the screaming," and two seconds later the associate comes rushing out of the bathroom, runs into the back, and comes back out wearing rubber gloves and carrying an arm load of goodies, scissors at the ready.

"What in the world does he think he is doing with those?" I'm thinking. "He'd better not be trying to do stitches himself, that's for darn sure!"

By this time, I'm a little annoyed. When someone asks for a First Aid kit, you would think there would be a bit more of a rush. Not that my son's life was in any danger, but come on, at least come out prepared to help, not just to waste time asking questions.

In the end, it just turned out to be a nice surface scratch, nothing serious. We gobbed him up with antibiotic cream, filled out the stupid incident report ("Just in case you end up going to the hospital," the young man insisted. "Yeah, just to cover your tush in case we decide to sue, more like," I'm thinking,) and prayed that nobody would comment on Addison's blood matted hair or the stains on our shirts as we finished our shopping and headed out the door.

Keith tried to take a picture of the mess with his cell phone, but Addison was being too jittery so you'll just have to imagine the scene. I'm telling you, think "Sixth Sense" and you'll be right on.

Memories of Mike

Did anyone watch the Michael Jackson memorial service today? Me neither. I am recovering from a long 4th of July weekend camp out and it just didn't top my to do list. (Laundry did, however.) My husband's co-workers had it on at the office though and apparently it was quite the spectacle. So I thought, even though I wasn't Michael's BFF (heck, I never even met the guy) I would pay my own little tribute to the Prince of Pop.

My first memory of Michael Jackson occurred circa 1987 on a trip to Disneyland. He was the star of the Captain Nemo attraction, showing in 3D. Sadly, my most vivid memory is actually of the furry little flying creature that kept flitting about my head. I was so sure that if I just reached a tiny bit farther or moved just a teensy bit faster, I could snatch that thing right out of the air.

My next recollection comes from second grade. I had been invited to my first sleepover party. (Okay, probably not invited, but finally allowed to attend my first sleepover. My parents had a strict age limit for those sorts of things.) It didn't go very well. My friend's mother turned out to be a chain smoker and the only entertainment was watching Michael Jackson music videos. About the time "It doesn't matter if you're black or white" was being sung, I snuck into the kitchen and called my mom to pick me up.

Poor Michael fades from the picture for a time after this, not surfacing again until Junior year of college. My roommates and some good guy friends from our BYU ward decided to take a little road trip to San Diego. We were avid sports fans and the basketball team was playing in Cali that weekend. Our soundtrack for the trip? Michael Jackson's greatest hits. I confess I didn't know many of the lyrics. Leaving that sleepover early was finally coming back to bite me. So I sat in the back of the car and pretended to be excited. Fortunately once we hit the California border, the Beach Boys took precidence and I could join in the fun.

Fast forward a few years. I was married and expecting my first child at any moment. My younger sister was performing in a Stake Dance Festival and invited us to watch. I sat ever so uncomfortably in the high school auditorium throughout the show, enduring all of the fun comments people make when you are pregnant. "Wow! You look like you're gonna pop!" "Are you sure you aren't expecting twins? You're huge!" Things of that sort. My sister's ward eventually performed to Michael Jackson's "Thriller" and I tried to figure out where she was standing so I could tell her whether she messed up or not. Unfortunatly they were all wearing black and white face paint so that didn't go over so well. After it ended I grabbed a late bite to eat at my parents' house and then headed home exhausted. As soon as we hopped into bed...my water broke.

So I guess, despite my apathy, Mikey really has been an integral part of my life. His songs have been there in the background of so many milestones: first trip to Disneyland, first sleepover, first child. How will I face the future without him? I'm not sure, but I'll do my best. RIP Michael Jackson!