And though you want them to last forever, you know they never will...

I think I've mentioned this song before - "Oh Very Young" by Cat Stevens. In this song, Cat compares a youth's dreams to his father's best pair of jeans:

And though your dreams may toss and turn you now,
They will vanish away -like your daddy's best jeans,
Denim blue, fading up to the sky.
And though you want them to last forever,
You know they never will.
(You know they never will.)
And the patches make the goodbye harder still.

I heart Cat Stevens. I really need to get an iPod. Or start replenishing all of my CDs that got stolen when we lived in SLC.

Anyways, every single pair of Dylan's jeans has holes in the knees. And I don't have fundage to buy him new ones. So I've been having a patching extravaganza for the past few weeks. Yes, it's taking me that long, because my 34-year-old sewing machine has seen better days and I have to sew each patch on by hand. I average three hours per patch. It's neat. But as long as I'm nauseated and lying on my couch anyways, I might as well get something done, right?

Here's my patch-ironing station, which Xena has decided is her own special bed:

I usually have to use one of those sticky rollers to get the cat hair off the jeans before I patch them. She's been shedding a bit lately, which I'm guessing is normal for cats in the spring.

I washed a pair of Dylan's patched jeans the other day, and the patches became detached on one side. I was so mad! There were my perfect little zig-zag stitches on the jeans themselves, but the patches had frayed in the wash. I guess I should have treated them with that special liquid that keeps edges from fraying, but I kind of assumed that store-bought patches came with that. My bad. So I need to re-do that one.

And on another pair, there is a hole developing underneath the patch I put on. Because Dylan has grown. Nat has been experiencing this phenomenon with her kids' jeans. So I need to fix that one, too.

What I really need to do is buckle down and buy Dylan some jeans in a bigger size. Not sure where to get the money to do that. Out of my butt, perhaps? Sigh. Why do clothes have to be so dang expensive??

St. Patrick's Day - a day to celebrate mothering other peoples' children.

So. I have two pet peeves. Probably more. But the two prevalent ones are these:

1. I hate when people think I did something that I didn't do. That drives me nuts.

2. I hate having to mother other peoples' children. Except for my neice and nephews. I have no problems helping them with stuff. But kids who aren't related to me. Yesterday, Breckyn was over playing with Dylan, and I had to tie his shoes for him. And it just... got under my skin. I know it's dumb. But there you have it. I'm too stressed out with my own children. I don't need to put band-aids on other peoples' children, tie their shoes, feed them, etc. I don't have the time or the patience. I have enough on my plate as it is.

St. Patrick's Day of 2010 will always be remembered as The Day I Had To Mother a Kid I've Never Even Met Before.

My mom was watching Nat's kids while Nat taught piano that day, so she called me after my kids got home from school and asked if we wanted to go to our local park together. It was sooooooo warm and sunny, so I said H yes, and we met her and the kids there. The park is only half a block away from my house.

The park is also where all the kids get off the bus. Sometimes I have to pick Dylan up from the bus stop and go to pick up Sades at preschool. There is always some girl - she looks to be maybe 10 years old or so - and she is always waiting at the park for her friends, or cousins, or whatever. She must go to the other school, which gets out like an hour before our school. Anyways, and she always brings her dog. He is adorable, but VERY wild. He nips at the kids' heels as they get off the bus, slobbers all over them, chases them if they're riding bikes, etc. She doesn't leash the dog at all. His poop is all over the park (it's a small park).

So, when I met my mom and nephews there at the park, there was the girl, her wild dog, and her friends/cousins/whatever. Plus, a little girl who looked to be three years old or so. She had to have been one of the girl's younger sisters.

My mom and I found a spot that didn't seem to have dog poop on it and settled down on the grass to watch the kiddos play. Micah didn't want to play - he wanted his mama. So he sat on my lap. And Brock sat on my mom's lap, because he is terrified of dogs. At one point, the dog came up to us, and he started, like, climbing up my mom. He was sooo scared. Poor kid. We kept shooing the dog away. From time to time, Troy or Sadie would come up to us, crying, because they accidentally got hurt. But they always jumped right back into the fray. So I guess they didn't get hurt that badly. My mom had picked up some Capri Suns and some cookies at the grocery store for the kids to munch on, which was smart of her. I had some Skittles I was giving to Micah to eat, one at a time. (I may have had a few myself, as well. I heart Skittles.)

This little three-year-old, who I found out was named Abby, came over when we pulled out the food. She walked right up to us and stared at the food. She was like one inch away. But I wasn't going to offer food to her. Because I hate mothering other peoples' children. So I just stared right back at her. I'm a jerk, right? My mom eventually offered her a Capri Sun and some cookies. She really wanted my Skittles, but I said, "Nope, those are for my son." That didn't stop her from asking for them continually. She drank, like, two Capri Suns, and she wanted more, but my mom was like, "You can't have any more. These are for my grandkids." So she settled down on the blanket with us. She just sat right by us and kept eating cookies. She wasn't wearing any shoes - just socks. The older girls who she was with would check on her from time to time, but not very much. They were too busy walking around and gossiping. At one point, I looked up, and I realized that the older girls were gone. They left this little girl there at the park, with strangers!!! I was like, Are you KIDDING me???

Eventually, the girls came back, and we got sick of mothering her and shooing the dang dog away, so we packed up and left.

Two funny things that happened while we were there:

1. Jake got into his car (my mom drove Nat's car so she wouldn't have to move car seats around), somehow locked himself in, and couldn't figure out how to get out. The gossipey girls came up to Mom and said, "Um, we think your grandkid locked himself in your car." Sure enough, there he was, in the passenger side, crying, screaming, and pounding the windows, but we couldn't hear him. It's funny to see people screaming but being unable to hear them. Mom pushed the unlock button, and we told the girls to make themselves useful and go open the door for him. He slumped away with his hands in his pockets - I think he was embarrassed. But he recovered quickly and started playing on the big toy again.

2. I think Brock was picking his nose, because he had a little smear of blood on his finger. But his nose wasn't dripping, you know? Or running in blood or anything. So I knew it wasn't a bloody nose. But he saw the smear of blood on his finger and started freaking out. "I need a kleenex! I need one right now! RIGHT NOW!!" Mom and I were packing things up at that point, so we said, "Just a minute, we'll check your car in a minute for a kleenex..." He was so mad that we weren't doing something about it right that minute, so he started screaming at the top of his lungs at us, "BLOOD! BLOOD! BLOOD!!" The gossipey girls turned and looked at us like, "What is going on?" It was funny.

It really was wonderful to be in the sun, though. I even got a little sunburned. At one point, I was like, gosh, I should have put on my capris. It was that hot. Now, I'm looking out the window, and we have like one or two inches of fresh snow on our lawn. It makes me want to punch someone.

So that is what I did on St. Patrick's Day.

ADHD: A Dang Hard Dylan

I truly have felt that Dylan has ADHD since he was 18 months old. He's like a tornado. Like the Tazmanian Devil. All of those T words. He sucks the energy out of a room. He sucks the energy out of a mom. Big time. He can't sit still to eat dinner. He falls out of his chair like three times per every meal. He argues about everything. Stuff that isn't even arguable. He's bossy. He yells everything he says. He bounces off the walls. He's always crashing into people. He's wound so tightly. He's controlling. He wants everyone to listen to him, to watch him, to be involved with him.

I was really hoping that he was just exuberant. But he seems to be getting worse, and now he's having difficulties behaving himself in school. And he's having difficulties in relationships with his friends. He's just really hard to be with. My friend, Lorraine, told me a funny story. Dylan usually goes over to her house to play with her son, Noah, once a week. They were downstairs, playing Wii, and suddenly, Noah ran upstairs and outside, slamming the door behind him. Lorraine went outside and asked what was wrong. Noah said, "Sometimes I just need a break from Dylan."

I understand what you're saying, Noah.

So, at the beginning of the year, I started taking steps. I contacted Dylan's school counselor and told him I wanted Dylan evaluated for possible ADHD. It took him FOREVER to do it and to write the report. He observed Dylan twice, once in the morning, and once in the afternoon. Then he had Dyl's teacher and me fill out a survey about Dylan's behavior. He wrote a report, indicating that he believes that Dylan DEFINITELY has ADHD.

Next step - contacting a pediatrician. I found one that specializes in ADHD. He had Dyl's poor teacher fill out yet another form, and me, too. This time, it took Dyl's teacher FOREVER to do it. She finally just finished, so I gave the pediatrician the counselor's report and the two forms last week. Dyl is scheduled for a mid-April appointment.

I can't wait.

Give me the drugs. I'm ready for it. This summer will be a wonderful time to monitor the drugs and make sure they're working right, with minimal side effects. Hopefully we'll get it all figured out by the time school starts this fall.

A lot of people balk and gasp when I tell them we're putting Dylan on drugs, but I truly, truly feel this is the right route to take. I've had people suggest herbs and scented oils and all kinds of stuff, but for school purposes, I need something I can give Dyl in the morning and have it last all day. I can't go into the school five times a day to put essential oils on the back of his neck. I've tried herbs for depression and found them completely ineffective. They just make your pee expensive.

I'm ready for the pills. The Herb People and the Scented Oil People don't have to deal with Dylan from day-to-day. Just ask poor Megs, who baby-sat my kids all day once and nearly died. Or my poor mom, who was like a shell of a person when we came home last night. I am ready to do something drastic. I truly hope that these pills can make our house more calm and peaceful. I think the Spirit has a hard time residing here, in part because of the tumult that Dylan causes on a constant basis.

Bring on the drugs.

Well, THAT hurt...

Thanks so much for your prayers and positive vibes, friends. I had my amniocentesis today in SLC and it seemed to go well.

Despite the fact that they stuck a needle the length of a TV remote into my stomach without any kind of local anesthesia.

Did it hurt? Yeah. Luckily, it was a very skinny needle. I'm grateful for that. I knew my friend Megann had an amnio with her last pregnancy, and when I asked her about it, her eyes widened. Like, "Oh, you don't want to know." It was really cute. I pressed her for more info, though. She said that you can feel the needle go through the different layers of you. And she was right. First skin, then fat (I don't think Megann felt a needle going through fat in her experience, because she doesn't have an ounce of fat on her, but I sure do, and in plentiful amounts), then muscle, then uterus, then the "bag of waters." (I love it when they call it that.) I think I bruised Ben's hand as I held it. He thought the whole process was so cool. I felt like I was going to die a slow and painful death.

It didn't last long at all. They extracted what they needed, and then pulled the needle slowly out. Only then did I take my hand off my eyes. There was no way I was going to watch the on-my-stomach version OR the in-my-uterus version on the screen. Blech. And then I realized that I was going to barf. They helped me down, and I knelt over their garbage can to barf. No barf came, but then I almost fainted. So I lay on the floor of the examination room for awhile. Eventually, I felt better and we were able to leave. My uterus cramped up for about an hour where the needle had been inserted. But it feels better now. Just kind of tender to the touch. And I feel compelled to move kind of slowly. I'm not allowed to pick up Micah until tomorrow afternoon, which he'll hate. That's life, son. Not always fun. Trust me on that.

All weekend, and all this week, I felt really great about getting this done. The risk is very minimal to the baby, but there is a teensy-weensy bit of a risk involved.

After we were done, however, I had buyer's remorse. How could I be so selfish? How could I sacrifice Gage's safety in the womb just so I could have peace of mind? How big of a jerk am I???

That was my thought process as we ate lunch at Rubio's with my darling friend Pooh and her adorable kids and her very swollen belly. And may I just say, oh, how I have missed you, Rubio's. And oh, how I have missed you, Pooh. And that was my thought process all the way home, while I tried to sleep in my uncomfortable sedan with Led Zepplin blasting loudly so that Ben could stay awake. Note: I love Led Zepplin. But Robert Plant is not the best person to fall asleep to, especially when the speaker to the back is right by my ear when I recline the front seat.

Sorry, my many good friends in the SLC area. I wish I could have seen all of you. But I felt crummy and needed to get home and in bed. Or, in my case, I needed to get in my couch bed. Because I still can't sleep in my own bed. Sigh. I will be back in SLC very soon, when Pooh's tummy finally pops.

I stewed about my amniocentesis more tonight, as I greeted my children and my exhausted mom. (I'm so sorry you had to deal with them, Mom. I will be getting drugs for Dylan soon. [More on that later, readers.]) I stewed about it as Ben and I bathed the kids and put them to bed. I stewed about it as I finished my book club book (Enchantment by Orson Scott Card. Pretty good read. But nothing compared to The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins, which I read last week. OMG. That is one for buying, for reals. My birthday is coming up, friends... hint, hint, hint) while Ben was playing basketball at the church.

I only wish I felt good enough to play basketball. I miss feeling good.

Sorry. I think Dylan comes by his ADHD genetically. From his mama. I get distracted easily. And yep, he officially has ADHD. Which is what my next post will be about, I promise.

So. Back on track. When Ben came back from basketball, I asked him for yet another blessing of comfort. Poor guy. I ask for lots and lots of blessings when I'm pregnant, I notice.

He gave me an amazing, powerful, very reassuring blessing. A blessing that brings tears to my eyes as I think of the promises he gave concerning this amazing child I'm carrying. Things that are too sacred to share here, but things I will hold close to my heart for as long as I live.

I love Heavenly Father. I love the priesthood. I would be lost without this gospel.

Okay. Wiping tears away.

I got another ultrasound right before the amniocentesis, and things look fantastic as far as the Anti-Lutheran aspect of things. The doctors just got the results of my blood test from last week. The level of my antibodies seems to be going down, which is great. They're down by half. From the ultrasound, the perinatologist was able to measure anemia again, and that is down by like 4%. These are all great things.

And the ultrasound tech was kind enough to give us more ultrasound pictures. I was so glad, because we only got one last week. Wanna see 'em? I knew you would.

Flexing his bicep, the little macho man:

Waving hello:

Giving his mama the thumbs-up:

And, finally, showing off his... manhood:

You may not be able to tell. It's like he's sitting on the camera. That's his pelvis. His femurs kind of fade away in this shot. But then you see the pelvic bones, and there in the middle....yep. All boy. And proud of it.

The little stinker wouldn't show us his face. He wasn't gonna do it. Maybe next time. I only have to get an ultrasound every two weeks now. So we shall see. We'll get a face shot yet.

Sorry for the stream-of-consciousness style of this post. Chalk it up to me only getting three hours of sleep last night. Yep, that phase is already starting. The you're-exhausted-but-you're-not-able-to-sleep-for-some-reason phase. And I have five more months of this crap to go.

You can stop being jealous of me now.

I'm SOOOO sorry.

I was barfing this morning, and Sadie came to the bathroom door, regarding me with what I imagine was a lot of disdain. I couldn't actually see her face, because I was otherwise occupied.

"Mom," she said, "That is DISGUTHTING." (with her little lisp)

Excuse me for living.

The other morning, I was barfing, and Dylan started yelling at me that he wanted a drink. "Why aren't you getting me a drink, Mom? I'm so thirsty!! I need your HELP!!" Obviously, when I recovered from my little barfing episode, I laid into him pretty thick. Things like, "Can you help other people while you're barfing??? NEITHER CAN I!!!"

I am pretty sure I have the most selfish children alive.

My amniocentesis is tomorrow. Wish me luck. And pray for me, s'il vous plait. Merci.

We miss the Mexicans.

So. When we lived in San Diego, most of the people who worked in McDonalds were Hispanic. They were fast and always got our order right. We loved it.

When we moved here, we noticed a drastic change in the McDonalds workers. Most of them are white high school kids. They are slow, and they mess up our order 99% of the time. We usually have to check our food, then knock on their window and tell them that they messed up, asking them to give us the right food.

A couple of weeks ago, the kids and I went to get some burgers at Mickey D's. I asked for one girl toy and two boy toys with our happy meals. As we were driving away, Dylan immediately searched his Happy Meal for his toy. It's obviously the most important part to him. In his bag, he found a girl toy. He figured that he got Sadie's bag by mistake, so he switched her. Another girl toy. He checked Mikey's bag. Another girl toy. Three girl toys. He started crying (he's very emotional lately), so since we were still kind of leaving the parking lot, I just swung back through the drive-in and switched two of the girl toys for boy toys. Dylan calmed down, but he was still sniffling.

"Mom, I miss the Mexicans in San Diego."

"Huh?"

"They never messed up our toys. And they always got us the right food. I wish there were Mexicans working at McDonalds up here."

It was really funny.

Too Much Information

I know that it's a bit oxymoronic for me to be talking about someone who gave me a bit too much info, because I'm the Overshare Queen, but I think this story is really funny.

My friend, Megs, and I went window shopping a couple of weeks ago. We're both preggars, and we wanted to take a looky at the stuff in Motherhood and at Target. When we entered Motherhood, we had a few blessed moments of solitary looking until the store clerk came up to us.

Store Clerk: Hello, ladies, how are you doing today?

Us: Oh, fine. How are you?

Store Clerk: Well, I'm just going absolutely crazy here. I mean, I love my job, but there are no WINDOWS in this store. And I just need to have windows.

Us: [Uncomfortably] Oh, yeah, we can see that...

Store Clerk: I used to work at Barnes and Noble in the coffee shop. Now that place had windows. It was so awesome. I loved my job. But then they totally fired me.

Us: [Glancing at each other like, "Is this for reals?"] Oh, wow, that sucks...

Store Clerk: Yeah. It was so unfair. I didn't know that my son had diabetes. And he went into diabetic shock and almost died, and then they had to life flight him down to Salt Lake. And I was on the life flight with him. And Barnes and Noble called me and were like, "Why aren't you at work?" And I was like, "My son is DYING." And I had to stay down there for, like, a few days, you know? To be with my son. And they totally fired me over it.

Us: [Edging away] Oh, wow, diabetes. That is really horrible.

Store Clerk: Oh, it's awful. But he's doing okay now.

Us: Oh, good....

Store Clerk: And I heard that they may have an opening at Barnes and Noble again. And even though they totally don't deserve me, I'm going to apply for it, because I already know all of the different things you put into the different drinks, you know? And hopefully they won't have hard feelings about me going to Salt Lake with my son. But they really shouldn't. I mean, he was in diabetic SHOCK. And if I get my old job back, I can be in a place that has windows again!!!

Us: Man, that would be really great...

Store Clerk: Well, is there anything you're looking for?

Us: No, just looking...

Store Clerk: Okay, well, let me know.

And she finally walked away.

It's not that I don't feel badly for her for her son, and losing her job, and all, but, um, SHE'S NOT MY FRIEND. It was really bizarre. And really funny. She must have been desperate for conversation.