Meeting Bono

I've been talking about doing a duet with Bono for years. It's been my dream. I've just always been a big fan and I love the sensuality and emotion in his music and the way he sings it and I would LOVE to stand next to him on a stage and belt out his tunes right along with him...or do a new song with him. I don't care who writes it. Okay, we can write it together in a studio. I won't complain.

Aw. Look at that. Someone got a tattoo of Bono on his arm.

Creepy.

Anyway, one night an old friend of mine informed me that he had a connection that could get me introduced to Bono. U2 just happened to be in town giving a concert and, though I didn't have tickets to the concert, there was an opportunity for me to meet him. OF COURSE I took it! HELLO!

I was so excited it took me like three hours to find the outfit I was going to wear. And I think I did my makeup twice before I was satisfied. It was so surreal - like a dream. Even though I was so stinkin' excited, I was panting all evening getting ready, part of me felt like it was too good to be true.

Finally, the hour arrived. I had to have my husband drive me because I was shaking. We arrived at the hotel in Phoenix and my eyes darted about in the lobby, looking for my friend...or Bono, preferably Bono. I didn't see anyone I knew and I could feel my heart start to sink. I thought, "Yeah, there's no way it would be this easy." I turned to my husband and pulled a sad face. "Are you sure your friend is really going to meet you here?" He asked.

"Yeah. Well...I don't know. He said he would. Why would he lie?" I replied, looking about the lobby anxiously, gritting my teeth.

I eventually grabbed my husband's arm and pulled him toward a sofa in the lobby.

"Where are we going?" He asked.

"Let's just sit down for a minute. I'll try to call him on my cell." I replied, a hint of disappointment in my tone.

As I was taking my seat, I heard a voice calling out, "Hey, Kristin! You made it!" My heart immediately resumed pounding out of my chest and I jumped up. It was my friend.

"HEY!" I called out, a little TOO excitedly. "Of course! I wouldn't miss this opportunity for anything! I'd give birth in the lobby if I had to!"

Dead silence. My friend pulled a face. I glanced up at my husband. "What?" I asked. I was just being funny. I was nervous!

"That's a bit much, hon", my husband replied.

ANYWAY! So, my friend tells me Bono is up in his penthouse suite on the top floor and I followed him to the elevators. The ride up seemed to take forever. I could feel my knees starting to shake at this point. I was worried they might give out and I hadn't even laid eyes on the man yet.

"So, what are you planning to say to him?" My husband asked me.

I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head.

"You don't KNOW?!" He asked, exasperated. "Are you serious?"

"HON!" I shouted. "I've given it TOO much thought already, okay? We'll just see when I meet him. Don't worry about it!"

FINALLY, I heard the ding of the elevator. We had arrived. The doors slowly opened. My stomach back flipped and I felt like I was going to throw up. My body felt stiff. I took one step and my leg wobbled a bit. My husband reached out quick to steady me.

"You okay?" He asked, concerned.

All I could do was nod. There was only one door on the top floor. The entire top floor was a suite. Bigger than my house. My friend knocked. I began panting. "Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! This is insane!" I panted.

"You okay?" My friend and husband both asked at the same time.

I shook my head and folded my arms tight across my chest, doing everything I could to not pass out. Suddenly the door opened. I glanced up quickly. It wasn't Bono. It was some other guy in a suit.

"Hey, I've got someone here who wants to meet Bono. He knows we're coming", My friend stated.

The guy opened the door completely and stood back. My friend entered first, then my husband, then me. I was kind of hiding. I was so nervous. We walked down a very short hallway and the room opened up, full length windows around the entire perimeter of the room. There was a black grand piano off to the left, all white carpet, white sofas. And there he stood at the wet bar, holding a glass, then taking a swig. He called out to my friend.


"Heeeyyy", my friend responded.

I grabbed the back of my husband's jacket and peeked out like a shy little child. I just stared him up and down. He was beautiful. I felt like such an idiot, but I couldn't help myself. I couldn't think of anything to say. I couldn't get my wits about me. It was all I could do to not melt into a puddle on the floor.

"Where are you?" I could hear my friend laughing.

"She's hiding behind me", I could hear the embarrassment in my husband's voice.

I swallowed hard and released my tight grip on my husband and slowly walked out from behind him.

"Hello", Bono responded.

I released the breath I didn't even realize I was holding. His voice was beautiful. That accent! I just wanted him to say "hello" a few more times. The room fell silent and I just stared at Bono who locked eyes with me and just stared back for a moment. "Hi", I released in an almost whispering tone.

Bono looked away and took another swig from his glass. He set it down hard on the counter. "Ahhh", he sighed over his drink. "So, did you have somethin' you wanted me to sign?" He looked at my friend since I seemed to have trouble speaking for myself.

Suddenly my husband stepped forward and offered his hand. "Hi, I'm Bertrand. I'm her husband." Bono walked over, his hand outstretched and shook my husband's. I was so jealous. "Hello. Nice to meet you. Where are you all from?" He asked.

"France", my husband replied.

"France!" Bono exclaimed. "I've been there a few times", he said. Everyone laughed.

Just then Bono offered his hand to me. It caught me off guard. I jumped slightly and exclaimed, "Oh." I could feel my face burning.

"I'm not goin' to hurt you", he laughed in response. I chuckled nervously, my face burning hotter. Everyone laughed then and I just wanted so badly to rewind and start over. What a disaster!

I grabbed his hand. Mine was ice cold. I could feel that it was, but this was my big chance to touch Bono and I wasn't about to pass it up. I gripped his hand tightly and shook it hard. "Hi", I said as I shook it nervously.

"Hello there", he replied.

"You're Bono", I immediately responded, almost cutting him off.

"Duh!" My husband laughed.

"Actually, your real name is Paul Hewson", I continued idiotically.

"That's right", he responded very calmly, locking eyes with me. I stared into his eyes and could feel myself getting lost.

"Can I call you Paul?" I asked in a soft, dreamy voice.

"Sure", he responded, still staring into my eyes, our hands still clutched tightly together.

"Can I call you Paulie?" I pushed further.

"No", he replied very curtly.

I hung my head sheepishly. "I understand".

"Come here", he cooed and grabbed me in an embrace. "Give us a hug then. It's nice to meet you, darlin'."

I melted instantly. He called me DARLING! AAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!

Okay, I know. He probably calls everyone that. Well, all WOMEN, that is.

Then he pulled me back and kissed me on each cheek. I swallowed hard and my face burned again. Though I've always felt that people who stated, "I'll never wash my cheek again" after a celebrity kissed them were complete whack job fanatics, I thought that very thought to myself at that very moment.

"My friend here writes music. She's a singer/songwriter", my friend piped in.

"That's nice", Bono said, staring intently into my eyes.

"Thanks", I gushed. "I-I" I gulped hard again. "I was thinking we should do a duet sometime", I blurted out maniacally.

"Oh really", Bono chuckled.

"She's a good singer", my husband offered up.

Bono walked back over to the wet bar and poured himself another glass of whatever he was drinking. "You have an agent?" He called across the room.

I hung my head and shook it, disappointed. "I don't know how to get one. Do I need an agent to write music with you?" The words sounded so desperate and stupid the instant I finished speaking them.

"It would help. I mean, I don't know you. I've got a lot goin' on right now. It's not that easy, darlin'. But you should just keep doin' what yer' doin', you know? Just keep workin' hard at it. Get out there. Perform. Maybe someday we'll hook up and work on a song together. All right?"

"Yeah", I whispered, disappointed, and stared at the ground, pushing the carpet around with my shoe.

I heard my husband release a big sigh and felt his arm around me then. "You should hear her sing. You should hear her music. It's really good. She just wrote a song for a movie and...well...they didn't take it, but it's dang good. You should hear it", my husband persisted on my behalf. I wrapped my arms around him and laid my head on his chest.

"Do you have somethin' for me to hear?" Bono asked.

My hopes shot up just then. "Yeah!" I practically shouted. "I've got a CD here in my purse!" I pulled it out and walked across the room to Bono, tripping up on the carpet and stumbling forward.

"Whoa. Whoa. Easy!" Bono called out, reaching his hands out and catching me. My cheeks burned once more. At that moment, I felt so emotionally exhausted, I just wanted to go collapse on a bed and sleep and pretend this never happened so I could have a second chance.

Bono took the CD then and handed it to the guy in the suit. "Can you put this on, man?" He asked. My eyes followed the CD over to the stereo system. My breathing became shallow. My heart fluttering in anticipation. That sick feeling returned to my stomach. I instantly worried that he might not like it and then I'd REALLY feel stupid. He popped it in and pushed play. The room fell silent. You could feel the tension so strong. We waited. "Where was that first note?" I thought. The anticipation was killing me.

Then it started in. "BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP."

"WHAT?!" I shouted. "This isn't my song!"

"What IS this?" Bono shouted. His hands clasped over his ears.

"This isn't my song! I swear! It's not my song!"

Just then I sat up in bed, a cold sweat across my face, my heart pounding, my breath panting.

(SIGH) "Oh, thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

It was just a dream! WHEW!

Okay, now that I have your attention, let's get serious. I did find a way to directly contact Bono. We'll see if he responds. THAT is the truth. I'll let you know.

What's The Bladder With You!

So, if you thought my delivery story was an experience, how about my gallbladder story? Now THAT was good times. Let me tell ya'. I don't know why, but I have THE MOST bizarre experiences of anyone I know. There is absolutely no embellishing going on here. No fabrications. Just straight, ridiculous truth.

After my nightmare delivery experience, I returned home and settled in. I had a plan. The same plan I always had after delivering a baby. Dry up my milk ASAP! I don't breast feed. I just can't do it. It's too hard for me. Many have deemed me strong and courageous, but those people have never seen me attempt breast feeding. I bound myself up really tight - almost to the point where I couldn't really breathe, and barely ate anything. The weight was just falling off of me in large chunks. Things were going along great. Then, almost one week later, I began to notice trouble breathing. I mean REAL trouble breathing. My chest felt really tight. I thought, "Oh great. I've got my binding on too tight. I'll let it out a little", and I did. And that didn't help. The pain continued. In fact, it great in intensity. So, I let it out a little more - no relief. Finally I gave in and took the whole dang thing off. The pain was so bad, I could barely breathe. I felt shooting pains down my left arm. I thought, "Oh my gosh! Am I having a heart attack?" I've never had one, but I imagine that was what it felt like. It was intense. I was scared. I couldn't lay flat in bed. I couldn't sleep. I gasped for air and stopped breathing several times in my sleep. One night my husband rolled over and said, "Are you having a heart attack or what?"

The next morning was my birthday. I sat up in bed and instantly felt pain like someone had just stabbed me. I gasped for air. I couldn't speak. I was just gasping and wailing. Bertrand tried to lift me up and help me, but I became hysterical. I didn't know what was happening to me, but the pain was more than I could bear. I felt like I was going to pass out. Bertrand called my mom and she came running over to watch the kids so I could go to the emergency room.

The emergency room was packed. Bertrand dragged me in as I clung to his side. A nurse ran up behind me with a wheelchair and I sat down and took small, shallow breaths, trying to answer the questions as best as I could. Then they wheeled me into a waiting room and there I sat...with all of the other emergency patients. I closed my eyes and prayed in my head, "Please. Please, don't make me wait long. I can't stand it. I feel like I'm going to pass out. I don't know how much more of this I can take." After a while, I was wheeled behind a little curtain and asked some questions. I explained that I was having chest pain, but when I pointed out where my pain was originating from, the doctor said, "That's not your chest." Whoops. He decided I needed an ultrasound to see what was going on in there.

And so I was wheeled back out into the waiting room.

Several minutes later I was called back again and wheeled behind another curtain where my blood was drawn and an IV was started...well...attempted, in my left arm. She couldn't get it in and it was hurting so bad, I was crying out. "I just have to get it past this one point. Hang in there, honey", the nurse kept saying. I was panting and moaning. I was already in terrible pain and now she was trying to force this huge needle into my arm and it was NOT going. She finally gave up and pulled it out. "Okay, let's do the other side, then."

"Noooo. Please." I moaned. "That hurt so bad. I hate IV's. Please don't do another one."

"Sorry, hon. I have to." And so she put it through the other arm and I panted and moaned like a huge baby.

The IV was situated in my right arm, right in the part where you're supposed to bend your arm. I don't know what that's called, but I had to keep my arm straight. My right arm. My dominant arm. The nurse then asked me to go into the bathroom and leave a urine sample. HA! RIGHT! "I can't bend my arm. I don't know how I'm going to hold the cup and wipe myself," I said, a little anxiety in my voice.

"Just do your best. If you need me, I'll be right outside." Needless to say, I made it work. No WAY was I going to have a nurse holding a cup underneath me, trying to catch my pee.

And then I was wheeled back out into the waiting area. Where I sat and waited. For a long time. About an hour. A nurse came out and put warm blankets around me. It felt nice and I buried my face in them and tried to sleep.

A while later I was called back again and this time had an ultrasound done. When the tech ran the ultrasound wand over my right side just below my chest, I yelped in pain. "Yep, just as I thought," she said.

"What? What is it?" I frantically inquired.

"The doctor will go over the results with you later", the nurse replied.

I closed my eyes and sighed, laying my head back. "Oh great," I thought. "This doesn't sound good."

And then I was wheeled back out into the waiting room where I sat and waited. For another hour. It was still difficult to breath. I felt nauseated. I just wanted to lie down and sleep. Finally, a nurse came out and said, "Okay, you're going back to the ER."

"I am?" I asked. "I thought I already WAS in the ER." Apparently I wasn't. The nurse pushed me through some double doors into absolute chaos. There were so many people in the actual ER, there weren't enough beds. The walls were lined with moaning, coughing people, some lying very still with their eyes closed. They almost looked dead. This was a scary sight. "Oh no," I thought. "This does NOT look good at all." I was wheeled around a corner where an empty bed was lying.

"Okay, hop up on there," the nurse said in a chipper voice. I looked down at my IV in my arm, thought about the pain in my chest, realized I was still leaking milk and other fluids down below from having a baby and said, "Umm. I don't know how I'm going to climb all the way up there." The bed was high. She lowered the bed quickly and I sat on the edge. Then the nurse grabbed both of my shoulders and tried to force me into a lying position. I started panting and gasping for air. "Ow!" I yelled. "No. Please. I can't lie flat. I can't breathe."

"What?" she asked. "What do you mean you can't breathe?"

I then proceeded to explain my symptoms to her. Then I burst into tears. "I just had a baby a week ago. I'm bleeding and leaking milk and I can't breathe and..."

"Oh my gosh!" She shouted. "We've gotta' get this poor lady into her own room. She can't be lying here in the hallway!"

The tears flowed freely now. I was so exhausted and in so much pain. It was now 2:00 PM and I hadn't eaten all day either. Not that food was particularly on my mind, but I was experiencing some intense hunger pains on top of everything else.

A few nurses got together in a huddle, trying to figure out where to put me. All of the private ER rooms were occupied. They all suddenly turned and faced a particular room in the corner. There was a police officer standing in front of the door, acting as a guard. "Let's move him and put her in there."

"Oh no," I interrupted. "I feel bad making someone leave a private room just for me. I'll be okay."

"No, it's fine, honey," one of the nurses replied. "We just have a homicidal maniac in there, so we need to move him to a more secure location."

"A homicidal maniac?" I thought. "No. No. No need to move him. Put me in there with him. Let him kill me. Let him take me out of my misery."

But alas, the homicidal maniac was moved. I looked away. I didn't want to make eye contact. I was afraid he'd come find me later and my suicidal thoughts were only fleeting. And so I was placed in the room and told to undress and change into a hospital gown.

A nurse came in and introduced herself as MY nurse. She explained to me that the first doctor who saw me doesn't normally come back into the main ER, but he wanted to stay with me through the case, so he was coming back to see me. The guy looked like he was about my age or younger. He came in and confirmed my worst fears. "You're gallbladder is bad. Really bad. It definitely needs to come out."

"Oh no," I moaned. "Does it HAVE to?"

"Well, of course you can refuse. But you'll most likely be back in here again soon, so...you can either take care of it now or later," he replied very matter-of-factly.

He explained that I would also need a blood transfusion, as I was severely anemic. I looked at my husband in horror and he grabbed my hand and held it tight. "Well, hon. What do you want to do."

I started to cry. "Why is this happening? Why? I don't have time for this. I just had a baby. I have a bunch of other little kids at home. I need to go home to my babies. I need to get back to work."

My husband looked at the doctor. "See how she is?"

"You've got to take care of yourself first if you're going to take care of all of those other things," he explained.

I gritted my teeth and shook my head, more tears running down my cheeks. I was afraid and angry and stressed all at the same time. "Fine," I said. "Go ahead. Do what needs to be done with me."

And so Bertrand went off to work. There was nothing more he could do for me anyway, so I sent him on his way. And my nurse returned and explained that she would need to start another IV in my other arm, same location.

"WHAT!?! WHY?!" I nearly shouted, starting to sob again. "Is that REALLY necessary?"

"I'm sorry, hon. It is. You need one IV for the blood transfusion and one for all of your other medications." And so she started one as I looked the other way and sobbed and moaned....like a huge, blubbering baby.

When she was finished, both arms were outstretched with IVs. I couldn't bend either one. She placed a call button and phone by my right shoulder and said I could call someone if I needed to and just to push the buzzer if I needed anything. And then she walked out. I looked down at both of my arms and looked over at my right shoulder. "Ummm....how would I even reach either one of those?" I thought to myself. "Oh well," I sighed and laid my head back.

Then it started. An itch on my nose. I lifted my arm to scratch it, only to be reminded I could not bend my arm. I lifted my other arm and tried to cross it over my face to scratch the itch with my arm. It didn't work. I panicked. "Oh no!" I said aloud. "What do I do?" I looked about the room frantically. Searching for an answer to my dilemma. I tried to turn my head and scratch my nose against my pillow, but I couldn't crank my head around far enough. I raised my right arm again and tried rubbing my nose on my arm. It still itched like crazy. I grunted and panted and rubbed my face into my arm feverishly, trying to scratch the itch. Thank goodness no one came in during that. I must have looked insane.

Alas, I accepted defeat and threw my head back against my pillow and moaned and started fussing again. "This sucks. I hate my life right now. Why? Why? Why?" I moaned, as I thrashed my head back and forth on my pillow.

Now, let me just say - I will never be one of those inspirational stories. I will never be that person who suffers tremendously, but stays positive and inspires others. No. Not me. I'm the one who sits in the wheelchair in the corner, bitter, hating the world and everything in it, throwing curses at whoever sets foot near me. THAT would be my story. Thank goodness it wasn't anything permanently debilitating or life-threatening!

After what felt like an eternity, my nurse returned with medications. "Okay. I'm giving you some morphine and..." I don't know what else she said. Morphine sounded great to me. That was all that mattered in life at that moment.

"Okay," I sighed in relief and laid my head back, shutting my eyes and waiting for the high to hit.

"Someone will be here in a minute to take you up to your room, okay?" She said and then smiled at me and rubbed my shoulder. "You're going to be feeling a lot better tomorrow, dear. Good luck." Then she left.

I laid there, eyes closed, enjoying my little trip to the moon. Suddenly the doors opened and I saw two blond girls in scrubs standing before me.

"Hi," I mumbled, drool spilling from the side of my mouth. "You guys look like twins." I noticed they both looked at me funny, but I didn't care. I was feeling groovy and I was ready to go for a ride. (I saw those two later. One was tall and thin. One was short and fat. They looked NOTHING alike.)

They wheeled me out of the room, accidentally hitting the bed against the door. I jolted and my head fell to the right. I saw an old man lying in a bed outside my room. "Bye. See you later," I mumbled in a dopey voice. The old man didn't respond. They wheeled me down a long hallway. I felt like I was in space. "Take me to your leader," I slurred, more drool hanging out the side of my mouth.

"What? Did you say something?" One of the girls asked.

I heard the other one respond, "She's on one. She just said 'take me to your leader'."

"Ohhhh," she drawled. "Okay. You're gonna' be fine. Don't worry."

I was coherent enough to understand, but apparently not enough to control my speech. I felt instantly stupid.

When I arrived at my room, I was transferred to a new bed and situated. My new nurse introduced herself, took my vitals, and told me to buzz her if I needed anything. Then she asked if there was anything she could do for me before she left. I requested that she turn off all lights, turn the TV on to the spa music channel, and shut the door. I just wanted to sleep until it was over. And that's what I did. I was given a shot of morphine as often as I wanted. And I just laid there...rotting.

At 9:00 that night, a surgeon entered my room, introduced herself and told me my surgery would be at 1:00.

"1 AM?" I asked.

"No, 1 PM tomorrow afternoon", she said.

I shut my eyes and moaned. "I'm starving. Can I have something?" I asked.

"You can have all the ice chips you want," she replied. "Now try to get some sleep."

That night a nurse came in with two units of packed red blood cells to transfuse me with. She explained that I might feel dizzy, nauseous, and my entire body might become terribly itchy. She told me to notify her if I felt any of those symptoms. GREAT! I was NOT looking forward to any of that. Fortunately, I experienced none of those, but I did experience a strange taste in my mouth during the process and I just felt icky, especially when I looked over and saw blood dripping into me. Goobers.

That night I also heard a lady next door to me retching violently all throughout the night. The next morning when my nurse came in and asked me if I was ready for my surgery, I replied with "Yes. I can't wait to be out of pain."

"Oh yes. You'll feel so much better. Gosh. There's a lot of you in here right now for gallbladder surgery. The lady next door to you just had it done last night."

My eyes popped out in horror. "Oh no. Are you serious?" I said.

"Why? What's wrong?" She chuckled.

"Umm...that lady was throwing up all night and it sounded violent over there", I moaned.

The nurse pulled a funny face and said nothing.

"That's not gonna' be me, is it?" I asked.

"Well, that lady is a lot older than you, so hopefully not," the nurse replied.

Skipping ahead, my surgery occurred the next day, as scheduled. It was a long night and long next day in that hospital bed, waiting for my surgery. The doctor had explained that I would have mad diarrhea even after just drinking water, once my surgery was complete, and this would last quite a while, possibly for the rest of my life. She also explained that I would be in a lot of pain and it would take weeks to recover. She also said it would hurt to breathe for a while too. This did not sound good to me and I cried all night long amid shots of morphine and SOME sleep, but very little.

Once my surgery was complete, I was taken back to my room. My nurses were all wonderful and took great care of me, but one in particular who amused me was from Russia. Her name was Elizabet. She was so sweet, but had a heavy accent and spoke in broken English. One concern from my nurses was that I was urinating enough after my surgery, so they would always ask me the same questions over and over - "When did you last pee? Do you need to pee now? How much did you pee the last time you went?"

But Elizabet was different. She would get right in my face (hello - ever heard of personal space?) and say, "Did a you make a pee pee?" and she'd actually take her index finger and thumb and make the sign for small, accenting the word pee pee in a staccato tone. This always cracked me up and it was all I could do to not laugh my head off every time. I wanted so bad to respond with (in her same accent) "Oh yes. And I a make a nice poo poo for you too. I make it a so nice."

Ah....anyway.

I started to feel so much better after my surgery. My first meal in 48 hours was dinner that night and it consisted of vegetable broth and a popsicle and juice. The morphine kept coming, which was great. I made sure I took full advantage of that. That night I laid my head back and decided to get some good sleep for once. I turned off all lights, turned on the spa music and laid my head back, drifting off to the moon again.

"Hello! HEY! HEY!" I heard a crotchety old voice calling out. I squinted my eyes shut tighter and moaned.

"HEY! HEY!" The shouting continued.

I released a frustrated sigh and opened my eyes, blinking against the bit of light coming through my doorway.

"Hello! Hello out there! Hey!" The shouting persisted.

"What's the matter?" I called back.

"Get in here right now. I need help!" The voice shouted back.

"I can't! I've got IVs in my arms and I'm strapped into my bed. Call the nurse." I groaned back.

"That's what I did! HEY! HEY! HEY!" She continued calling out.

"PUSH THE CALL BUTTON!" I shouted back.

But the shouting persisted. "Oh my gosh. Stupid lady." I moaned quietly to myself. I squirmed about in my bed, flailing my arms at the call button, trying to hit it, but to no avail. I still couldn't bend my arms very well and it was situated up by my head. I tried hitting it with my nose, but my nose couldn't withstand the pressure required to push the button in, so I stuck my tongue out to try and reach it. It was truly ridiculous! Just before my tongue touched the button, I heard footsteps running in the hall, coming in our direction, so I backed away and listened intently.

"What's the matter?" the nurse called out, running into the old lady's room.

"I want more juice!" The old lady shouted.

I could hear the nurse opening another juice box for her and then she shut off the old lady's light and walked away. I rolled my eyes in the dark and laid my head back, attempting to drift away with my morphine again.

"HEY! HEY!" The shouting started up again. Only a couple of hours had passed.

"OH MY GOSH!" I groaned aloud through gritted teeth. "Use your buzzer, you idiot! I'm trying to sleep over here!" Of course, I said this to myself. She couldn't hear me. This continued on all night long. It was terrible!

FINALLY, the next evening, around 5:00 PM, I got to go home! HALLELUJAH!

In spite of all of the craziness, the staff at the hospital were wonderful and took excellent care of me and I went home feeling 90% better and recovered quickly and painlessly.

Who's On First?

We've all been sick around here. We've all been cooped up in the house. The kids are going nuts, as am I. So, I decided to give my ladies a break and take them for a Sonic run and get them a little treat. I also decided to treat myself to a little cherry limeade even though the fizz hurts my palate and esophagus. I decided to just let it burn since I was already in pain with a sore throat anyway. My girls asked for a white coconut slush.

(SIGH) Ever have one of THESE conversations with your kid?

SYLVIE: Hey mom.
ME: Yes?
S: Did you get a cherry limeade?
ME: Yep.
S: Did I get a cherry in my drink?
ME: No, honey. Yours won't have one. You ordered a coconut slush, so there's no cherry.
S: Well, I just want a cherry in mine.
ME: I'm sorry, honey. There's no cherry in yours.
S: There's no cherry in yours?
ME: No. There's no cherry in YOURS.
S: Oh. There's no cherry in yours.
ME: NO! YOURS!
S: Yours?
ME: (SIGH) Mine has the cherry, honey.
S: Oh. Mine has the cherry?
ME: No MINE does.
S: MINE does?
ME: NO! MINE! MINE! MY DRINK! NOT YOURS! MINE!
S: Okay, mine does. Not yours, okay mommy? Just mine.

I fell completely silent. I was baffled. She was just not getting it and I didn't know how to explain it. At this point we had our drinks and I was driving toward home.

S: Hey mom?
ME: (SIGH) Yes, honey?
S: Did mine get a cherry in it?
ME: No, honey! NO! There's no cherry!
S: There's no cherry?
ME: No. Sorry, sweetie.
S: So, you didn't get a cherry too, mommy?
ME: Nope. Nobody got a cherry.
S: Nobody?
ME: Nope.
S: Mom, did you get a cherry limeade?
ME: Yep.
S: So, how'd you get a cherry? You got a cherry mom.
ME: I did?
S: Yeah mom! You did. You really, really did!
ME: Oh. Okay.
S: And I got a cherry too.
ME: Mm hm. (I decided just to agree for the sake of avoiding another argument)
S: I did, mom? I got a cherry?
ME: (HUGE SIGH) Sweetheart! Listen to me! My drink has a cherry and yours does not!
S: Yeah. My drink has a cherry and mommy's drink didn't have a cherry.

ME: OH MY GOSH! Listen! You got the cherry! Okay? You got it! It's in my drink, but I'm just gonna' give it to you when we get home, okay?

S: Okay, mommy. Hey Chloe, I get a cherry in my drink. Mommy said.

AAAAHHHHHHHH!!! She wins again!

The Stage Name...

...this is one of THE most important aspects of being a performer. You have GOT to have a cool name. Ever heard of Carey Grant? His real name was Archie Leach. No joke.

Tonight, as my husband and I were driving home from an evening out with the kids, we were listening to the radio (because that's all we've got going on right now in this '99 minivan), and I noticed that all of the songs were about "rock stars". First Pink with "So What I'm Still A Rock Star" played followed by Nickelback's "I Wanna Be a Rock Star". So I commented on that little observation and said, "Watch. They'll play that other rock star song by that one guy....oh, what's his name? Dang it."

BERT: Who?
ME: You know, that guy with the long, blond hair? He always wears the wife beaters. I can't stand that guy. Oh man! WHAT is his NAME!?
BERT: I don't know who you're talking about.
ME: You know? Pam Anderson dated him. They almost got married.
BERT: That doesn't help me. What are some of his songs?
ME: Oh! I can't think right now. The radio is distracting me. He wears hats like yours sometimes, honey. You know who I'm talking about? (Bert was wearing a fedora during this conversation, by the way)
BERT: Is his name Chris something?
ME: NO! No, it's not Chris.
BERT: Ummm.....(mumbling to self) Chris....Chris.....man!
ME: It's not Chris, Honey. It's not. I know it's not.
BERT: Hmm. Let me think. (Mumbling to self again) Chris....Chris....
ME: It's not CHRIS! (Laughing) It's not Chris at all. Not even close, Honey.

So? Are any of you readers figuring out yet who I'm talking about? I was going NUTS trying to remember this guy's name. I was ready to have Bert pull over to the side of the road just to ask some random person walking down the street because I was SURE they would know the answer.

Finally! Four streets away from home it hit me - the name.

ME: KID ROCK! It's Kid Rock!
BERT: Yeah! Okay. I knew it started with the K-sound.
ME: MAN! I'm so glad I finally figured that out! That was driving me NUTS!
BERT: I need a cool name.
ME: You mean like a stage name?
BERT: Yeah. What should I be called?
ME: How 'bout Frenchie?
BERT: Nah. Not that.
ME: Okay, how about....?
BERT: Something like Kid Rock, but not that.
ME: What's rock in French? Isn't it caillou? You should call yourself Kid Caillou! HAHA!
BERT: NO! (Getting agitated) That's not cool.
ME: Hmmm...you need something edgy. (Mumbling to self) Something edgy...

Suddenly we got a suggestion from the very back of the van.

SYLVIE: How 'bout Wedgie?
ME: YEAH! That's it! We'll call you Wedgie! Thank you, Sylvie.
SYLVIE: You're welcome.

Bertrand was not amused.

Ah, He Kills Me!

The following are ACTUAL conversations between my husband and I:

B stands for Bert, K stands for Kristin. Ready? Set. Go!

B: Hey, honey. How many of these pills should I take?
K: I don't know. Read the side. It'll tell you. I can't remember the dose for that medication.
B: Should I take one or two?
K: What does it say on the side, honey?
B: It says two for adults.
K: Okay.
B: So, how many should I take?
K: Well, you're an adult, so two would be the correct answer.

SERIOUSLY!?!?! Yes. This conversation actually happened. And it WASN'T for headache medication either. GEE WHIZ!

B: So, how was it?

K: Awkward.

B: Why?

K: There was this lesbian who kept staring at me. It was just uncomfortable.

B: How do you know she was a lesbian?

K: Well, somebody else there told me and I could tell anyway. She wouldn't stop staring at me and it was one of those, "I like you" stares and I mean "like" in a non-friend sort of way. You know what I mean?

B: Well, if I was a lesbian I'd stare at you too, 'cause you're hot!

K: (Jumping on him and kissing his face all over) Oh honey! You're so romantic!

A New Form Of Capital Punishment

So, I'm all for capital punishment. I know, I totally shouldn't get political on my blog. That's when opinions start flying and razor tongues start cutting.

But, seriously, the punishment should fit the crime. Somebody kills, they should be killed. It's just my personal opinion and this happens to be...oh, look at that - it's my blog. I can say whatever I want! YAY!

Now, I don't know what these people did (the dancers), but this appears to be some show where they actually AIR the criminals being punished right there on TV. I think Germany is onto something...



By the looks on their faces, I don't think they'll be committing any more crimes. I don't know that I necessarily agree with allowing children to view this harsh form of punishment, but perhaps they're simply instilling in their minds the consequences of committing crime. Ten years from now that country will be crime-free. I'm sure of it. Time for America to adopt some German policy, hmmmm?

On a side note, I must say - good thing they're not on So You Think You Can Dance. Their personalities really aren't showing through in their dancing. Mary Murphy and Mia Michaels would pick them apart for sure!

I Know Cool People

It's true. I do. You probably do too, but they're probably not as cool as the people I know:

1. Maurice Dew. He's a rapper. (Pretty fly for a white guy). He just dropped a new album called "For The People". Check it out.
Order it at: mauricescrapbook.blogspot.com

2. Dan (The Man) Poulsen. He's an entrepreneur (and my l'il brutha). He designed a line of watches called Mica. I love them so much I steal my mom's occasionally and wear it about town. I get compliments on it every time...because it's awesome. I want one for Christmas. You got that, Santa? (Santa reads my blog.)

Here's one of my favorites. It's called The Baron (Munchausen).


And this is The Plank. I dare you to walk it/I mean wear it!

These are just TWO of the styles he's designed. All of his designs come with different wood and face options. You're not cool until you're wearing one of these. Don't worry, I'm not cool either...yet!

Check out and order watches at: micamove.com

3. Laurel Amenta. She's also an entrepreneur (and my cousin). She designs decorative tiles. I was lucky enough to be bestowed one for my birthday, but I'll be ordering another. Everyone who came over and saw it lying on my counter LOVED it and wanted to know where I got it from, so I'm posting it here. She has several different options and takes custom orders.

You can contact her at: 480-430-9705.

4. Kylee Palmer. She's a seamstress (I'm super jealous). She designs ADORABLE little girl and now boy clothing.

I totally want two of these for my ladies.

You can see her designs and order them at: ragdollclothing.com.

5. Ravi Sinha. A published author. This man is an immigrant from India, an extremely talented and tender-hearted man. I had the honor of typing two of his books, which I thoroughly enjoyed, but this particular one reduced me to tears as I typed it for him. It's a very touching and inspiring story. It's called "In Pursuit of America: My Dreamland."


You can order it here:

http://www.amazon.com/Pursuit-America-Dreamland-Story-Immigrant/dp/1434303985/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1255564207&sr=1-1

The Delivery Story/Nightmare

Well, it's been a long time coming, but here goes - a story that's been tough for me to tell. It was so traumatic that it took me several days to stop crying over it.

Now, some of you may be able to top this story, maybe even by a long shot, but when you have certain expectations and NOTHING goes according to plan, it's pretty upsetting - especially for someone like me who always has plan A, B and C in place before I do anything.

It all started with a random e-mail. The end of July I received an e-mail from an unknown sender. I know you're not supposed to open unknown e-mails. They could be dangerous. But this one had a very intriguing subject line. It read, "Kristin Coppee. A miracle will happen for you on August 13th". A miracle? I thought. Interesting. After a few days I told my husband about it. I even posted something about it on my facebook. I was making a joke of it. I don't believe in random e-mails like that.

Now, let's go back in time to the morning of Sunday, August 9th. I had been suffering Braxton-Hicks contractions throughout my last trimester, which was typical for me. However, with each week, they became increasingly aggressive and uncomfortable and began to feel more and more like labor. On Sunday morning, I was SURE I was in labor due to the fact that despite my efforts to stop the contractions, they would not let up and were coming closer and closer and harder and harder. Finally, I gave in and we called my mom who ran right over and took my ladies to her house so Bertrand could take me to the hospital. I gripped the door handle and breathed through my contractions as Bertrand squealed out of our cul-de-sac, flew over a couple of speed bumps and drove to the hospital like a maniac. Each of my children came with a quicker labor so we were pretty certain this one would pop out in the car if we didn't arrive at the hospital fast enough.

Upon arriving to the hospital, I was whisked into a room, placed in a hospital gown, and checked. I was dilated to a 1. That was it. A lousy 1! I felt so discouraged (with Chloe I was sent home from the hospital three times and I was NOT too thrilled about the possibility of being sent home even ONCE with this child). The nurse watched my contractions and said, "They're coming close together and pretty hard, so I'm sure your cervix will change. I'll leave you alone for about an hour and we'll check again later. Just let me know if anything changes before then, okay?"

"Okay", I grumbled and heaved a sigh. This was already shaping up to be a replay of my former nightmare - The Chloe Delivery!

Just then I turned to talk to Bertrand and noticed his head was in his hands and he was slumped over in his chair.

"Honey? Are you okay?" I asked, a little concerned.

"No", he mumbled. "I feel terrible. My head hurts so bad and my throat is really sore."

"What? Really? You feel that bad? You seemed fine at home." I couldn't believe it. I thought surely he was exaggerating. And how dare he take the attention away from me. I was in labor and suffering! I needed him to dote on me. I needed him to help me breathe through contractions. For those of you who don't know The Chloe Delivery story, he was suffering with terribly painful abscesses due to MRSA and was laid out on a stretcher right next to me as I delivered my daughter, only to hold her a few minutes and then be whisked off to an emergency surgery. NIGHTMARE! I thought, "Oh not again. Don't you dare try to die of some strange disease again! Not while I'm delivering your child!"

Several hours later the nurse apprehensively entered the room, avoiding eye contact with me.

"I know what you're going to tell me," I muttered.

"I'm so sorry. I feel so bad." The nurse responded.

I heaved a huge sigh. "This is ridiculous! My body needs help. My other doctors all induced me because I go into labor, but my body can't finish. My doctor told me he'd help me."

"I know, but the problem is your doctor is not on call and this other doctor says you're not far enough along to be induced." She stated apologetically.

"I'm a few days away from 38 weeks!" I nearly shouted.

"I'm so sorry. The doctor said I could give you a light sedative."

"Look, it's okay. It's not your fault. I'm just frustrated. I'm miserable. I have been for weeks. My body doesn't do it alone, so I'm going to have to be helped, but I don't know how much longer I can go on like this. I'm getting no sleep and I can't even function and I have three other kids at home. This is just ridiculous!" I finally stopped my rant, realizing the poor nurse felt terrible, but could do nothing.

I went home and my husband's condition worsened. The following day, Monday, he stayed home from work. His fever was relentless. He was shaking and sweating and looked just awful. He told me he wanted to go to urgent care.

"Urgent care? Come on, hon, it's just a bad cold or flu or something. We don't need to be spending money on urgent care expenses. It'll go away. Just be patient. I know just what you need. Stay there. I'm running to the grocery store."

With that, I grabbed my purse, limped to the car and drove to Fry's where I purchased Vick's Vapo Rub (Chloe used up all of our supply - see story several posts ago where she rubbed the entire jar through her hair), V8 juice and more pain killer. I came home, ran my husband a hot bath and poured him a glass of V8. "Honey, drink this, rub some Vicks on you during your bath and after and go climb into bed, cover up and sweat it out. You'll feel great by tomorrow. I promise!"

The next morning he was much worse. At this point his condition was so bad, he had lost weight (which he doesn't have to lose in the first place), was pale and sweating profusely, burning up with a fever, and literally crying and begging me to please take him to urgent care.

I left my teenage son home with my ladies and drove up the street to the urgent care. I limped in alone, contractions going like crazy, and asked what a visit cost there (we have no insurance on my husband).

"$220 to be seen," the receptionist stated, opening a booklet. I could feel my eyes popping out of my head.

"And then", she continued, "Let's see. If he has any tests done that will cost more, depending on the tests, and then..."

I held up my hand. "That's enough. Sorry. That's WAY too expensive for us. We'll go elsewhere. Thanks anyway." With that I limped back out to the car, stopping halfway to catch my breath. My body was aching and laboring and I just wanted to sit and put my feet up, but that was not an option. I drove like mad to the next nearest urgent care and ran in. Their price was $98 flat. I ran and motioned for Bertrand who slowly made his way to the building, his body so weak, he shuffled in like a 90-year-old man. His fever was so high he couldn't even think straight. I had to fill in all of the information for him.

Long story short, he had a severe case of Strep throat, running a temperature of 104. OUCH! I felt TERRIBLE!

Wednesday, August 12th was another typical day - painful, heavy contractions all day long. I continued about my business, suffering, growing increasingly tired from lack of sleep, as the contractions would continue all night long every night. My neighbor, Vickie, felt bad that Bertrand was suffering from Strep and I was so miserable, that she offered to bring dinner over and I gladly accepted. When she arrived with dinner she could see that I was in terrible pain. She called for my son to bring her a stop watch and as she served dinner to my children (Bertrand was back in bed on medication, still suffering himself), she timed my contractions.

"These are really getting closer and heavier, it seems. You really ought to go in," She advised.

"No way," I replied. "They've already sent me home once. And with Chloe they sent he home three times. I am NOT going through that again. I won't go in until my water breaks."

Vickie insisted on staying and monitoring me. Bertrand began to worry. He was still very sick and contagious, but my contractions were getting to the point where we knew delivery was near. He called the bishop in a panic and asked him to come give him a blessing to heal him. Our bishop ran right over with one of our home teachers and when they walked in on the scene, the bishop couldn't believe his eyes. Bertrand sat in one chair, pale and feverish, hunched over, and I sat completely sprawled out on the couch opposite him, moaning and groaning, breathing through heavy contractions.

"What in the world is going on around here?" He chuckled in disbelief. "This is crazy!"

After listening to my bishop, my husband and my neighbor insist for several minutes that I get to a hospital immediately, I finally gave in and agreed to let my neighbor, Vickie, drive me. Bertrand stayed behind with the kids and my mother drove over right away to stay with the kids so Bertrand could go back to bed.

On the way to the hospital I again gripped the door handle and breathed through heavy contractions - all the way to the hospital - all the way in the front doors - all the way to the observation room....where they completely stopped! COMPLETELY! And I was perfectly fine.

That was it! That was the final straw. I was so upset, I was beside myself at this point. I couldn't take it any longer. They were going to have to get that baby out or I would reach up in there and get him out myself.

Again, the nurse came in and informed me that my doctor was STILL not on call and the same doctor who had turned me away days earlier was intending to turn me away again. Tears began rolling down my cheeks. I couldn't even speak.

"Oh, you're not sending her home," Vickie insisted. "She's been in labor for weeks. You've already sent her home once. She's not going home again."

"Ma'am, I understand," the nurse began, "but we have to follow the doctor's orders. My hands are tied. Her contractions aren't happening right now, she's only 38 weeks, and this doctor won't induce unless you're 39."

"Oh, that's ridiculous. Get her admitted. She's having this baby," Vickie persisted.

The nurse left the room and returned a few minutes later. "Okay", she said. "The doctor said I can admit you as a 'sleeper'. That means you'll be given a shot of morphine and monitored over night so you can get a good sleep. The next morning your own doctor will come in and assess you and decide what to do with you, okay?"

"No. I don't want that. I don't want to be in the hospital over night only to be sent home again. I'm leaving." I began to get up from the bed.

Long story short (AGAIN - there's a lot of these), after speaking with Vickie and my mom and husband for several minutes, and upon hearing the nurse's insistence that I take this offer, I agreed. I was wheeled into a labor and delivery suite, given a very long, painful shot of morphine in my right upper arm (it left a huge, disgusting bruise that covered almost my entire upper arm), the nurse surrounded me with pillows, turned on the spa music station on the TV, turned out the lights and left me with Vickie.

Earlier, back in the observation room, I had relayed a story to Vickie of how back in my Chloe days, a friend of mine massaged my feet for an hour because she said it would help induce labor and my water had broken from that incident, which allowed me to finally deliver Chloe at exactly 38 weeks. Vickie immediately reached into her purse, pulled out lotion and said, "Would you like a foot massage? I can give you one. I'm not that great at it, but I'll give you one."

"Oh no," I replied. "You don't have to do that. I was just saying that it's supposed to bring on labor, but I'm fine. I've got my morphine. I'm going to get some rest."

But Vickie insisted and after very little persuasion, I let her. She sat at the foot of my bed and massaged my feet for quite a while. It felt really good and I started to fall asleep. Her cell phone rang. It was her family. They needed her back. I felt so bad for keeping her from her family for so long. She had saved my sanity and now she had completely relaxed me. I was drifting off into dreamland....completely relaxed - drifting....drifting...........my breathing becoming more rhythmic.........

POP!

I sat straight up in my bed. My legs suddenly felt very warm. I rubbed my eyes and squinted in the barely lit room. The clock on the wall showed 12:00 midnight exactly! It was August 13th. (Remember the random e-mail? Bum! Bum! Bummm! Spooky). It was then I realized - my water had just broken. Vickie had just finished rubbing my feet only two hours ago. Looks like the massage worked (I told her she should really start a side business).

I pushed the call button for the nurse. A voice on the other end responded, "Yes. Can I help you?"

"Ummm..." I began a little hesitantly. "I think my water broke?"

"Oh good," the voice sounded genuinely happy and excited. "We'll send your nurse in right away." I laid back in bed and smiled in relief. Suddenly I heard a faint cheering coming from outside my door. Apparently all of the nurses at the nursing station were cheering me on.

My nurse came rushing in with a big smile on her face. "Oh, I'm so happy for you. This is great. Now you REALLY won't get sent home. You're gonna' have this baby!"

"Yay!" I replied.

And so, all of the preparations were made. I let her know I wanted the epidural and that my other labors had happened fairly quickly once my water broke, so she called the anesthesiologist right in. The nurse was impressed with how well I took the epidural. "Wow!" She exclaimed. "You did great! Good girl!"

"Well, I'm totally doped up on morphine," I reminded her. "I barely felt that." (It's the way to go, ladies. Get a shot of morphine first. It's painful, but not nearly as painful as the epidural.)

After I was all settled in and resting comfortably on my anesthesia, the nurse readjusted my pillows, turned out the lights again, and turned up my spa music. "All right, hon. Let me know if you need anything."

I lay there smiling in the dark. FINALLY! This was going to happen! After all of the suffering. My sweet baby boy would be arriving very soon, I thought to myself.

Early the next morning I called Bertrand. "Honey, my water broke last night. I'm on the epidural and I'm going to be having this baby soon, so you might want to get down here."

Because Bertrand had only been on antibiotics for his Strep throat for 24 hours, the nurses hesitantly agreed to let him be present as long as he promised to wear a mask and gloves. He rushed down to the hospital, my mom not far behind him. Upon their arrival the nurse informed them that I was still at a 4 and they were getting ready to start Pitocin to help me along.

And so we all sat and visited. An hour passed.

And another.

And another.

"Wow, honey! I thought you said this baby was coming soon," Bertrand quipped.

I heaved a big sigh. I was tired of laying on my backside in the bed....waiting - something I'm not very good at, by the way, in case you don't know me well. Heck, you don't even have to know me well to know I'm not good at the waiting game. My mom and husband went to the hospital cafeteria to grab some food. They were starving.

So was I. HOWEVER, because I was now on the epidural and in labor, I was not allowed to eat. I got ice chips. Glorious, tasteless ice chips. Wonderful. Bertrand scarfed his food down and paced around my bed, checking out all of the equipment I was hooked up to, crunching away at his Doritos.

"You know, you're not being very nice right now, honey," I glared at him in frustration.

"Sorry, babe. It's just payback for making me suffer with Strep throat for days." He laughed. Alone. Not funny.

Just then a nurse came in and checked my vitals and monitors. "Hmmm..your oxygen saturation is low. I think the morphine is having a bad effect on you," the nurse said as she pulled out some oxygen. "Here. You're going to have to wear this for a while, okay?" She started to put the mask over my face and I panicked.

I batted at the mask and turned away, gasping for air.

"Honey, this is oxygen, what's wrong?" she asked, fighting against my resistance to get the mask on.

"I can't," I gasped and sputtered. "I can't just have oxygen put on me like that. I have to ease into it."

Yes, you read that right. I have to EASE into oxygen. Why? I don't know. I'm a freak of nature. It's this whole anxiety thing about something being put over my face that's blowing into it too hard. I can ride a rollercoaster just fine. I can ride on a motorcycle just fine. I can ride with the windows down in my car just fine - all activities, which produce a lot of oxygen blowing in my face. However, the mask is a different story.

ANYWAY...

My mom and husband were giving up on me and I was exhausted. I wanted my sleep. My mom went home and Bertrand fell asleep in the chair. And I lay there, my backside aching from so much pressure from all of my weight for so many hours. I tried to sleep, but the alarms kept going off signaling that my oxygen levels were low. I tried to keep the mask on, but it was uncomfortable. I wanted my dang sleep. My labor had pretty much stopped. I was not progressing at all. Hours had passed. My frustration grew more intense. I started to feel hopeless. Would this baby EVER come out?!

The nurses had to come in every hour or so and turn me in the bed. Now, these were tiny nurses and I was a whopping 198 pounds. Yeah! 5' 4", 198 pounds. NOT pretty. NOT cute in any way, shape or form. Every time the nurses came in and prepared to turn me, I'd warn them about my weight. "I hope you work out because you're about to lift 198 pounds of dead weight," I said one time. The nurse just chuckled and said, "Oh honey, don't worry about it" and then would grunt and groan as she tried to turn me in the bed. I was on an epidural and completely paralyzed. I tried to use my arms to help turn myself, but I have no upper body strength, so I was pretty much useless. I was a beached whale. Literally. Get a visual in your imagination. Google it and check out the picture of what that looks like. I don't need to post a picture, just check out the beached whale and imagine my head on it. Cut and paste one if you need extra help visualizing that. Go ahead. You have my permission.

Several more hours passed. I was reduced to tears. "This is ridiculous!" I cried. "My last two babies came so fast. This is turning out to be just like my very first delivery. It's taking forever!" It was now 4:30 PM. I had been sitting at an 8 for several hours. I had been laying in bed on an epidural NOT progressing! I was completely uncomfortable and exhausted. I just wanted it to end! I felt like I was letting everyone down - all the people waiting. My doctor kept coming in and checking me and making statements like, "Any time now. Within an hour you'll be delivering." My parents brought the kids down and kept them in the waiting room. Everyone was SURE this was going to happen at any moment.

Another hour passed.

And another.

Nothing. Still an 8. At this point they were running Pitocin through me every 10 minutes. They were just pumping it and pumping it and checking me constantly.

Nothing.

They raised the bed up so I was in a seated position. Everyone sat in chairs at the foot of the bed. Just staring. Another nurse walked in just then.

"Welcome to the freak show," I stated, motioning with my arm toward the small crowd. "Take a seat and enjoy."

"Aw, come on, honey. This will be over soon," my mom tried to reassure me.

"No. No, I've given up on ever having this baby. He's gonna' come sometime next year, I think." I heaved a big sigh.

"Oh no, dear. You have to have this baby within the next 24 hours. We'll take him by C-section if we have to," the nurse responded.

I smiled weakly. I was joking. Apparently she thought I was that stupid. I looked stupid. That's for sure. I felt ridiculous! I'm surprised no one made signs, "SAVE THE BEACHED WHALE" and posted them about the hospital. I'm surprised a news crew didn't show up and do the big story. Literally. Big. HUGE!

It was nearly 7:00 now and my doctor came in to check again. Still an 8. His wife had called and scolded him, warning him that he had better get home for dinner. Or else! He apologized and left the room. I was a hopeless cause. He gave up. Someone else's turn to deal with the mess.

Another doctor entered, shook my hand and tried to reassure me, "You'll have this baby soon. I promise." He checked me and said, "Ah, a 9 now. See? Not much longer." Everyone stood around watching. Waiting. I started to feel quite a bit of discomfort.

"I think my epidural is starting to wear off," I advised the nurse. "It's really starting to hurt."

"Are you going to be okay?" The nurse asked.

"Well, yeah - if the baby comes soon. My epidural was only half when I had Chloe and I did fine, so I should be fine."

Half an hour later I was FINALLY ready to push.

"Okay, let's do this," the doctor stated, positioning my legs (with much help from the nurses and my husband) in the stirrups. "How good are you with pushing?" The doctor asked.

"Oh, I'm really good at pushing. I had my last two babies out in 2-3 pushes, so this should go quickly," I assured him.

"Great!" he replied. "On your next contraction go ahead and push."

I felt my stomach start to harden, I felt the pain begin and increase in intensity.

"Okay, push!" the doctor and nurse both called out at the same time.

I sucked in a deep breath, grabbed my legs and beared down. That's when I felt it. The intense, burning, ripping pain of natural labor - no epidural. It was gone. Done. Over. This was 100% natural. Just the way I DIDN'T want it.

"AAAAAHHHHHH!" I screamed. "I can feel it! I feel everything! I don't want to! It hurts so bad!"

"Just push" the doctor and nurse yelled. "You can do it!"

I pushed and yelled out. "NO! I can't! I can't do it! OH MY GOSH! I wanna' die! Please! I'm gonna' DIE! AAAAHHHHH!!!"

The pain was so intense, I can't even describe. You can never know the feeling unless you actually go through it. I NEVER want to feel that again. I felt like I was ripping in half. It was intense, it was traumatic, it was frightening. I yelled and groaned and called out to God to please take me away. I looked to my husband with desperation. I could see the horror in his eyes. Tears were welling up in them. He had never seen me like this. My other labors were wonderful, quick, easy, painless....pleasant, if you can even fathom putting the words pleasant and labor together. Yes, I had experienced pleasant labors.

Not this time. This was horrific! I felt like it would never end.

Ten pushes later, the head was still stuck. I couldn't get it out.

"GET IT OUT! I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!" I screamed. "PLEASE! PLEASE!" I pleaded out loud with God again to PLEASE take me out of my misery. Please spare me.

Just then the doctor stopped, looked up into my eyes and our eyes locked for a few seconds. I could see the worry and it scared me. "What's happening?" I sobbed. "Pleeaaase. Please help me. It hurts so bad I can't stand it."

He reached over and grabbed an instrument. The light caught it and the gleam shone in my eye. It was a knife. I gasped.

"Gah" I sputtered as he cut me. I felt it. I felt my body being cut open. Everything fell silent. I couldn't hear. My ears were ringing. My teeth began chattering.

And then suddenly the silence was interrupted. "Push!" The doctor and nurse called out again. I gasped in a big gulp of air and bore down hard.

"Yay! The head is out!" Everyone called out at the same time. The doctor began moving his arms about in a strange motion, working feverishly. Again, I could see desperation on his face. I wanted to push again. I wanted the pain to stop. I couldn't stand it. Why was he making me wait? What was he doing?

Finally he called out again, "Push. This is it. Let's get the shoulders and out!" I pushed hard a few more times and FINALLY! I felt instant relief. Somewhat. The intense burning was still very present. I still get twinges of that pain from time to time. I fell back against the bed and gasped for air, sobbing in between breaths.

But there was no sound. No crying baby. The doctor didn't hold him up for me to see. The room fell silent and the doctor continued to work feverishly at the bottom of the bed. My baby out of my sight.

"What's happening?" I managed in a weak voice.

"Just cleaning the baby up," the nurse assured me.

"Oh," I replied and fell back against the bed again, still trying to catch my breath.

Just then the doctor turned abruptly, my baby in his arms, and walked briskly to the warmer. The nurses followed and gathered around, blocking my view. Nobody said a word. The doctor continued to work feverishly. Still, no sound coming from my baby. I could feel fresh tears welling up in my eyes. I had no idea what was happening, but the feeling in the room was not a good one.

"Why isn't he crying?" I called out. "Is he okay?"

I don't know who said it, but somebody tried to reassure me that he was still "getting cleaned up."

FINALLY, I heard a cry. A huge sigh of relief washed over the room. Everyone suddenly looked more relaxed. My son was wrapped in a blanket and brought to me. It was then that I was informed that the reason I couldn't get him out was because the umbilical cord had been wrapped around his neck twice and he was blue and not breathing. It took the doctor a few minutes to get him going. Very scary. I'm so thankful that my son and I survived that horrific ordeal.

When the nurse took me to the bathroom to clean up, she kneeled down at my feet to help me and looked up into my eyes, hers filled with tears.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I feel so terrible. We should have given you another epidural bolus. We just didn't know what to do. We didn't want you to have to sit around for four hours afterward waiting for the feeling to come back".

"It's okay," I whispered through teary eyes. "I thought I would be okay too. I am. I'm fine. I'm just glad it's over."

Eventually I was wheeled to my recovery room with my son. We made a very brief stop at the nurse's station. Apparently word had already arrived there that I had been through a traumatic delivery and needed to be drugged up and left alone. "Oh you're the one," I heard repeatedly over the next several hours. "You poor thing." All this did was induce more tears and sobbing.

Despite the beautiful drugs they gave me and the fact that they took my son to "the cottage" for the night so I could sleep, I lay awake in a dark, lonely room, reliving my delivery experience over and over and over, sobbing all throughout the night.

Unusual Car Fresheners

I walked into a convenience store today to buy some gas. There was a basket with a sign that said "HOMEMADE CAR FRESHENERS $3.00 EACH. I was intrigued. They were very large Ziploc bags with an interesting substance inside. I decided to look through the basket and see what scents there were as the cashier rang me up. I picked up the first baggie. The sticker on it read SEX IN A HOT TUB. I could feel my eyebrows raise in reaction. I was curious. I didn't realize sex in a hot tub had a smell. I quickly glanced at the cashier to make sure he wasn't watching. I felt kind of naughty. He caught my glance and looked down sheepishly, shoving his hands into his pockets.

I waved the baggie in front of him and said, "Wow! This is an interesting name for a scent."

He kind of chuckled and, still staring at the floor replied, "Yeah. Sorry. My friend makes those. He asked if he could sell them here. Sorry about the names."

I grinned and slid it back in the basket. "A man made these, huh?" I said. That made sense. "Well, now I'm curious about the other scents in here." I rummaged through the basket and pulled out another. The sticker read SEX POISON UNDER MY TONGUE. I nodded as I read it, "Yummy."

The cashier leaned forward, trying to read the sticker. I turned it around so he could see. He scratched his head, nervously shifting on his feet, "Oh man! These are bad. I gotta' put these behind the counter. I'm really sorry, Ma'am. I didn't realize..."

"No. No. It's okay. Look. Here's cherry", I said as I pulled out another, trying to reassure him that they weren't all bad.

"Yeah, I think my friend's a little crazy", he said sheepishly, his face turning a deep purple at this point.

I sniffed a couple more. I'll spare you the names. They were pretty raunchy. The smell was actually really pleasant. Unusual, but pleasant. I liked them - the scents, not the names. I decided to buy one. I placed it on the counter and said, "I'll take this one. It smells good."

The cashier read the sticker name. It read ORGASMIC. Now, before you judge, I bought it because it smelled good, not because of the name. The cashier giggled and I grinned and chuckled.

"Yeah, well...you see that little white car out there?" I pointed to my sad little car sitting at the gas pump.

"Yeah", the cashier replied.

"That's mine. It's a Hyundai Elantra. It's not a bad car, but you get more than 2-3 people in there and it starts to feel like sardines packed in a can."

The cashier nodded in response.

I continued, "You see, I've got four kids that I jam pack in there with me. So, if your friend's homemade scent here is going to make riding in a Hyundai Elantra with a screaming infant and two whiny toddlers in the back seat an orgasmic experience, then he's gonna' end up a billionaire!"

And with that, I took my car freshener, tromped out to my little tin can on wheels, opened it up and placed it under my seat. It smells good...

Good For A Laugh

I'm a Rob Pattinson fan. I'm not gonna' lie. It's too late for that anyway. I've posted enough nonsense about my drool fests. Can't take it back now. It's on the world wide web.

HOWEVER! This is too funny to not post. We can all laugh about it, right Robby?

Heads Will Roll!

Aw, look at my little angel sleeping. Isn't that so sweet?

NO!

No, it's not! There's nothing sweet about that! Let me explain:

She just got through doing...

THIS!

Oh, here's a nice little close up shot for ya'.

That's right! She completely cleared all clothing from the rack of her closet, threw down several books from the top shelf (approximately 20-30) and proceeded to try everything on and strew it about the room.

I was ready to KILL! Apparently Chloe was her accomplice. No surprises there. This was their little "project" while I cranked out some transcription work today.Oh, now this is a cute picture. Aww. I love when they snuggle up and read together. Sweet little girls....

Wait a minute! Focus!

These children are not sweet! They're evil!

Just look at this mess! She actually said she was making pictures for me. Yeah! Can you believe the nerve - trying to pass this off as ART?!?! HA! You know how long it took me to clean that mess up?

Aw, now I remember that. They wanted to wash my car to help me because baby Zander was hurting my belly and they heard me complaining to their papa about how dirty my car was. (Sigh). Those little ladies...so swee....

Wait a minute! You're doing it again! Trying to throw cute pictures at me to make me forget how super naughty you are! Well, I haven't forgotten about...

THIS! Do you realize we had to throw out half of our game closet because of you two? Well...we did and I am NOT happy about that!

Stop it! These cute pictures aren't working on me anymore!


I said STOP it!THAT'S ENOUGH!!!

(SIGH) Oh, I give up! YOU WIN! Okay!?!?! Happy now?!

Terror In The Night!

"Mommy! Mommy!"

My eyelids fluttered. The high pitch of the faint screams slightly roused me from sleep. Though only a narrow hallway separates the master bedroom from the girls' room, the loud hum of the floor fan in my room drowns out almost all sound.

"Mommy! Mommy! Aaahhhhh!" The screams came again. This time my eyes shot open and were immediately drawn to the light of my alarm clock. 3:10 AM.

"Mmmm" I groaned and shut my eyes again.

"Mommeeeeeeee!" I could tell by the screams it was my 2-year-old. She had never awoken in the night like this. The sound of her shrill screams, growing louder by the second, frightened me and I thought something must be seriously wrong for her to be screaming this way.

I attempted to shoot up into a seated position, but my large, rock-hard belly forced me back against the bed. My head hit my pillow with a thud.

"Mommy! Mommy!" The wailing continued, growing even louder. My heart was pounding with fury and my breaths became pants. I attempted to sit up again, but failed miserably. Suddenly I felt a stabbing cramp in my side.

Knowing I wouldn't be able to reach her in time, I threw my arm behind me, frantically smacking at the space behind me, searching for the warm body of my husband.

"Honey. Honey. HONEY!" I finally shouted, continuing to bat at him, awkwardly attempting to awaken him.

"Huh? What? What's going on?" He mumbled deliriously.

"Babe, something's wrong with Chloe. She's screaming and I'm stuck. I can't get up. She's screaming louder and louder. Something's wrong. Please! Hurry! Run!" I pleaded desperately.

He rolled out of bed and clumsily stumbled across the room, nearly tripping over the laundry basket at the foot of the bed. I heard the thuds as he slightly fell against the door and felt around for the handle. As he threw our door open and then the girls' room door, I heard the screams grow louder.

"What's the matter, Chloe?" I heard him mumble.

Her screams and cries continued.

"Chloe! What's wrong?" He tried again, this time a little more coherent-sounding.

"My monkey's on the floor", she sobbed pathetically.

"What?" He mumbled.

"My monkey is on the floor", she enunciated each word deliberately through her sobs.

I heard him grunt as he stooped to pick it up and place it in her arms. Instantly the crying stopped and my poor husband stumbled back to our room and collapsed in the bed.

"What in the world? Is she screaming about her monkey?" I asked in a frustrated tone.

"I don't know. I don't know what she wants." And that was it. He was out. Poor guy.

Just to let you know how ridiculous this whole thing was - Chloe's bed is like 5 inches from the floor. All she had to do was reach her hand down and pick up the dang monkey! Instead she threw a screaming fit, which disturbed our sleep and caused me to have some pretty good, painful contractions for the next hour.

THANK YOU CHLOE!!!!!

Sherrif Joe's Got Nothing On Me!

Welcome to Tent City. I decided these ladies had committed one too many offenses and it was time for some prison camp to teach them a lesson.

Let's see what the little inmates are up to right now, shall we?

What's this? WHAT is THIS?! Are you two making moonshine in your bunk?

Yeah. Busted! AGAIN!

Biggest Dilemma Of All Time!

So, I'm gonna' need your help on this one. What do I throw away? The games...or the children?

What Does The Future Hold?

SO! It has come to my attention that the New Moon soundtrack will be released in early October and more and more bands who will be featured on it are being announced each week. I have not heard from Summit or Chop Shop and therefore am safely assuming I am not going to be included on this soundtrack. In all honestly, I'm actually not that disappointed. I really love the bands who are included on the soundtrack. Well, not all of them, but MOST of them. Also, I did feel extremely stressed about all of the expectations that would come with being featured on this soundtrack, i.e. photo shoots, interviews, music video, etc. and with Zander due to arrive within the next few weeks, I did NOT know how I was going to pull this off. I'm not saying I'm glad I didn't make it on - just surprisingly not as disappointed as I thought I would be.

Now a lot of questions are being raised by friends, fans, my husband and I and, I'm sure very soon - band mates. I have spent several weeks contemplating my next move with the thought in mind that there was a possibility we would not make it on. The competition was stiff and not only are we only really known by a couple of thousand people worldwide, but we have no representation at this time. SO...it's just one of those things. The music business is tough. You have to really want it bad. You have to be willing to fight for what you want with everything you've got and, most importantly, you have to decide how far you're willing to go and what you're willing to sacrifice.

Keeping that in mind and knowing that the future holds many possibilities and nothing is certain, here's what I plan to do:

1. Put the two songs I wrote for New Moon up on Itunes (maybe I can make back enough money to at least cover what I paid in recording fees).

2. Go ahead and lay down the song I wrote for Eclipse and put it out there on youtube and myspace, etc. and go ahead and submit the press kit (there's a new director for Eclipse, so you never know) and probably just put it up on Itunes right now, as well.

3. Focus on recording and finishing up the writing on a full length album, which will be entitled "The Beginning Of The End", which will feature songs about relationships, the state of the world, etc. At least one track will feature a rapper, which is something new I'm trying, but I'm really excited about the outcome of it. And I can't WAIT to hear the drums Bertrand will put with this (his background is progressive hard rock, so that with my sound should be interesting - in a good way).

4. Promote myself and my band as best as I can without sacrificing my family.

I love my kids and they along with my marriage are my priority, so as long as none of them are being jeopardized and I can find the balance, I will get out and play publicly and promote as best as I can. I have often discussed with my husband whether or not I would ever stop writing music and really, I don't think I could if I wanted to. I will always write music and I will always share it with whoever wants to hear it. Whether or not I'll achieve big name status in the music business is yet to be determined, but music is my passion and it's a passion I share with my husband and we will always pursue it in some way.

In the meantime, Bertrand is very seriously considering going back to school for an eventual masters in criminal justice and hoping for a career in crime scene investigation and I am feeling compelled to keep moving the direction I am - transcribing as much as I can while raising four beautiful children and, of course, writing in my spare time - music and books.

I am so grateful to family, friends, and people I don't know from all around the United States and even the world who have supported and encouraged me and continue to do so. That's a big part of what keeps me going - especially when I have my down times, which do happen. Just knowing that people out there appreciate what I've produced so far is very fulfilling and I hope to continue writing music and stories that entertain for years to come.

My Baby Boy!

I know, I totally threw you off there. You thought I was talking about Zander. But, today is my firstborn baby boy's birthday - John.

I've decided today I want to take a look back on some funny and some sweet moments about John's life so far.

What's In A Name?

Before John was born, I knew I was going to have a boy. I wanted a boy first because I never had an older brother, but a lot of my friends did and I was so envious. I wanted a boy to lead by example for my younger children. I was thrilled to death when the ultrasound confirmed it.

Name intended for him: Wesley Owen Done (Yes, I tried to name him after Wesley on "The Princess Bride")

Name actually given: John Ammon Done, Jr. (His daddy wanted a junior so bad, he begged for it as I was pushing him out in delivery)

Name he wanted at the age of 6: Jackie Chan (John idolized this man as a young boy. He watched his cartoon, his movies and just really wanted to be named after him)

Names he wishes for now: Zoran or Tormund (He thinks they sound like good, strong military combat names)

My Favorite Phases

John has been through a lot of phases, but two hilarious ones that stand out to me are:

1. The Chinese phase - John used to lament that he wished he was born in China. He just wanted to be Chinese so bad (mostly because he idolized Jackie Chan). He wanted his room decorated in Chinese characters and pictures and he dreamed of being a Ninja. It was so hilarious to me, but I felt bad for him at the same time. I totally understood his dilemma. After all, I always wished I was born an Indian Princess who was then kidnapped. (Don't ask, I don't have an answer for that one.)

2. The spaceship phase - John was obsessed with aliens and spaceships and rocket ships for a while. I'll never forget the time he came home from kindergarten with a little booklet about shapes. Each page had a shape and it said, "It was a circle. Now it's a..." and each student had to think of something they could turn the shape into. John's book went like this:

It was a circle. Now it's a.... face.
It was a square. Now it's a....spaceship.
It was a triangle. Now it's a....spaceship.
It was a diamond. Now it's a...spaceship.
It was a square. Now it's a...spaceship.
It was an oval. Now it's a....(take a wild guess).

I started laughing and John was immediately offended. I felt so bad, but it was so hilarious to me. I laughed so hard, I cried. I really wish I would have kept that booklet. It was too cute!

The Chosen Path

Some of us have dreams for our kids - dreams of what they'll be someday. I've often wondered this about each one of my kids and tried to guess what they might become. John has always pondered on this subject and voiced his desires since the age of about 5. Here's how his career choices have evolved.

Age 5:
John - Mom, when I grow up can I be a garbage man?
Me - A garbage man? Really?
John - Yeah!
Me- Why, honey?
John - Because I like garbage trucks. They're fun to drive.
Me - Have you ever driven one?
John - Not, but I really want to.
Me - Okay, honey. If you really want to be a garbage man, you can.

Age 6: Ninja.

Age 8:
John - Mom, I really know what I want to be now when I grow up.
Me - Okay. What is it?
John - An Army field medic.
Me - A what?
John - An Army field medic.
Me - What is that? I've never heard of that.
John - It's someone who goes out in the field and helps wounded soldiers and takes them back to base to do surgeries on them and get them better.
Me - How do you even know about this stuff?
John - I read about it and see it on TV.
Me - Wow! Okay. But that's really dangerous. You could get killed on the battlefield while trying to rescue someone.
John - (Shrugging) Well, I just want to help people, so I've gotta' take that risk sometimes.
Me - (Speechless).

Age 9: Detective/Spy. He begged me to subscribe him to a Junior Detective magazine (and I did) that came with spy gear and he loved playing spy and detective.

Age 10: History professor. He's a HUGE history buff. He loves to read about history and he watches The History Channel on a regular basis.

Age 11:
John - Mom. I know I've changed my mind about stuff a lot, but I really, really know what I want to be now.
Me - You don't want to be a history professor anymore?
John - No.
Me - (Whining) But why? Honey, you're so smart and you know so much about history and when you tell me about it, it's very interesting and I want to hear more and I HATED history in school. You should really be a history professor. I think you would be great!
John - Mom. Listen, I know I love history and stuff, but I don't want to be a history professor.
Me - (Sighing) Okay. What do you want to do then?
John - I want to be in the Marines.
Me - WHAT?!?!?!
John - I want to go to Westpoint.
Me - WESTPOINT?!?!
John - It's a military academy.
Me - I KNOW what it IS! But WHY!?!?!
John - Because, mom. I just really want to.
Me - You have to work really hard in school and be an excellent student at the top of your class to get in there.
John - You think I can't do it?
Me - No. I KNOW you can do it, but...really?
John - (Annoyed) Yes!
Me - Okay, well it's gonna' be tough! I mean, they're gonna' work you over! Some nights you might be lying in bed crying for me and wishing you were back home.
John - (Rolling his eyes) Mom. Whatever. I'm not a baby.
Me - Grown men cry, John. The military is TOUGH!
John - I know, but it's what I want to do.
Me - WOW! Okay then! Go for it! You can do it!

He's stuck by this now for two years. Today he is 13. He approached me a couple of weeks ago and requested that I sign him up for Krav Maga classes. I had never heard of it. It's Israeli Defense Military Training. Again I asked him how in the WORLD he even knew about that. He does a lot of reading and research and watches a lot of military and history shows. So, we found the best Krav Maga studio with the #1 expert in the country, which fortunately happens to be right here in Arizona and we've spoken with them and they are going to give him a complimentary training course in six weeks and if it's what he really wants, we're signing him up.

He's still adamant about wanting to attend Westpoint someday. And he's still adamant about joining the military and working his way up through the ranks. According to the Krav Maga expert, having four years of extensive training in Krav Maga will look amazing on his resume and open up many opportunities for him. Apparently it's used in military and law enforcement, which is right up his alley.

Honestly, it's scary to think about my son out there involved in battle. I'd much rather see him in a nice, safe classroom teaching history to college students. But, if this is what he wants, and he seems awfully determined (he takes after me), then I have to support him in it.

Favorite Sweet Moment:

When John was about 6 years old, I was a single mom and the two of us lived alone in a new condo I had just purchased. I told John he was the man of the house - not to put pressure on him, but to try and make him feel important. He took this role very seriously. One weekend I became very ill. I think it was the flu, but it was an extreme case. I couldn't get out of bed - AT ALL! I couldn't move. I couldn't take care of my son.

John came into my room and said, "Mom. You sleep and I'll take care of everything, okay?"

I said, "Honey, it's okay. Just play with your toys and watch some cartoons and I promise I'll feel better really soon and come out and take care of you, okay? You let me know if you need anything."

He said, "No, mom. You let ME know if YOU need anything." Then, with that, he shut my bedroom door and I fell into a deep sleep.

I awoke a couple of hours later to John entering my room. He had a big tray in his arms with some cold cereal and some other food items on it. I can't remember what they were, but he said,
"Mom. Don't worry. I cleaned the whole house and I made you some dinner."

It still brings tears to my eyes to think about that day. My sweet boy has always been very thoughtful and caring like that. He's always concerned about everyone else and how they feel and what they need. I'm thankful for such a sweet, loving son.

I can't believe he's 13 already. These 13 years have been full of laughter and tears, joy and fear. I look forward to the next 13 and I am excited to watch this young man continue to evolve. Happy Birthday, John!

Sense of Humor Required!

I'm 35 weeks and 2 days along today. I have been dealing with extreme sciatic and ligament pain, as well as false, but very painful and debilitating contractions for about two months now. I swear with every baby the pregnancy becomes more and more difficult and the contractions and major end-of-pregnancy discomfort starts in earlier each time. (That's why this is my last).

Friday afternoon I was having a particularly difficult time. It was really painful to walk, the contractions were constant and I was desperate to find some sort of remedy because I just had a feeling this was not real labor. I struck a deal with my husband - I'll take the girls on a drive to the bank (40 minutes round trip) so you can unwind and play drums, and then I'll bring them back, you serve them dinner and bathe them while I go to my parents' house and relax in their pool to get some pressure off, and then you put the girls to bed, I'll pick up a nice dinner for us and we can eat in peace and relax and enjoy the evening. Deal? Deal.

Upon arrival at my parents' house, I dipped in the pool, floated around a bit, heaved big sighs of relief, started feeling REALLY good and decided "I need to exercise. I am just so huge and I haven't come here and exercised in a while." Feeling invincible, I proceeded to do some light water aerobics in the pool. I was feeling good. It felt good to be able to move around any way I wanted with no pain. I started working up to a rigorous pace and before I knew it, an hour had passed and I had performed a pretty good workout routine. Satisfied, I glided over to the pool steps, closed my eyes, and breathed in the peaceful night air. The darkness began to close in around me and there weren't any lights on outside (and I was completely alone), so I decided to get out and head home with that nice dinner I had promised my husband.

I stood up in the pool and began to make my ascent. The first step up was fine, the second one felt a bit heavy and my stomach started to cramp, I took the final step up out and fell to my knees in pain. Extreme pain! The cramping and contractions were heavy and I could barely breathe. "Oh no", I thought. "What have I done?" I proceeded to crawl along the pool deck, each movement agonizing, but there was nobody around and I had to get to a chair at least. I finally made it after several excruciating minutes and pulled myself up into a deck chair. Eventually I felt good enough to get up and try to walk. I stood up and the cramping and contractions were there, but had definitely eased enough to the point where I could at least hobble.

I let myself into my parents' house and placed an order from their phone to Applebee's for take out - a nice steak and potatoes for my husband, a light chicken and salad for myself. Finally, I arrived home about a half hour later, having suffered some pretty good, hard contractions on the drive there, but luckily this is my fourth and I know how to breathe through them so I didn't have a wreck.

I hobbled into the house, grunting and groaning and Bertrand helped me set up for dinner. Several minutes later, I had to stop. I couldn't eat anymore. The contractions were regular and seemed to be coming on harder. Bertrand asked me if I wanted to go to the hospital, but I knew from my past nightmare experience with Chloe's delivery that I didn't even want to go NEAR a hospital until I was 100% sure this was real labor and at 35 weeks I felt there was a chance this was just the horrid false labor pains that put me out of commission and I could probably stop them. I requested a big glass of water and put my feet up on the couch for an evening of TV to try to relax and get the contractions to stop.

Three hours passed. With each passing hour the contractions began to come on harder and more painful. Then the back labor started in. I was exhausted from the constant laboring and sick of lying in front of the TV. There were so many things I wanted to accomplish that night - three hours of reality TV was not one of them.

It was nearly midnight and my poor, exhausted husband, facing a day of work in the heat the following morning, just wanted his bed.

"Let's go to bed, Babe." He suggested.

"Oh, honey," I replied. "There's no way I can sleep like this. I'm in so much pain and I'll just keep you awake. Why don't you go to bed and I'll get some transcription work done."

"How are you going to work with contractions?" He asked with concern.

"Oh, I'll be fine. Really. I'll just breathe through them. Work will keep me occupied at least, but I know I can't sleep like this."

He shrugged his shoulders and reluctantly agreed and headed off to bed. I pushed myself up into a seated position on the couch and began to rise onto my feet. I had to stop midway because of a heavy contraction, but breathed through it and stood straight up. Then I took a step forward and nearly fell to the ground. The pain that shot down the front and back of my left leg was so excruciating, I could barely stand it. I cried out and Bertrand came running.

"Are you okay? What's going on?" He called as he ran back out to me.

"Honey, I can't walk." I moaned in pain.

He stood there looking me up and down. "Well, what are you gonna' do?"

"I don't know, but I seriously cannot walk." I started to sob in frustration. "I hate this! Why does this have to be so awful?"

"Well, it's the last one, Babe. You're almost done. Maybe the baby will come this weekend." He tried to reassure me, but the tears flowed harder.

He asked me where I wanted to go in the house and, worried that I might not be able to make it back there later on, I requested the bedroom. Bertrand began to turn around in circles and look about the house - trying to form an idea of how to get me there. There was no possible way he could carry me, so he mustered up his creativity to find another way.

His eye suddenly caught our overstuffed chair full of fresh, hot towels he had recently pulled from the dryer. He picked one up, eyed the tile floor and began to lay it out before me.

"What are you doing?" I furrowed my brow and thought, "Oh no. This isn't what I think it is, is it?"

"Hop on. I'll pull you." He offered.

I contorted my face and then burst out laughing. "Are you serious?" I giggled.

"Yeah."

"Oh my gosh! You're gonna' break your back, Babe. You can't pull my weight on that thing." Now the tears flowing from my eyes were from my hysterical laughter.

"What? You think I'm weak?" He teased.

"No, I think I'm fat."

He tossed the towel back onto the chair and began scratching his chin, looking around for another idea.

I had one. "Honey, how about I just hold onto your arm and use you for support?"

He instantly offered up his arm and I began to take a step. I cried out in agony again and froze. Heaving a defeated sigh I moaned, "Oh my gosh! This is really bad. I really cannot take one more step."

"I've got it!" He said with excitement. "John has a big walking stick in his room. I'll grab that."

"No, honey. I would have to walk. Remember? I can't walk. I need to find a way to get to the room without taking another step because my left leg just isn't going to work right now. I really wish we had a wheelchair or something."

Then it hit me. We have two office chairs on wheels. "Babe!" I called out excitedly. "That's it! One of our office chairs. You could push me down the hall on that!"

His eyes widened, "Perfect. Hold on." He grabbed my office chair and wheeled it to me. I sat down and he proceeded to push me down the hall, both of us laughing at how pathetic this whole situation was. I felt so stupid. I buried my face in my hands and moaned in embarrassment. "This is just ridiculous!"

Finally! 12:30 AM. After a glass of water and some pain pills, I situated myself in bed, trying to find a comfortable spot, breathed through a few more contractions and before I knew it, I was out...and so was Bertrand. I slept really well until 8:00 AM when my girls came bursting through the door demanding chocolate milk. I sat up and then stood up from the bed feeling no pain. "Wow!" I exclaimed. Then I proceeded to walk down the hall at a brisk pace, my girls in tow - NO pain. NO problems. AMAZING! It's so interesting to me that I go from a night of heavy contractions and unbearable nerve and ligament pain to being perfectly fine! (SIGH) Ah, the joys of pregnancy!

All I have to say is - thank GOODNESS we have a sense of humor around here!

Oh Yes, They Did!

Mmmm hm. This is gonna' be my next career - betting all my money on this game - me against you. I win. You lose! Happy Birthday to me.

I'm Not Really Sure What To Make Of This!

I just walked around the corner one morning and this was the bold fashion statement I beheld. I'm not really sure what she's trying to say with the naked, one-sock look, which, by the way, belongs to her 12-year-old brother...(the sock, not the look)

but when you're trying to outdo your former high-heeled boot, no pants look, you've got to get REALLY creative!
Or perhaps it was a tribute to Michael Jackson and his one-glove look, but she couldn't find a glove, so she went for the sock. Not really sure. Anyway, it's the gutsiest fashion statement I've seen so far and I wish her lots of luck.

So Helpful....sometimes.

Sylvie is my little momma in the making. She just wants to do all of the things that I do and, believe me - I want her to do all of those things right now too. Wouldn't that be fabulous?

Yes.

Yes, it would.

HOWEVER...
There are times I just have to smile and say, "Oh, wow! Thank you, ladies!" even though there's water all over the floor and they're not REALLY cleaning these dishes. (SIGH) if only this illusion were a reality.


And now - the big brag! My 3-year-old did this herself. I had no hand in this. I'm not kidding. She folded ALL of this laundry AND separated it into the piles. I taught her how to do this several months ago because she's always begging to "help" me and it's not really help at all. In fact, it usually just creates more work for me or prolongs the housework, which I hate with a passion and just want to get over and done with, so I'm begging her to "PLEASE not help mommy" all the time (If she were smart she'd videotape this now and use it against me when she's a teen and I ask her to help).

ANYWAY, she had a complete breakdown one day several months ago. She was just devastated that I would not let her help me, so I heaved a big sigh and called her back into my room and held her in my arms and said, "Okay, baby girl. I'll teach you how to fold." Her eyes just lit up and boy did she learn fast. She now folds the laundry for herself and Chloe, as well as folding papa's handkerchiefs, towels and washcloths.

Oh, and just to top it off - she hugged me and kissed me and THANKED me for letting her fold the laundry! HA! I should videotape THAT and show it to her when she's a teen!

Make It Yourself!

I've been trying to find fun summer activities that don't cost too much. The other day I found this bouncy ball kit at Fry's for $4.00. It has enough materials to make several small or a few large bouncy balls. You simply pour the colored crystals into the mold (either solid or mix it up a bit) and then hold the mold in cold water for a few minutes, let it dry, then pop your ball out and bounce away.

(This is Sylvie counting to 60. She counts to 10 six times and holds up a finger each time. As you can see, she's reached 10 so far...it's gonna' be a while...)

Now, they don't bounce as well as a regular bouncy ball, but they're pretty bouncy and just the fact that they made it themselves made it all the more fun. It kept my ladies occupied for a couple of hours and amazingly they didn't break anything in the house.

Well...that's actually because there's nothing left to break in the house. They've already broken everything. Anyway...

Chloe with her small ball.

Sylvie with her small ball.

Here's a shot of the larger one Chloe made.

Now THIS Is Creepy!

This is another ghost story, so if you don't like it, click away from this site immediately.

Last night I went to bed at midnight. Everyone else was in bed at this point and I walked into the kitchen for my usual glass of ice water and dose of pain pills before bed. The kitchen was clean. There was nothing on the floor. I took my pills, shut off the light, and went to bed.

Amazingly, I slept like a baby last night, perhaps due to the fact that I haven't slept AT ALL the past two nights.

This morning I awoke at 7:00 AM- the first one up, as is usually the case. I entered the kitchen and grabbed a glass for my morning glass of ice water. I opened the fridge to look for something quick to grab for my breakfast as I began my morning typing ritual (trying to crank out as many reports as possible before my children awake only to interrupt me every 5 minutes).

I found some already sliced cantaloupe, dumped it into a bowl, grabbed my glass of ice and turned to exit the kitchen. That's when I noticed something small and dark in the middle of the kitchen floor. I squinted my eyes and leaned in for a closer look. It was a cockroach. A smashed cockroach, right in the middle of my kitchen floor. I furrowed my brow. "Who would leave a smashed cockroach right there in the middle of the kitchen floor?" I thought to myself.

I set my bowl of fruit and glass of ice down on the counter and grabbed a paper towel, then scooped the cockroach and his guts up and threw him in the trash. Then I scratched my head and thought, "Oh well, I'll ask Bertrand and John when they wake up. Must have been one of them and they decided just to leave it there this time."

I then went back to work.

7:45 Bertrand arose. I asked him if he had gotten up in the night. He responded with "No, why?" I asked again, "Are you sure? You didn't get up and go into the kitchen at all last night?" Again he responded with, "No! Why?" I then explained about the smashed cockroach. He shrugged his shoulders and walked on.

8:30 John arose. I asked HIM if he had risen in the night and gone to the kitchen for anything. "No," he responded. "Are you sure, John?" I pressed. "You're not in trouble or anything. I'm just wondering about something. I'm just curious."

"Mom!" he insisted. "I didn't get up. I'm telling the truth. What's going on?"

I told him about the cockroach smashed in the middle of the kitchen floor this morning. His eyes got a little big and he said, "Told you, mom. I knew there was something in this house."

We have no pets and there is NO WAY my 2 or 3-year-old would have gotten up in the night, smashed a cockroach to that degree and not screamed. My girls don't get up in the night and leave their bedroom at all. I'm sure of this.

So, that leaves only one explanation, really - unless you can think of another reason why this cockroach would be smashed in the middle of my floor.

I do know that this presence we've all felt does tend to hang out in the kitchen a lot at night because that's where we hear most of the noise coming from. And I have spent a few nights on the couch in this house - the couch right by the kitchen - and have heard shuffling footsteps and things moving around on the counter.

I guess I should be grateful if it is in fact the ghost man we all sense around here. At least he's helpful.

I'll Make You Sorry!

This is truly a tale of horror!

Now don't go frantically grabbing at your mouse, trying to click out of here quick because you don't want to read another ghost story. This is definitely not a ghost story. It's a horror story of another dimension.

Let's just say, you definitely do NOT want to interrupt my shower. That is my ME time. My 5-10 minutes of peace...okay and singing practice time (I sound amazing in there, but I guess you'll never know as I won't be giving any concerts from that location).

ANYWAY, not a minute passed from the time I closed the bathroom door before I re-emerged, naked, pregnant body covered in soap with a pile of soapy hair on my head. Despite my pleas with my screaming ladies to PLEASE stop screaming and fighting because "mommy is trying to shower right now. I'll take care of your issue as soon as I get out. Give me two minutes PLEASE!", they insisted on screaming louder and I had Sylvie shouting my name incessantly at the bathroom door and pounding, accompanied by Chloe screaming.

"Oh that is IT!" I shouted. I smacked the faucet off, threw the shower door open, unlocked the bathroom door and whipped it open - revealing my pregnant belly in its naked glory. The look of terror on my girls' faces was PRICELESS!

Now, I'm not really sure how to define it. I couldn't tell if they were thinking:

1. Oh my gosh! We are in SO much trouble now!

OR

2. Oh my gosh! Is THAT what I'm gonna' look like when I'm a mommy because if so, I don't think I want to be a mommy anymore!

Either way, soaking the carpet in soapy water, I grabbed both girls by the arm and tromped across the hall to their room, set them on their beds and yelled, "Now you will sit there until I am done showering. THAT was RIDICULOUS! You can wait just a minute for mommy to shower! You stay on your beds until I get out!"

They've been laying low ever since. Good choice, my ladies. Good choice.

Watch What You Say!

Oh boy! Here we go again. Kristin said something REALLY stupid in front of her little ladies and it came back to haunt her. Are you surprised? Probably not. So here's the story:

I decided to go to McDonald's today for lunch with my ladies. Now, Bertrand, I know you're reading this and I know what you're gonna' say at this point.

Yes, I remember the conversation we once had about how me taking the girls to McDonald's to eat was grounds for divorce because you will not sit back and watch me slowly kill our children by feeding them propane-dipped chicken nuggets, etc., etc.

HOWEVER, when you grilled us steaks the other night, you got lighter fluid all over them and you were expecting us to actually EAT them like that, so what's the difference?

ANYWAY, we can discuss this later. I have a story to tell and I'm sure you'll be pleased to discover this does NOT have a happy ending. Oh, wipe that smug look off your face!

SO, where were we? Ah yes - McDonald's. Drive-thru to be exact. I don't like to actually go into those places unless I feel the need to punish my children for being particularly unruly. Just because they don't see me throwing them into the greasy, germ-infested plastic tunnels (which, by the way, are becoming unhinged at one particular McDonald's) as punishment, doesn't mean it isn't.

A truck came around the corner from a different direction, cut me off and dashed ahead of me into the drive-thru line. I thought, "Okay, whatever" and continued to pull forward when just then ANOTHER small truck comes around that same corner and cuts me off even worse than the first truck. I'm thinking, "Okay, it's OBVIOUS I was next in line. Clearly this person is just plain rude!" So I slammed on my brakes very deliberately and dropped my jaw and said aloud, "WOW! That's INCREDIBLE!"

I heard two little voices behind me inquiring, "What mommy? What's indec-a-lubble?"

"Nothing," I replied.

"MOMMY!" the little voices persisted. "What's indec-a-lubble?"

I heaved a big sigh and decided to explain since the truck two spaces ahead who had initially cut me off was taking FOREVER to order. "Well," I started in. "There's a disgusting old lady with missing teeth in front of us who just cut us off and mommy is NOT happy."

"A ugly old lady, mommy? I wanna' see her!" My daughter said with excitement and started trying to wriggle in her carseat to get a better look. "I wanna see missing teef!"

I know! I know! NOT a nice thing to say and so out of character for me...well, in front of my impressionable children at least. Look, I know this is not an excuse, but:

1. I'm big and pregnant and miserable (And no, I will not stop complaining about that until this baby finally gets out of my belly).

2. It's stinkin' hot out!

3. It was a particularly horrid morning with my girls fighting constantly, I had accomplished next to nothing and I was dead tired.

Besides, she did look like this:


I'm not kidding! No, she was definitely a woman. I could tell. Barely, but I could still tell. But she seriously looked like this guy. It's the first thing I thought of when I saw her.

ANYWAY!

So, the girls kept straining to see this "ugly old lady with missing teef" and never could get a good look. I tried to change the subject and convince them to drop it, which eventually ended in success...or so I thought.

After lunch I decided to take the girls to the Fry's by our house. They LOVE going there because the carts have mini cars attached to the front, so they can pretend they're driving me around the store to where the good food is....or both try climbing out the front windshield space, hitting each other, screaming, sometimes falling out the front or sides, etc. It was fun the first few times, but now they've just taken it for granted and drive me NUTS! Anyway, we only needed a few things, so I decided to just tough it out.

So, we're standing in the checkout line finally and I'm spacing out, skimming the magazine headlines, trying to decide if I'm so desperate for an escape, that I'd be willing to drop $3-4 on a magazine about the Desperate Housewives of...I don't remember. Name a city where there AREN'T a bunch of desperate housewives.

Suddenly, I hear a little voice, repeating something over and over, bringing me out of my temporary lobotomy.

"Mommy, is dat da ugly old lady wif missing teef?"

It was my 2-year-old. Suddenly my 3-year-old started chiming in. They continued to ask over and over. I furrowed my brow in confusion and started glancing around, very slowly coming out of my retarded condition, trying to figure out what they were talking about. Suddenly, my eyes fell upon an old, puffy set of ankles riddled with varicose veins. I could feel my eyes widen in their sockets. My breathing became slightly labored, my heart pounding furiously. My eyes slowly moved their way up the body of this person in front of us until they reached the face. It was indeed a much older woman. One who could easily be classified as "old lady". The panic set in. She did NOT look amused.

"Uhhh....." I panted. Their interrogation continued. "That's enough, ladies!" I shouted. But it didn't stop.

"MOM! E! I saaaid...is that a ugly old lady?" My 3-year-old enunciated each word in defiance. I could have choked her.

"SYLVIE-FAYE! I said that's ENOUGH!" I snarled. "That is NOT an ugly old lady! Don't you EVER talk like that AGAIN!"

"Yes she IS a ugly old lady, mommy!" Sylvie insisted. If I could have shot laser beams out of my eyes at that moment and reduced my child to a mere puff of smoke, I just might have. I was shocked and humiliated and completely thrown off guard at my daughter's beligerence. This could only have come from one source. I couldn't bear the thought of it. I knew very well where this behavior came from - ME!

I wanted to die a thousand deaths. I've drawn this story out long enough, so let me just end by saying that I apologized profusely to this old lady, begged her forgiveness on my daughter's behalf and insisted I had no idea why she was saying these things (I'm a terrible liar, I know - even to strangers). The lady was not so forgiving and I can't say that I blame her. She paid for her groceries and stormed out of there completely miffed!

I wish I could say it ended there.

(SIGH)

I pushed forward, my face a deep purple at this point, fighting back tears of humiliation welling in my eyes. "Oh my gosh! I'm so embarrassed right now." I unloaded on the poor cashier.

"That's okay," she replied, then bent down to my daughter's level and said, "She WAS an ugly old lady, wasn't she? And mean too."

I clenched my jaw and grimaced. My daughter nodded her head and said, "Yeah. She's a mean, ugly, old lady!"

"Yeah," my 2-year-old chimed in. "She a mean, ugly....(hesitating, trying to remember the rest of the adjectives)..."

My 3-year-old decided to help, "Stupid, old lady!"

"Sylvie! No! No!" I scolded firmly.

My panting returned. I was completely emotionally exhausted at this point. I just wanted to get back to the safety of my own home. Obviously my children are not completely fit for social interraction. Time to return to the cave and start over.

The End

HA! I WISH!

We got outside the store and made our way through the parking lot. Moving down the aisle at a somewhat moderate speed, my eyes caught sight of the woman from the store. I felt that pins and needles sensation of instant fear set into my skin. At this point I'm already sweating and panting.

"Mommy, look! That's the stupid, ugly, old lady!" Sylvie just wasn't gonna' let it go.

"Yeah stupid lady!" Chloe added.

They both started giggling. I glanced over in horror at the old lady. I could see her attempting to shoot laser beams out of her eyes at this point, but luckily they short circuited and I made a successful dash to my car, narrowly avoiding an early death.

AAAAHHHHHH!!! Let me tell ya' - my girls got the lecture of a LIFETIME on the way home from the grocery store and they were sent immediately to bed for a nap!

I've Gone International

Gotta love Youtube. I've been able to reach a lot more people, most from other countries. I would say more than 50% of my subscribers and fans are from the UK and now joining the ranks are Bahrain and Panama City.

Recently a young girl from Bahrain wrote me and asked permission to make a music video for my song "Don't Walk Away". In her e-mail she wrote, "I'm sure you get this request all the time" (I don't. She's the first) and "I know you have millions of fans" (That's my fantasy, but I can only claim a very small fraction of that number). Anyway, I was completely flattered, of course, that this young girl was such a big fan and wanted to help promote me, so I granted her permission to use my song to make a video and this is what she came up with.

I think it's really sweet and she wrote me again asking me to please comment and rate it. So, to show my appreciation, I'm promoting her video. Please go watch it and leave her a nice comment if you can. She's just a young girl and I think this is all really cute. She's just helping me live the fantasy that I'm some big rock star from the US.

This is a joke, right?

Is it just me or is this latest advertisement on TV extremely disturbing?

It's for Latisse. It's a prescription you need from your doctor. It makes your eyelashes grow and thicken and darken. Sounds fabulous - especially for someone like me who has practically non-existent eyelashes and lately they seem to have shrunken. I'm not kidding. It's very sad. I have to pack on the mascara and buy the kind that supposedly extends your lashes, but that doesn't even seem to work anymore, so I see this commercial and I think, "Oooh. Sounds awesome. I wanna' try it..."

Until they list the SIDE EFFECTS! HELLO!

First of all, EVERYONE who uses the product should expect red, itchy, irritated eyes. Okay, maybe not TOO bad. Hopefully after the treatment, all of that will stop and it will have been worth it. However, it is recommended you use this product for something like 18 weeks.

And the side effects are:

1. Discoloration of eyelids, which MAY be reversible. "MAY" being the keyword here.

2. Discoloration of your IRIS! May cause them to turn brown - permanently! ARE YOU SERIOUS, PEOPLE?

I read the review on-line from people who have used this product. They say they wake up the morning after applying and they look and feel like they have conjunctivitis. One woman said her eyelashes were falling out!

What is this world coming to? What are we doing to ourselves? It's all about looks, apparently. Inner beauty? Pff. Who cares. Give me some Botox and collagen lip injections, a spray on tan and now LATISSE! No pain, no gain, right?

I heard a sad prediction a few years ago that eventually the USA would reach a point where such a large percentage of the population would be indulging in plastic surgery and aesthetic procedures that those who decided to age naturally would look plain and hideous. That's pretty sad.

I imagine if I used Latisse, my result would turn out something like this:

It's Baaaack!

I know I'm totally posting this to the wrong blog, but I think most have forgotten about my other blogs since I haven't posted there in ages, so here goes:

There was a man here. He disappeared. And now he's back.

It was mid afternoon. A weekend. Bertrand was away. I expected him home in about an hour. The girls were asleep. I fell asleep. No one else was around....or so I thought. I eventually stirred out of my sleep and stretched. I rolled over and checked the clock. It was 5 minutes past the hour I expected my husband home. Then I heard something - the clicking of keys. Keyboard keys. To a computer. Bertrand's computer, to be exact - in the room right across the hall.

"Hmmm. He's home already," I thought. Then I drew in a deep, cleansing breath and closed my eyes, nestling into my pillow to catch a few more Zs. The intermittent clicking of the keys followed by clicking of the mouse, along with the occasional squeak of movement in the chair continued. Not to mention, there were a few sniffs in there, as if he was clearing his nose.

After a few moments I heard the carport door unlocking and opening. I opened my eyes and listened intently. "Where's he going?" I thought to myself. Then I heard the footsteps moving down the hall - moving in my direction. I laid very still and listened. Then Bertrand appeared in the doorway of our bedroom.

"Hey, hon. Have you been sleeping?"

I furrowed my brow and studied him - thinking. Bertrand continued into the room and began changing his clothes. "Hmmm?" He inquired after my unresponsiveness.

"Honey? Did you JUST come home? As in just now?" I asked.

"Yeah. Didn't you hear me come in?" He responded casually.

"Ummm....yeah." I glanced toward the doorway, thinking, worrying. Was he back?

"What's up, hon?" Bertrand asked. He could tell something was going on in my head and my responses weren't the norm.

I drew in a long breath and sighed. "I swear you've been at your computer, typing, clicking the mouse, moving around in the chair, and....sniffing for the last little while."

"Sniffing?" He asked, chuckling slightly.

"Well, you know - that noise you make when you're clearing your nose. Everyone does it. But, yeah - definitely a sniffing sound."

"Well, I just got in", he reminded me.

"Yeah. I know, but then....who's been on your computer?"

He shrugged nonchalantly and went about his business.

Creeeeepy.

So, here we are several days later. My sister came over with her toddler son and something was clearly bothering him. He kept staring at a certain part of the room and fussing and clinging to my sister. My sister turned to me and said, "That's so weird. It's like there's something over there that he sees and it's bothering him." Could it have been....'The Man'?

Time to move.

A Disturbing Discovery

Today my daughter Sylvie, at the tender age of almost 4 had to learn a very scary truth. I don't know if she'll ever be the same after this. She may require therapy later on. Only time will tell...

Now, I've written before of the many spirits that seem to haunt this place we currently inhabit. We've all witnessed them. But now it seems there is yet another sort of creature that inhabits this place and my poor, sweet daughter was the first to catch sight of it. This one makes a snarling, grunting sort of noise. It's positively frightening when you hear it - especially the first time. It totally catches you off guard. It comes from behind a certain doorway down the hall. Here's how it was first discovered:

This afternoon I had to come home early from church. The pregnancy is wearing on me and I had an episode where I felt really dizzy and shaky and short of breath and had to just come home and lie down for a bit. My husband was left with the two girls and of course they wanted to stay with me, so he left us three in the master bed with a movie so we could relax and hopefully doze off.

Fifteen minutes later the girls were restless and I was exhausted. I could tell we all needed a nap, so I directed the girls to their own room and followed close behind to tuck them in for a nice afternoon nap. All was quiet and we all fell into a deep sleep.

The rest of this story is according to my husband who witnessed this horrific occurrence with my daughter. He told me later that when he returned home from church he was on his computer and suddenly he saw Sylvie in the hallway. She slowly crept out of her room and tiptoed cautiously onto the tile floor of the hall, particularly interested in the sound coming from behind the doorway across the hall. She didn't see her daddy behind her on the computer. She was so engrossed in discovering what the noise was behind the door. Bertrand, hearing the noise and seeing Sylvie creep closer to it, got up quickly from his chair and followed close behind.

Bertrand claims at this point Sylvie turned and saw her daddy behind her. Her eyes were wide as saucers and she whispered loudly, "Papa! There's a monster in your room!"

He explained to her that it was just mommy - SNORING!

"No, Papa. It's a monster!" She insisted very adamantly.

"No Sylvie", he replied. "It's just mommy snoring. Come with me. I'll show you."

He took her into our room and she peered around the corner, still cautious, and saw me lying in the bed, and heard the horrible, loud, snorting noise.

She then turned to him and said, "Wow, mommy makes a lot of noise."

When I awoke later, Bertrand relayed the story to me. I was so mortified and it sounded so funny, I laughed until I cried. I called out to Sylvie, "Hey, did you hear mommy snoring today?" Sylvie nodded her head with big eyes and said, "Yeah, mommy. You gotta' stop doing that."

THAT is what poor Bertrand has to sleep next to every night. Apparently the more pregnant I am, the louder and more obnoxiously I snore. It's so mortifying, but this story was too funny not to tell. So there you have it - there's a ferocious beast that lurks in the master bedroom and it's called MOMMY SLEEPING!

Record Contract Competition

I've just recently entered the MySpace Rock The Space record contract competition. If you like my song, please help promote me by going to this link and placing this widget on any of your sites or emailing the link to it to people you know. I need all the help I can get!

And thanks to everyone who has supported and encouraged me thus far!

http://adsupport.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=rockthespace.fan&sproutid=EQAD08YeBZ83cDtQ

Don't forget to vote!

This Is Why I Can't Sleep At Night!

Because I have stuff like this buzzing around in my head. I seriously was not trying to write another song for "New Moon". It just happened...in my sleep...literally. So, I got up, laid it down on my Korg and went back to bed. Over the next couple of days I played around with effects and sounds and tweaked it a bit. Finally, on the third day I saved it to disk and called Brian, my bass player, because he has a recording studio in his house and he's the only one who's recorded me so far.

So, I'm all excited to finally get this one down because the second I record it, I can actually relax again. It's weird, but it's like my music hounds at me until it's recorded and then I can move on with my life. I get down there to his studio, we get all set up, I go to load up my song, expecting to push play, let it record, then sing along to it, and be out of there within 30 minutes.

NOT SO! Because NOTHING is allowed to be easy in my life EVER! I go to load it up - no song. Disk has an error. NO STINKIN' SONG! I'm like, "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!?!?!" I think I scared Brian. He was afraid of what I might do next like destroy all of the equipment of burn the studio down. Something drastic. I AM pregnant and emotional. I took a few deep breaths and said, "Okay, you know what? This is NOT going to stop me. I'm doing this anyway because I want to sleep again at night".

Thanks to Brian's enormous amount of patience, I was able to lay it down. Funny thing is - it sounded way better doing it track by track. I think this recording actually came out way better than what I had recorded, so we've decided this came about due to perhaps a little heavenly intervention.

ANYWAY, so I'm now also submitting this for consideration to Summit. Tomorrow I'm sending out not one, but three packages with letters, lyrics sheets and CDs.

This song is called "My Plea". It's Bella talking to Jacob - basically letting him know the fabulous news - "Even though I've totally clung to you for months on end and it seemed like you had a chance with me, you didn't. I still want Edward". It's all very depressing and in case you're wondering - no, I don't do happy songs. There are no happy songs in me. It's all depressing. Welcome to my world. I thrive on the dark side of things. My husband is one amazing man to be with me. I'm not an easy personality behind closed doors.

Crazy Mind Games

It's official. I have major insomnia - that crazy/beautiful state of mind I find myself in every morning at around 3:00 AM. So, here's how it goes:

My round ligament pain starts in, piercing and throbbing and I begin to toss and turn, trying to find a comfortable position, but alas I fail. I flip over and check the time. 3:10. And here's how the conversation in my mind goes. In fact, I think sometimes I'm so delirious, I actually mumble it because sometimes my husband mumbles, "Huh, what?" half asleep and I mumble back, "Sorry, babe. Nothing."

Anyway, so here's how my half-functioning brain torments me:

3:10 - 3:10? Oh, yeah. That's in a movie. 3:10 to Yuma. I heard that's good. Maybe I should see it. Bertrand really likes it. I remember he pointed it out at the store the other night.

3:11 - 311. That's a cool band. How does that song go again? Oh yeah. (Begin singing in head) I know a drugstore cowgirl. So afraid of getting bored. She's always looking for something. So many things ignored. I try to be not like that. Some people really suck. (humming because I don't know the words at this point)...chalk it up to bad luck. (Humming the lead guitar part).

And repeat a few more times. Then turn over and fade back into sleep.

3:45 - 3:45? What can I do with that? Nothing. 20 more minutes and it will be 3:65. There are 365 days in a year....wait a minute...but the clock won't say 3:65 because there are only 60 minutes. Huh. Okay. Anyway, well soon it will be 4:00 and there are some things I know that start with 4.

I toss and turn a bit more, trying desperately to fall asleep before this psychotic mind game continues. But alas, I fail again!

4:09 - 409? (Moaning). Oh! Oh! Wait. Formula 409. Cuts grease. Yeah, that's a good cleaner. I haven't used it in a while. I used to buy that all the time. I wonder why I stopped.

4:11 - 411. Anyone got the 411? (chuckling to self) I wonder who came up with that. That's so weird. Oh, hey maybe it's because you have to dial 411 to get information, so somebody thought it would be cool to say, "Hey, give me the 411" meaning give me information (Yeah, I actually explain things out to myself - remember, I'm completely delirious!)

Moaning and groaning, I toss and turn some more.

(Whining) I don't know any more things that start with 4 right now. I'm so tired. PLEASE go to sleep. Go to sleep brain. Go to sleep. Oh, please don't let this game go until 5:00. Please.

Eventually I give up around 4:30 every morning, get up, go to the family room and watch TV until I'm so dead tired I can't stand it (about one hour). Then I go collapse in bed again for another two hours. Then I drag all day. Nice, huh?

Sorry, but I HATE pregnancy! Hate it! I love having the baby. I actually like the labor and delivery part. I'm a freak of nature! But, the nine months of torment and not being able to sleep - NO THANK YOU! Somebody just shoot me!

This Is What Pregnancy Does To Me!

So, I found this video and I can totally relate to "Edward" in it. I want to control myself when it comes to fast food, but pregnancy ruins everything. I don't know that I would have the self-control to do what "Edward" did in the end, though. He is truly the master!

My First Attempt

So, I've been sitting around trying to promote myself for the last month, approximately. And I feel that with this Friday being the start of the new moon (check your calendars, people. I lieth not), this is the perfect time to submit my song and letter of intent for the upcoming movie "New Moon".

Okay, seriously, I didn't plan it that way. I just happened to look at my calendar and I was like, "Well, look at that. It's the start of the new moon. What a coincidence".

Anyway, here's a pic of what I put together. Very basic, I know, but it's all I've got and I'm hoping that my passion will show through in the letter.



And now...I will hold my breath.

The Twi - LIGHT- iest Fan of ALL!

This is so stinkin' hilarious! I HAD to post it! This guy is awesome! Makes me wish I lived in So. Cal right next door to him so we could be best friends forever!

My New Campaign!

I wrote this song for "New Moon". It's called, "Don't Walk Away" and I (actually my younger brother who knows way more than I do) put it on youtube and garageband.com and soundclicks and myspace and...well...just trying to get it out there and heard in order to reach my goal.

The CEO of BMI in Nashville has heard it and likes it and supposedly is going to try to use his connections to get it in, but I don't expect people to make things happen for me, so I'm also campagining on my own. Here's my song! If you like it, go to youtube, rate it, pass it on to everyone you know. If you don't, just roll your eyes and ignore me. I'll never know. LOL. But, I'm HOPING you like it!

Trying To Figure This Whole Thing Out!

So, I've had a problem applying makeup properly. I've never really figured it out. I remember when I was about 13 we moved back to the United States from Scotland and over there you can't wear makeup at school. OR shave your legs. It's just not allowed. Not that you would really need to shave your legs anyway because you're required to wear thick, woolly gray or black tights with your thick, woolly skirt, so you could have forests growing there and NOBODY would EVER know.

And, I mean, it's good and bad because you don't have to worry about shaving your legs like EVER, but at the same time, if you don't ever have to, then how would you ever learn? You know what I mean? ANYWAY, I'm off on a tangent already.

FOCUS!

I came back from Scotland and all of my old friends were wearing makeup and shaving their legs and I was like, "Wow! That is so cool! I need makeup!" So my mom took me down to Walgreen's with my friend, Diana, and I was looking at the wall o' makeup and I was like, "What do I do?" So my friend was all, "Just get like your favorite color and that can be your eyeshadow. And look, they have like every color of mascara. It's totally cool!" And I was like, "Do they have blue?" and she was all, "Yeah" and I was all, "Awesome!" So, I bought blue eyeshadow, blue eyeliner, and blue mascara and I was really excited.

Anyway, apparently my great aunt in Illinois who happened to own a Merle Norman cosmetics store saw a photo of me and she realized that a major intervention needed to happen ASAP, so she came down here with her trailer of makeup and showed my sister and I how to apply it properly. She even left us samples so we'd have some decent colors to wear for a while.

But it ran out and also I could never quite apply it the way she did. I've always been a bit of a slow learner.

Okay, so anyway, I did this pageant thingy in high school because everybody else was doing it and it was like the cool thing and I kind of wanted to, but I also felt stupid. Anyway, I did it. And they had to teach us how to apply stage makeup. And I'm pretty sure somewhere in the tutorial they explained that this was stage makeup, but I missed that key word. So, when the pageant was finally over (and no - I did not win - ANYTHING), I started wearing this really gaudy, bright makeup and some guy at school was all, "Why do you wear your makeup like that, Poulsen? You look weird." I was devastated! That was it! I went to browns and really neutral stuff and just didn't wear much at all because I didn't even really know how to wear it anyway.

Years went by and I just kind of barely made it through, still never wearing my makeup properly.

My husband started to complain that my makeup didn't seem right and was even "boring". I didn't know what to do. Then my little sister, Larkie, came to the rescue. She would apply my makeup like every day and my husband would come home and be all, "Wow. I like your makeup. Did Larkie do it?" And I was all, "yeah".

But then, like all good things do, the daily ritual died....like a new grapevine that you just planted and were all excited about, but then your son sprayed weed killer on it and it died. Just shriveled up and hung there dead. (Yeah, I'm still bitter about that vine).

ANYWAY! Despite my efforts to imitate my sister's work, I have not been able to pull it off. My husband no longer comments on my makeup because...well...it sucks and he knows Larkie isn't doing it anymore because he can just tell. It's not hard.

Wow! You're still with me? Cool. Okay, this is the end part. I promise.

The conclusion to my "Lack Of Makeup Skills" saga came this afternoon. I was on youtube because I was trying to find more Rob Pattinson videos. WHAT?!?! You know you do the same thing.

Anyway, by some freak accident (actually, they say all things happen for a reason) I came upon this makeup tutorial and....all I can say is WOW! WOOWWWWW! Amazing! I love it! I can't wait to try it! I had to include the video because it's just...words cannot describe. So, here you go. Check it out! And watch for my new look. (She said it's even appropriate for church - I'm so excited).

It's How You're SUPPOSED To Be!

Okay, here's some more movie fun for ya'. But this time no review.

Bertrand and I settled into bed for yet another night of movie-watching until midnight when we both have to rise between 6:00 and 7:00 the next morning. I know, I know - totally irresponsible. I didn't say we were smart. We just like movies, okay?

So, this time we watched a semi-foreign indie film (we love those). It's about an American girl and she has no luck with dating. Her friends are all engaged or married or in serious relationships and she can't seem to find anyone and she's totally beautiful and intelligent - just has bad luck.

She's finally HAD it with dating. She tells her friend she's done (that's when you always find someone - the second you're done, right?), but she has this coworker guy who keeps bugging her to come to his party, so she finally gives in and gets dressed up and goes to his party...and it's totally lame, so she tries to leave, but suddenly this French guy shows up and he's all charming and romantic and forward, but in a good way. So, he's trying to get her to stay and she can't resist. I mean, who CAN resist a Frenchman? Look at me! I certainly couldn't.

ANYWAY, this guy is very forward about wanting to kiss her and telling her how he feels and he's just so romantic it'll just melt you right through the screen.

I heard Bertrand chuckling softly to himself, so I sighed and turned to him with a raised eyebrow and said, "What?!"

B: That's so ridiculous.

K: Why is that ridiculous?

B: That's not how we really are in France.

K: Really?

B: Yeah.

K: I don't believe you. I think that's EXACTLY how Frenchman are...except for you. I got cheated!

B: Nope. You're wrong. That's just how Americans THINK we are.

K: Well, you know what? That's how you're SUPPOSED to be, SO TAKE NOTES!

And with that, I got up and stormed into the bathroom to brush my teeth.

Of course, this was all in fun - sort of. I really DID want him to take notes, though.

The next morning he put it into the envelope to send back to Netflix and I was like, "What are you doing?! Is that my movie?"

B: YOU'RE movie?

K: I love that movie. You better not be sending it back right now.

B: You're gonna' watch it AGAIN?

K: YEAH! Of course! I LOVE that movie. That French guy in it is amazing! I want to watch it again and again!

Funny thing...he kind of started acting like the guy in the film.

YAY! I win! I got my stereotypical, American-movie-version Frenchman after all!

You Can't Please 'Em All

We changed our family night to Tuesday night (just for this week) and I decided that I needed to come up with something fun just to kick off our return to scripture study. See, I get all ambitious and decide we're going to get back into the routine of studying - I mean really studying - and then it all falls apart very shortly thereafter.

I have this great book that's a study guide for the Book of Mormon. This book takes you through from title page to the end and breaks it all down and has ideas for activities to keep it interesting, so I sit and plan out the lesson each day and we do it at night and it really only takes about 15-30 minutes, but there's fun involved.

So, tonight I decided to kick off our return with a little game called Scripture Categories (a knock off of Scattergories). I sat down at the computer and typed up each letter of the alphabet with a line coming out from it so we could write something in each space. A through Z. Then I sat down with John and Bertrand at the dinner table this evening (the girls were in bed this time -Hallelujah - little monsters) and I told them the rules (very similar to Scattergories rules). I gave us all 15 minutes to complete the task and no scriptures were allowed. By, the way, this included ALL scriptures, any word, name, etc. found in the scriptures for each letter of the alphabet.

I thought it was fun. Bertrand thought it was fun.

John thought it was lame and moped away from the table immediately afterwards. I don't know if it had anything to do with the scores (26 pts for me, 22 pts for Bertrand, 19 points for John). Teenagers! He's not even a teenager yet and he already gives me grief. Everything is lame. EVERYTHING! Oh well...I tried. At least Bertrand and I had fun. And now we're ready to dig back in and feast on the good word! At least, Bertrand and I are...

Best Movie EVER!!!

Okay, so Bertrand ordered up this movie through Netflix and we decided to pop it in and watch it a little before bed and...well...it was so amazing, I had to run to my computer quick and give a little review on it because you have GOT to see this movie like right now!

It's called "The Day The Earth Stopped". No, not "The Day The Earth Stood Still", it's when it just plain stopped. First off, it's written by C. Thomas Howell, you know that 80's has been who we haven't heard from since "The Outsiders"?

Yeah. HIM.

So, right off the bat you know this film is gonna' be good, right? He stars in it too. Even better.

Anyway, moving on. So, the movie starts out with some Star Wars looking toys floating through the air on strings and I immediately straightened up in my seat and braced myself for some real action. I mean, the description on the sleeve wasn't kidding around. It promised to be packed with LOTS of action, so I was delighted to see that was starting in right away.

So, like this thing flies through space and crashes into the earth and you see lots of smoke from all kinds of angles. It was truly suspenseful. Next thing you know there's this naked hot chick walking through the forest and all I have to say is wherever she comes from, they've definitely got collagen because those were some plumped up lips. So I turn to my husband and I'm like, "Oh, well I think YOU'RE gonna' like this movie". But then, suddenly there's a naked dude walking through the forest and I couldn't help but smile and exclaim, "Okay, a little something for BOTH of us."

Next thing you know - BAM! There's like two robots made out of recycled materials (Go C. Thomas! Recycle all the way! Glad to see you're at least into the environment!) and then there's like cars screaming around a corner and people running into a building and suddenly the whole roof of this building is covered in computers and hot scientist-looking people. I think they were scientists. I know they were definitely all hot because hot chicks is what makes a movie good. C. Thomas would know. He's been in the biz since the 70's.

Oh, and then all of the sudden these scientists - man, they are like so smart - suddenly get this feeling that there might be aliens lurking in a forest somewhere. Just by seeing these recycled garbage robots they know that! I was like so amazed! I turned to my husband and inquired, "Wow! Scientists are really that smart? I mean, they're like psychic too! I did not know that! This movie just taught me something new. I gotta' keep watching!" I mean, it was gripping, truly gripping.

So then they see naked people in the forest and they just know these have got to be aliens. They also knew to look for two of them because just by looking at the smoke rising from the ground, they could tell there had to be exactly two life forms and that they had to be alien. Just off the smoke they knew that! Incredible! Okay, okay, I know - you're dying to know. YES! They do capture the naked people/aliens. They shoot little Nerf darts at them, but these life forms are total wimps because they fell to the ground instantly.

They take them into some prison-looking building and the male alien is lying on this table just staring at the ceiling - NOT BLINKING EVER! Creeped me out! I turned to Bertrand and said, "This thing isn't even blinking. I don't know if I'm gonna' be able to get to sleep tonight. This is too creepy for me." So a doctor person goes in the room, looks at him for a few seconds and then emerges and here's where the dialog gets really good:

MAN: So? What do you think?

DOCTOR: It's hard to say.

MAN: Do you think it's human?

DOCTOR: Well, it looks human. It's got two arms and two legs.

And this film really got me thinking. The only characteristics we humans have that separate us from any other living thing out there is two arms and two legs? Well...there's a lot more creatures out there that are human then. I mean, monkeys have two arms and two legs. Somebody screwed up BIG TIME! And I'm not talking about C. Thomas Howell! I'm talking about the supposed REAL scientists who classified life forms! Idiots! All of them!

Anyway, so it flashes to a scene on the rooftop of a building again where hot scientist people are still typing on computers and I have no idea what they're typing, but I'm sure it's very scientific. And these robot thingies are just standing there. Then suddenly! Out of nowhere! A helicopter flies in and shoots at the recycled garbage heap and it swings its arm and hits the helicopter! It was crazy! I was on the edge of my seat at this point. I was like, "Wow! This is getting crazy!"

Then the dialog went like this:

MAN: Well, know we know they're hostile.

And I got a little disappointed in the film at this point.

See, that man wasn't very smart. The helicopter attacked first. That garbage heap was just standing there minding its own business and I mean we were 20 minutes into the movie at this point and it didn't do any harm. It was provoked. So, I disagree with C. Thomas Howell's idea that this garbage heap was hostile. I mean, that's just wrong.

Anyway, that's as far as I got. But, I just had to share. And now I've gotta' get back there and see some more. I won't give any more away. Just...go rent it! You'll love it!

American Idol's Got Lil Rounds...

But we've got Lil Mama!

Whenever Chloe is sad or hurt, Sylvie-Faye is first on the scene.

And when Chloe gets cold during a Disney movie, Sylvie's there to keep her warm. She's such a nurturer, so we call her Lil Mama now.

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Jedi Master In The Hiz-ouse!

Lately Sylvie-Faye has been approaching me and saying things like:

S-F: Hey, mommy. You wanna' read me a story right now. You do.

ME: (Gasping) I do?

S-F: (Excitedly) Yeah! You really, really do!

ME: Oh my gosh! How did you know?

She just shrugs in response. It cracks me up. And, of course, I have to read her the story because that IS exactly what I wanted to do...right in the middle of typing a medical report.

Another time I was cooking dinner and she approached me with a little mischievous grin on her face and her hands behind her back.

ME: Hey Sylvie.

S-F: Hi mommy.

ME: What do you have behind your back?

S-F: (Shrugging) Oh. Nuffing.

ME: Nothing?

She slowly brought her hands forward and shot her left hand straight up at me. In her little fist I saw the pink nail polish from my bathroom.

ME: Uh oh. Did you take my nail polish from my bathroom?

S-F: (Shrugging) Well...did you want to paint my nails now?

ME: Well, honey, I'm cooking dinner right now.

S-F: Well...you wanted to paint my nails.

ME: I did?

S-F: Uh huh. So...uhhh...just stop cooking the dinner now because you wanna' paint my nails now.

I threw my head back and laughed at that one. She is hilarious! I think she's been watching too many Star Wars movies with her big brother John and she's attempting to use the Jedi Master force on me like she's Obi-Wan Kenobi or something. I'm embarrassed to say it's worked thus far. Her powers of mind control are too great for me.

How I Motivate My Husband

HIM: Man, today's gonna' be awful! I have so much work and I'm gonna' be all the way out in Carefree today.

ME: I'm sorry, babe.

HIM: I wish I didn't have to go to work today.

Walking over to the carport door as he's talking, I peer out through the peep hole.

ME: (GASP!) Oh my gosh! Your truck is gone!

HIM: (Look of horror) WHAT?! What do you mean it's gone?!

He runs over to the carport door and throws it open.

HIM: (Looking at me confused) My truck is there! It's not gone!

ME: (Cheerily) Ah! Well, good. Looks like it's gonna' be a good day after all!

FINALLY!!

The conclusion to my dating stories saga. The missing piece to the half a picture it all started out with. Is anyone out there still interested? No? Maybe not? Maybe?

If you are, check out my dating diaries link on the right. I will be posting it in chapters. It's a long one. I'm back. This time to finish it. I swear. Sorry I left you hanging if you were keeping up with it.

Yet Another Scary Encounter

My girls are growing up fast. Sylvie has been sleeping in a toddler bed for two years now and she's officially potty trained. YAY! Chloe is now in a toddler bed and very ready to be potty trained...(whenever you get a minute, Bertrand - that's right, I've deferred it to you and I'm not ashamed in the least).

However, there is one final scary, diaper-less crib moment I must share. Now, don't worry. This does not involve pictures of poop. In fact, it doesn't involve poop at all. It's a little scarier than that. (No, not diarrhea. Just...I'm getting there - hold on a second!)

So, a couple of weeks ago I put the girls down for a nap after lunch. All was quiet and I decided to get some work done. About 15 minutes I heard Sylvie shouting. I removed my headphones and called back, "What, Sylvie? What's the matter?"

"Chloe's naked! In her bed!" Sylvie shouted back.

I heaved a huge sigh and walked briskly down the hall. I threw the bedroom door open and saw...

THIS!

I clasped my hands over my mouth and gasped. "SYLVIE-FAYE!" I shouted.

"What, mommy?" She asked very casually as she continued to unstuff the bear.

"WHAT are you DOING?" I shouted and moved in closer, surveying the damage.

"Uhhhhhh.....nuffing!" She responded, still very casual. "Uh, Chloe's naked, mommy. In her bed" she reminded me, very matter-of-factly.

Then I noticed it -
- the freshly removed diaper lying on the floor behind Sylvie. I gasped again and glared up at Chloe.

There she sat, in all her naked glory - like she was on her throne. She simply responded to my glare with a look of "Can I help you?" Luckily there were no droppings or wet spots. She simply didn't want her diaper on and somehow a chair ended up in her bed (most likely compliments of Sylvie-Faye) and she decided to sit on it in her crib...completely nude...in silence...as her older sister mercilessly unstuffed her beautiful, soft, fluffy bear.

I just never know what I'm going to find when I go in their room during naptime. It's too horrific, so I just don't - unless I get a shout out.

It's Not A Tumor

I'm feeling a little embarrassed right about now. Let me explain:

I have been feeling crummy for approximately 2 1/2 weeks now. It started out with extreme nausea and weird aches and pains. I decided I had the flu. I laid on my couch a couple of days moaning and groaning and not eating a thing because the thought or smell of food made me sick.

A week later, I was still nauseated. Now I was getting constipated. I had lost eight pounds, but my stomach was bloating out funny. My pelvic area got weird stabbing cramps in it occasionally and then it would just throb in certain areas. I decided this was not the flu and something was seriously wrong with me. I decided to wait a few more days and see what happened.

A few days later my chest felt heavy. It was hard to breathe. I had ZERO energy and I just wanted to sleep all day and all night. I decided I was run down from the holidays and it was taking its toll on my body. I also attributed this to high stress. I decided to get more sleep, eat better, and try to relax.

By two weeks of pain and suffering, I decided I could potentially be dying. It seems like everyone around me is getting cancer and it runs strong on both sides of my family. I got on the Internet and looked up pancreatic cancer. I don't know why. I guess starting with the deadliest, worst form of cancer seemed like a good place. That way I could work my way down and by the time I found MY form of cancer, it wouldn't seem so bad.

The pancreatic cancer website listed the symptoms of it and I had none.

Then off to the left of the screen a little side bar said, "Try Searching Ovarian Cancer".

I looked up ovarian cancer and read down its list of 8-10 symptoms. I had them all. My heart stopped a second. I swallowed hard and read on. It's the second deadliest cancer. There is no cure. It's hard to detect. Suddenly I felt weaker. My mind began to work over time. What would Bertrand do alone with all of the kids? How would they live without me? I wouldn't get to see my babies grow up. I wouldn't get to become a rock star or a writer. This was it. Whatever I'd accomplished up to this point - done. I was through. I started trying to come to terms with the idea that I could be dying. How long would I live - I wondered.

I began to tell a few close friends about my symptoms and my discovery and my fears. Every single one of them said, "Oh, it sounds like you're just pregnant. That's all."

"No", I explained. "That's impossible" and then I proceeded to explain why, which I will spare you the explanation because it's very personal and a bit embarrassing. But in my mind there was just absolutely NO WAY I could be pregnant. It wasn't scientifically or humanly possible. In my mind it defied nature.

Tuesday night I awoke abruptly from a deep sleep. The first thought that hit my mind was "I'm pregnant". But I still didn't want to believe it.

Long story short, I gave in and took a pregnancy test Wednesday morning at around 11:00 AM. It was a very strong positive.

So, I wasn't entirely incorrect - there is a mass growing inside my belly and sucking the life out of me. But it's not a tumor. It's a baby. YAY!

This pregnancy was completely unexpected and definitely a miracle. My only explanation is that God wanted this child to come to earth soon and he found a way to make it happen even though I am still completely dumbfounded as to how I could have gotten pregnant. Unlike my last pregnancy, I welcome this one. I'm excited and now that the nausea has passed, I feel fantastic! Just like I did when I was pregnant with my first child - a son. I have a very strong impression this is a boy. Either way, I'm ecstatic. This is definitely my last child. I wanted to wait one or two more years before I considered having my last baby, but I'm thinking this is probably a better scenario. I'm 33 1/2 already. I'm not getting any younger. Best get this done now before I get into the risky maternal age category. I always felt there was one more, so....here he/she comes.

Oh! Believe it!

Hey Honey, This One's For You!

There are just two things I want to say to you right now:

1. No, you may not go to work today.




2. You don't need to potty train Chloe. Sylvie's taking care of it.



Love,
Your Wife

Another Side Blog

I've started yet another side blog. It's about losing weight. It should be entertaining...or just pathetic. But hopefully successful and entertaining. If you wanna' follow along and cheer me on, check out mesochunky.blogspot.com. Or click on it from my side listing.

I Shouldn't Have To Say It!

But, alas, at dinner time, it became necessary to say:

"Sylvie-Faye! Quit eating your toes at the dinner table!"

Why? There was a perfectly good meal in front of her. (SIGH)

It's Official!

Our roles have switched around here.

Dads are supposed to potty train their daughters, right?

Hello?

Well...it happened. I have NOT been able to potty train Sylvie-Faye. I have tried on numerous occasions and failed miserably. I had reached my wit's end and decided she would have to figure it out on her own someday. Perhaps she'd realize she was the only kid wearing diapers in the 5th grade and finally be ready to DO something about it!

But Bertrand would not have that. He just decided last Saturday that enough was enough. He removed her diaper, put her in underwear, walked her to the bathroom, pointed to the toilet and said (in his booming, intimidating voice) "This is where you go pee? Do you understand me?"

Sylvie stuck her finger in her mouth and looked up at him, sheepishly nodding.

"Say OK, Sylvie-Faye!" he shouted.

"Okay papa", she muttered quietly.

"I can't hear you!" He shouted again.

"OK PAPA!" Sylvie shouted back.

And that was that. She felt the urge to pee later on and said, "Papa, can I go pee pee?" to which he responded, "Yes. Get in there right now. You go on the toilet, not the floor!" So she ran and went pee pee.

Don't worry. It wasn't THAT easy. She had about two accidents a day the first two days, which Bertrand responded to with shouting and spanking. But that was it. By day three she was having zero accidents and even going to bed with underwear and not having any accidents at night.

Bertrand has always told me that she's very smart and she knows how to go. She was just being defiant with me, but papa put the fear in her and she's doing it on her own now.

YAY! A couple of days ago Bertrand crouched down to Sylvie's level, kissed her on the cheek and said, "Now I'm going to teach you to clean and blow your nose properly".

And then I REALLY felt stupid. He's gonna' teach her EVERYTHING! What am I gonna' do?

I guess she just responds better to her papa. And she's very close with him. So I guess I'll try not to feel too bad that he's taken over the mommy duties.

Okay. This Is Gonna Be A Tough One!

Michele has tagged me and this is a really tough one, but I'm gonna' challenge my brain and do it!

CRAZY 8's

8 TV SHOW I LOVE TO WATCH:

1. American Idol
   
2. So You Think You Can Dance
   
3. The Soup
   
4. The Tudors
   
5. Entertainment Tonight
   
6. The Daily 10
   
7. Dr. Phil (If I'm totally desperate and there's nothing else on! This is rare)
8. Deal Or No Deal
   

8 OF MY FAVORITE RESTAURANTS:

1. Cheesecake Factory
2. Cafe Rio
   
3. Joe's BBQ
4. Gecko Grill
   
5. Abuelo's
6. Joe's Crab Shack
   
7. Panda Express
   
8. Macaroni Grill
   

8 THING THAT HAPPENED TO ME YESTERDAY:

1. Worked.
   
2. Went power walking.
   
3. Did some kick boxing.
   
4. Cleaned up messes all day.
   
5. Cooked pork burritos (Cafe Rio style)
   
6. Read blogs.
   
7. Took a shower (My one shower for the week. I know - TMI. But it's my blog. I can say what I want.)
   
8. Had a HUGE fight with my hubby on the back porch for all the neighbors to hear. YAY!
   

8 THINGS I'M LOOKING FORWARD TO:

1. Thanksgiving
2. Getting my book finished
   
3. Twilight coming out on video
   
4. New Moon coming out in theaters
   
5. Losing 50 pounds
   
6. Getting sealed to my husband and children
   
7. Recording two new songs
   
8. The Tudors new season starting January 2009
   

8 THINGS ON MY WISH LIST:

1. To become a famous writer.
   
2. To become a rock star.
   
3. To raise good kids.
4. Get out of debt.
   
5. Own a home.
   
6. Get my awesome body back.
   
7. Start my charity.
   
8. A MAID (I agree with Michele)
   

8 PEOPLE I'M TAGGING:

I'm tagging whoever wants to do this on their blog. If you're up for the challenge (especially the TV show part. That was hard), GO FOR IT!

When The PDA Gets Out Of Control

Just a few minutes ago my husband and I crossed paths in the hallway. He thought I was going to bed because I was in the room a few minutes getting ready for bed, but I told him I was planning on doing some work for a bit longer instead.

We held each other in an embrace in the dark hallway and kissed for a few seconds. Then he told me I needed to rest and take a break. I nodded.

HIM: Wanna' watch a movie?

I didn't respond. I just nuzzled my nose in his neck and kissed it.

HIM: We have those movies from Netflix we need to watch so I can send them back. Do you wanna' watch one with me?

ME: (A seductive look in my eye) I want something else.

HIM: (Laughing) I knew it.

All of the sudden we hear this voice in the dark saying, "Really guys? Right there?" It was John up in his upper bunk of his bed, looking down over us. We just happened to be standing right outside his bedroom door - a minor detail we overlooked. I just had to laugh. Poor guy. Sorry about that.

It's Flu Season

Have you received your shot yet? I highly recommend you get at least one. I'll be getting five this year - just for safe measure.

Rob Pattinson - you nailed it. You're awesome. And thank you. The heat you created onscreen burned the oncoming sinus infection right out of me. It was well worth the $10.

Random Nonsense

The only way to watch Dora...

..is WITH Dora. (Thank you, Sami. They LOVE this doll)

I totally just need to be a rock star because my sink ALWAYS looks like this.

And these have been sitting on the table like this for nearly a week.

And these pictures are extremely MILD versions of what it typically looks like around here. I just don't like to clean. Never have. Never will. I need a maid. I would much rather spend my time writing - music and stories. Somebody else come clean it, please. I'll pay you.

If my children had long, red hair, this is what they'd look like.

Maybe I could actually braid it then or do SOMETHING with it.

And here's my husband. Oh, yes it is.

Oh yes, IT IS!

Isn't he beautiful?

He lets me brush his long, beautiful red hair while he paints my toenails.

The Prophet Said To Plant A Garden

Bertrand works about 50-60 hours a week cleaning and repairing pools. And then he comes home and cooks sometimes, helps with the cleaning, helps with the kids. And then suddenly he decides he wants to plant a garden - on top of everything else he does. This guy never ceases to amaze me. He studied up on gardening a bit on the Internet and in books and called a friend for advice and then he spent an entire Saturday working on it.



He rented a rototiller from Home depot and then he and John did some extra shoveling. And he started out planting squash, cucumbers, onions, peppers, radishes, carrots and lettuce, and many more. Within a couple of weeks we had sprouts shooting up out of the ground already. It was really exciting.



While the men worked on the garden, I stayed indoors with the girls who were too afraid of the rototiller engine. I decided to take this opportunity to try to potty train Sylvie-Faye. Chloe decided she wanted to join in the fun too. As you can see from the pictures above, they did more riding around on the scooter like a couple of circus monkeys, and those underpants are way too big for Chloe's tiny little bum. I called her "saggy buns" the whole day. That picture on the end cracks me up. And no - the potty training did not work out. They just wanted to wear the Princess underwear. They didn't want to have to actually sit on the potty.



Within a month our garden looked like this: peas,



squash radishes tomatoes


Bertrand decided not to build a drip system just yet, so the garden has to be hand watered three times a day. We decided John would water it in the morning before school, Sylvie, Chloe and I would water it in the afternoon after I picked them up from daycare, and Bertrand would water it at night when he got home.




The girls LOVE watering the garden. I think they actually like playing with the water more. You better believe I was having evil thoughts on that last picture when I turned the water off and Sylvie was looking down the barrel of the hose asking where the water went. Oh, I so badly wanted to turn it on and squirt her in the face, but I restrained myself. She would have freaked out!




Now that the weather is getting colder, Bertrand spent another half a Saturday building a sort of greenhouse around the garden to protect the plants. They're coming along nicely. I'm so grateful for a hard-working husband. We've already plucked a couple of radishes from the ground and they were so much better than the store bought ones. Ever since I married Bertrand, we've become radish eaters. These ones from our garden were so juicy and extra spicy. Yum! I can't wait to partake of the other fruit and veg.

The Dating Diaries

Okay, it's my new side blog for November. It's my dating stories. I hope you enjoy. Check my "SHOUT OUTS" section for the link-up. I'll do my sci-fi romance project next.

Sylvie-Faye Gretchen Marie Coppee

Sylvie-Faye Gretchen Marie Coppee was born September 21, 2005. Her birthday has come and gone. She's now 3. But I really wanted to do a tribute to her for her birthday. She was named after BOTH grandmothers. We didn't know if we'd have another girl, so we made sure we honored both. I love this picture of her. She looks like the newest addition to the Simpson family (that cartoon family on TV). I call these her "Simpson lips".

This little girl was so loved from day 1. I took so many naps with her on me. I just couldn't get enough of my little lady.

Her daddy was thrilled to death! This was exactly what he wanted - a little girl. Ever since he'd seen the movie "I Am Sam" with little Dakota Fanning, he wanted a little blond-haired, blue-eyed girl. And he got it.

Her big brother, John, absolutely adores her. Those two have had a special bond from the beginning.

This little lady had big plans from the beginning. She knew there was a lot she needed to accomplish.

She had battles to fight.


Art to create.

Animals to communicate with.

Work to do.


Fashion trends to start.



Music to compose.


Babies to attend to.

And, most importantly, lots of shoes to try on.

It's a very full, exhausting life she lives.

Sylvie's birthday started with our family tradition - room full of balloons. She had waited a long time for this. She saw John get this for his birthday in July and talked about it for two months.

Grandma and Grandpa Poulsen stopped by bearing gifts for both little ladies and if you thought MY birthday looked more like Christmas, you should have seen what THEY brought. So many fun toys.

And Grandma Marie-Claude from France, whom we have still not had the pleasure of meeting in person, mailed Sylvie a beautiful coloring book and princess card.

Since Sylvie is still so young, we decided just to do a small birthday with friends, so we had the Crandalls over and Erika made this beautiful princess cake for Sylvie-Faye. Sylvie LOVED it!

And decided Erika was her new best friend and insisted on sitting next to her on the couch for the evening.

The cake was so tasty that Sylvie snuck up to the counter and devoured/demolished the rest. I was kind of upset. I wanted to be the one to finish it off. You better believe I grabbed a fork and dug in with her. The Crandalls also gave her the outfit she's wearing in this picture for her birthday.

From mommy and daddy she got a scooter. She had been begging for one for almost an entire year. We actually purchased this two months before her birthday as incentive for her to potty train, but when she would have NOTHING to do with that, we put it away. It was like torture for her. She knew it was in the house, she knew it was hers, but she knew she couldn't touch it until she either potty trained or had a birthday. As you can see, unfortunately, the birthday happened first. She was so sweet to give her little sister rides on it around the house. They were both giggling and having a ball all morning on that thing.

My sweet Sylvie-Faye. I just adore this little lady.

She grows more beautiful every year. She says and does the funniest things. She's a little comedienne with a tender heart who loves babies and animals (especially cats), and her brother and sister...

and also...

Shoes. Glorious shoes.


Not so much pants. Just shoes.

Tell Me What To Do

Okay, Halloween is here (more on that later) and I've run a "haunted stories" blog for this month. But now it's over. (I will keep it up indefinitely, though, if you haven't read it yet and ever get the guts to). And I enjoyed it so much and appreciated the feedback I got, that I've decided to do another side blog. But I'm having a dilemma.

I originally promised a month of crazy dating stories, which, believe me, I have plenty. I've got 7 1/2 years of solid dating - all of Arizona and radiating out into surrounding states - and I've got some real doozies for ya'.

HOWEVER, I'm kind of enjoying writing fiction too. I have this other story I considered writing as a movie script, but then I thought I'd get more enjoyment out of it telling it as a story, so I could put in the details and descriptions I wanted to. Stories are much easier reads than movie scripts.

It's called "The Light Above". It's based on facts. But I took it and ran with it and my imagination went wild with this one. Well -not too wild. Anyway, I have a good friend from Brazil and let me tell ya' - that girl has some BIZARRE stories. She has me captivated every time. But they're true. They're all true. See, there's this phenomenon happening in Brazil. It's a light from the sky. It hovers. It follows people. Some of her relatives have recounted stories of their personal frightening experiences with this light. Their theory - aliens. But I've got my own theory. And I made a story out of it - complete with some good romance, believe it or not.

SO - which appeals to you more? Do you want true horrid and hilarious dating stories or do you want this fictional sci-fi romance I'm concocting? Please give me your good opinion. And thanks for being a supporter of my writing addiction.

Betcha' Didn't Know...

...that plastic ice cube trays can double as grape separators. You know, for when you want to eat them, but you don't want them touching each other. Or if you're on a diet (like me) and you need to keep track of the number of grapes you can have for a snack. Chloe invented this idea. She's a GENIUS!

FINALLY!

After nearly four years of marriage, I agreed to family photos. I don't usually allow myself in pictures because I HATE the way I look in photos - especially when I'm fat after two babies in a row, but Jana did an awesome job of making me look not so fat! Thank you! I highly recommend forgetmenotbyjana.com

I love this one she captured of Sylvie-Faye. The girls were just not having picture time from the beginning, but she just snapped away and managed to get some good shots anyway. Amazing!

My Ladies

Today we went out back to water the yard and the garden and we saw this little critter on the wall.Sylvie-Faye is always a bit apprehensive.

But Chloe has no fear.

Chloe wanted to kiss it. So I said okay.

And she did. EWWW!!

Then Chloe said the lizard bit her, so Sylvie-Faye examined, but it was all just the usual drama.

Tarzan 1.

Tarzan 2.

SF: Mommy! I eat the leaves, huh? I eat them. Leaves are yummy.

ME: No, Sylvie. Don't eat it.

SF: Why mommy? It's yummy.

ME: No. It's not yummy. It's yucky.

SF: No mommy.

ME: Sylvie, no! Don't eat the leaves. The tree needs the leaves. Don't pull them off and eat them, okay?

SF: (Gasping) Look mommy!! So many leaves! Dat one and dat one and dat one. See? Tree not need more leaves, mommy.

(SIGH) I'm gonna steer her towards law school.

I Can't Help It! This Was Too Good To Not Post!

A Necessary Interruption

Okay, I know - this is not one of the promised blogs on the list. I know you're all just on edge waiting for the "prison" story of mine, aren't you? Or perhaps it's the garden one with nudity you're holding your breath for.

Well, I'm sorry, but I'm being tortured on a daily basis here and I just needed to vent. (SIGH). Here we go.

Have you seen the new Twilight trailer? If you answered yes, then you might be feeling my pain. If you answered no, then you're going to have to watch it approximately 1, 523 times to catch up to me.

The movie is gonna' be good. It is. I'm excited. What I'm not excited about is the dialogue. Here - let me give you some examples.

1. In the forest, Bella is discovering the truth about Edward. Here's how it goes:

EDWARD: Say it out loud. Say it.

BELLA: Vampire.

NOOooooooo!!!! That's NOT what you're supposed to say, Bella!

You're supposed to say, "The movie's been pushed up to a sooner release date - it's now coming out tomorrow!"

GRRRR! I hate when they get it wrong.



2. Edward and Bella are in what looks like her room. Their faces are close:

EDWARD: I just wanna try one thing.

Then Bella and Edward proceed to kiss. NO! NO! NO! All wrong, Bella! You're not supposed to kiss him! You missed your line! Here's how it's supposed to go down:

EDWARD: I just wanna try one thing.

BELLA: Okay. Let me call Kristin real quick because I know she's the one you REALLY want to try it with.

Then Edward smiles his devilish smile, I enter the room - kissing begins. These are supposed to be seasoned actors! Don't you know how to follow direction?

And finally:

(I don't have a gazebo picture)

3. Edward and Bella in a gazebo.

EDWARD: You don't know how long I've waited for you.

Okay, actually there's nothing wrong with this dialogue, it's just that he's saying it to the wrong Kristen! It's Kristin with an I, not an E!!!! Dang Kristen Stewart locked me in my trailer for this one and ran out there on MY cue! MINE!!!!!

(SIGH) Look, Summit Entertainment or whoever is responsible - I cannot keep watching this dang trailer like 500 times a day. Seriously. I've got kids. I've got a full-time job. I'm trying to have a life here. Can you just get the dang movie out already? You know it's done and ready to go. You're just getting a high off torturing me, aren't you? Mm hm.

Okay. I'm done. Just had to get that off my chest. Yeah, yeah - I know. I'm a married mother of three. Edward's a vampire. He's cast his vampire spell on me. That's my big excuse, okay? Let me see you come up with better. I know there are other desperate housewives out there.

My Birthday - Let's Go Down The Checklist, Shall We?

Okay, so my birthday was like back in August, but I did the whole doll pictures portraying what I wanted thing and went on and on and said my husband would be reading the blog and would know what I wanted and it would all be magical and .....SIGH....so I feel like I need to at least go down the list so you can know if it all happened the way I wanted because I know you're just sitting around, holding your breath waiting for this big moment, right?

What's that? You forgot about the whole doll/birthday thing?

Oh. Okay. Well...I guess I've already started this post, so I should probably just go ahead and finish.

(Clearing throat). Okay, so looking back at the doll post, I wanted my husband to get the kids out of the house so I could sit around eating and playing with the kids' toys, which was mostly a joke because I'm trying to lose weight, so sitting around eating all day is not going to help that and though food and I have had a long-term, exclusive relationship, I've decided to try and break ties with it. It's hard to dump, let me tell ya'. It calls to me. It cries to me day and night, begging me to come back into its loving arms and I'm like, "I've moved on. You should too". Apparently so far I have not been too convincing because it's still very much in my life. Anyway....

So, my husband DID get the kids out of the house. I didn't say I wanted him to take them anywhere specific, so he took them out back and they swam and played for quite a while. It was nice. Then I went out with my husband and friends to Cheesecake Factory, my favorite place of all time, where I tried to have my one final fling with food, particularly avocado egg rolls. Unfortunately, I have no pictures of the party, but the Tylers, Truschkes, Crandalls, and Worthens were able to make it and I found out I kind of share a birthday with Jarred Truschke, so that was cool. He and I are both Leos. That explains our need to be famous musicians - something we bonded over during dinner.


Now, I know I had requested Gainey Ranch, but I LOVE Cheesecake Factory, so we'll just pretend like that's what I asked for. I'll take avocado egg rolls over a gondola ride any day. Actually, no - I take that back. That was the old response. The new response is "Anything but food".

Moving on...

My son and husband together bought me this ridiculously expensive rock star necklace. I've been eyeing it for over a year, but I thought the price was a bit much, so I never thought I'd actually own it.


And then, there's the clothing. Now I'm fat. I'm not gonna' try to hide it folks. Besides, if you know me, you already know this to be true, so why lie. I had two baby girls back to back, so it's to be expected. And I type for a living - long hours. And also I've been having an affair with food for years and the side effects = fatness.

So, the best I could do was to go to Buckle and buy two tops as cute as I could find under the circumstances. And I went ahead and bought two because they were $24 each and I thought that was a good deal. I have a picture of one. I couldn't find the other. It's buried in the bottom of the laundry bin and I was too lazy to fish it out. It's cute. Trust me. Here's the one I wore on my birthday dinner night, though.

And then I just could NOT resist these darling high heels. Now, I normally purchase Wal-Mart, Target and Payless shoes, but every few years I splurge on a nice pair. I definitely splurged on these. But don't you think it was worth it?

And I got a nice box of Choxie chocolates from my friend Koe. And my friend Amanda took me to dinner and a movie, which was so fun, except the movie was Mama Mia and it was more than we could take and also Colin Firth (the man we lust after sometimes) played a gay guy in it and we just were too upset for words, but that's okay - at least we got out together with no kids and it was loads of fun.

And then my super talented friend, Marylou made me these awesome blinged out flip flops, which I love to wear, but only when my toenails are cute. I didn't have cute toenails today so I had to take a picture of them alone. But trust me -they look amazing on! If you like - go to Greenweaves.com in my shout outs and send her an email telling her you want some.


Okay, so my camera stinks and does these shoes no justice. But there's the basic idea. They are blingin'.

And I actually got other stuff besides that, which is crazy because it's my birthday, not Christmas, but it felt like Christmas. I have never had so many gifts and attention lavished upon me. I feel very loved.

Thank you, all, for making it a fabulous beginning of my 33rd year.

Arizona Haunting

For Halloween, I've decided to share some personal haunting experiences that me and my family have had. If you like to be completely freaked out, then I highly recommend clicking on my link ARIZONA HAUNTING under SHOUT OUTS on the right side of my blog.

Read with caution. Some of them are super creepy, but all are very real. And some have happened in the home I live in now. Let's just say...you probably won't want to come for a visit after reading these stories.

So Much To Blog - So Little Time

Okay, I have been totally out of it. I've had a lot going on. The following have been my priorities lately:

1. Getting rid of clients. Yes. You did read that correctly. I am going full time with an on-line company called PSI so I can have no stress, no driving, no printing, no phone calls, and weekly paychecks with full time benefits. YAY! It's about stinkin' time!

2. Getting ready for "The Green Card" interview.

3. Getting out of prison. Okay, so that's a bit dramatic. And not as bad as it sounds. I'll explain later. You'll have to stay tuned.

Here are the posts you can look forward to over the next week: (sigh - oh goody)

1. My Birthday - Let's Go Down the Checklist, Shall We?

2. Sylvie-Faye's Birthday.

3. The Prophet Said To Plant A Garden (There's a bit of nudity in this one. Sorry in advance....unless you like that sort of thing, in which case - you're welcome.)

4. The Great Escape (This is the prison story. Sorry, but you'll have to get through three posts before you get to view this one. Hang in there my friends.)

5. My Man - A Birthday Tribute (Ah yes, it will be as sappy as it sounds.)

And finally...

6. The Gate - A Halloween Tale of Horror (Complete with pictures that will send you running from your computer howling. Yes honey, this one pokes fun at you, but I did give you a birthday tribute beforehand so you can't be too mad.)

There you go. I hope you'll enjoy. Now, back to the job that actually pays me. I'll have to get to this later.

What is THAT?!?!

Teacher: Welcome to class everyone. Today I've brought something to share with all of you.

Timmy: What is it, teacher?

Teacher: What do you think it is, Timmy?

Timmy: (Shrugging) I dunno. Roadkill?

Teacher: (Rolling her eyes) Very funny, Timmy. Anyone else wanna' take a guess?

Susie: Is it an animal of some kind, teacher?

Teacher: (Scoffing) Okay, if you're all going to be a bunch of smart alecs, I just won't bring treats in anymore!

Timmy: (Surprised) That's a treat? You mean we're supposed to eat that?

Timmy starts gagging.

Teacher: All right, mister. That's enough! It's banana bread!

Timmy: That's banana bread?

Teacher: Well, of course it is! I had a little trouble with it. It didn't come out so pretty, but banana bread is not the easiest thing to make, you know.

Timmy: My 5-year-old sister makes banana bread and it looks better than that!

Timmy begins gagging uncontrollably now.

Teacher: Timothy Thompson! If you don't stop that this instant, I'll send you off to the principal's office!

Johnny: Uh...teacher? I don't think he's playing around.

Timmy proceeds to vomit all over the classroom floor. Suddenly the rest of the class is vomiting uncontrollably.

OKAY...so my sister has been telling me for years that banana bread is the EASIEST thing to make and she's taught other friends to make it and it's all turned out great. Just great. So I find myself with four bananas that seriously need to be made into bread or thrown away and I'd rather not waste, so I figure here's my big chance to make banana bread. I ask her for her recipe, which is super easy and straightforward and yet I end up with the above picture and it's completely inedible. HOW?!?!?! Is it my oven? Is it just a bad oven? I was spoiled in Queen Creek. I had a gas stove and gas oven. They were so efficient and everything cooked up perfectly. Since I've lived in this home with the old stove and oven, I often can't cook a chicken casserole, pancakes absolutely will not work out. It's gotta be this oven and stove. GRRRR!!!!!

Who Knew?

Skekses make great babysitters! I know, weird, huh? But, seriously, we put The Dark Crystal on and our kids like go in a trance and then they stay that way for like 1 1/2 hours. It's so great. I love that they're so into this movie!

What's that, you say?

It's not because they like the movie? Are you kidding me? Did you see the picture?

What? It's because the Skekses are forcing my kids to look into the dark crystal and it's sucking the life out of them, which they gather into a large cup and the new emperor drinks it and turns more youthful so he can continue his evil reign?

DANG IT! I knew it was too good to be true! (SIGH.)

Well...it keeps my kids quiet...

Oh, leave me alone!!

Hidden Talent

Bertrand occasionally snaps a picture while on the job. Today he captured this one. I thought it was pretty amazing. Unreal...like a painting or something. But that is actually a HUGE black butterfly that he caught up close and personal. He's thinking someday he'd like to have a nice camera and do some photography on the side. I'm thinking he might be onto something.

The Yard Bandits!

That's right! We're the yard bandits!



And if you don't watch it, one day you might look out your front window and see us doing...

THIS!!!!

Hey! Why are you smiling?
Oh. You like that, huh?
You like that?
Well....good.....'cause....we're gonna' do it....if you don't watch it!

Random Tidbits From A Typical Day

7: 30 AM - The day started out with a very frustrating incident that I cannot talk about, but I got very upset, said a few choice words and then did something equivalent to what one of my toddlers would have done in this situation. A few minutes later my husband entered my office area, looked up and said...

"What happened here?" To which I replied, "I got mad". He raised an eyebrow and slowly backed out of the room without another word. (He's well trained).

9:00 AM - It was time to do some more typing and I wasn't feeling very motivated, so I grabbed a bag of M&Ms and opened them up. Now, the bag was brand new. I was the first to infiltrate it. However, when I poured a few out onto my desk, I encountered...

THIS!

What would you do? It looks rather suspicious, however let me remind you it was a fresh bag of M&Ms and I was desperate.

Okay, if you're shouting "Don't do it!" at your computer screen right now, relax. I didn't do it. I'm not THAT desperate. Not yet, anyway. I tossed it. It was too scary.

11:00 AM - I continued on with my typing when suddenly I heard the piano playing rather loudly and some off-pitch singing accompanying it. I looked over and beheld...

THIS!

Now, I know it's a duet when two people play, but what do you call it when THREE are going all at once? A trip-let?

Yeah, I'm not laughing either. Not funny.

5:00 PM - Anyway, it was nearly time for dinner and I wanted to cook some fresh ears of corn, so I started shucking away, that's when I heard the little voice...

SYLVIE: Mommy, wanna helper you.

MOM: Oh, honey, not tonight, okay? Mommy needs to do it quickly.

SYLVIE: MOMMY! Wanna helper you!

MOM: (Sigh) Okay. Here you go.

I handed her an ear of corn and she started shucking it.

CHLOE: MOMMY!

MOM: What, honey?

CHLOE: Undecipherable noise.

MOM: You want to help too?

CHLOE: YEAH!

MOM: Okay, here you go.

MOM: No, Chloe! No, baby! You don't eat it!

(Quickly panning the surrounding areas for any witnesses to the crime. All clear.)

MOM: (Half-whispering) Here, Chloe. Give me that. Let's throw it in the pot quick. That can be daddy's.

9:00 PM - Everyone is in bed, except mom and dad.

12:00 PM - Mom and dad are finally relaxed enough after a hectic day to go to bed.

2:30 AM - LOUD THUNDER! HOUSE SHAKING! Mom shoots up in bed and gasps, realizes it's just a storm and falls back into bed.

2:35 AM - LOUD THUNDER! HOUSE SHAKING! Mom shoots up in bed and gasps, realizes it's still just a storm and falls back into bed.

2:40 AM - LOUD THUNDER! HOUSE SHAKING! Mom shoots up in bed and gasps, realizes it's STILL just a storm and is about to fall back into bed when she hears Sylvie screaming bloody murder!!!

3:00-4:30 AM - Mom makes makeshift bed by pushing love seat, ottoman and overstuffed chair together. As soon as bed is set up and kids are tucked in, storm is long gone. (SIGH) Kids were having too much fun to tear it all down right away, so mom put up with it for 1 1/2 hours!!!!! Where's my Mother Of The Year Award? NOW I'm feeling worthy of it!!!!

How To Tuck In A Baby Sister

A three-part instructional brochure by Master Toddler, Sylvie-Faye Coppee.

1. After baby sister has climbed on couch, throw blanket over her body and tell her to lie down on pillow.

2. Sometimes it is necessary to straddle baby sister and push firmly on head until it has touched down on pillow. Continue this action until screaming subsides and baby sister loses strength and head involuntarily flops onto pillow.

**Helpful Hint: Offering candy will often bring on baby sister's submission a lot quicker.

3. And finally, tuck in blanket around baby sister and tell her, "Now go to sleep and no skweaming, ok? If you swkeam, I spank you bum, ok?"

If you have any questions, please feel free to call: 1-800-B-AFRAID

I Can't Say It Enough People!

SHOES are important!

PANTS

ARE

NOT!

Got it?!?!?!

Now! Next week's discussion...

Hair.

CHLOE: Ugh. I can't look. When is it going to end?

Better Than The Radio

Whenever I take my girls with me on errands, I buckle them in, start the car, turn on the radio or pop in a CD and zone out. It's like my "quiet time". The girls usually just listen to the music and look out the windows and it's nice just to escape the house and not have kids constantly fussing at me or fighting with each other.

But yesterday was different. Yesterday I was driving along, driving along, zoning out and suddenly I realized my girls were in the backseat singing. Not with the radio - just their own tunes. Sylvie was running through her ABCs, which she LOVES to do now because she thinks she's got it, and Chloe always copies Sylvie, so she was belting out jibberish thinking she was singing along with Sylvie.

I slowly phased out the radio and just enjoyed listening to my baby girls sing. I know they won't be little for long and I realize it's important to relish these moments, so I did. And, of course, tried not to laugh. Here's Sylvie's version of the ABCs. (I actually jotted it quick on the back of my checkbook so I wouldn't forget exactly how she sang it because I think it's hilarious!):

A B C D E F G H I J K Emma Nenna Peeeeee! Chew R Est T U B Bubble U X Nine and Z.

Now I KNOW (shouted out) my ABC's. H I J K Emma Nenna Peeeeeeeee!!

And then there's Chloe's version: (Sung at the top of her lungs to dry to drown out Sylvie - these two are going to be competitive teenagers. I can feel it now).

BABY BEE BEE MOMMY MEEEE BABY WEE WEE BEE BEE MEEEEEE!

My ladies. I love these girls!

Blame It On Henry!

HIM: Hey Babe, how come all of these channels are blacked out?
ME: Oh, I called and had those extra movie channels removed.
HIM: Why?
ME: It saves us like 50 bucks a month.
HIM: Oh. Okay. Wow. There's lots of good movies on, but we can't watch them now.
ME: Yeah. Well, I'm having them all turned back on in December.
HIM: Oh really? Why?
ME: Because Tudors will be back on for its third season.
HIM: Are you kidding me?
ME: What?
HIM: You're turning it all back on just so you can watch that show?
ME: Yeah!
HIM: Wow.
ME: What?
HIM: Nothing.
ME: WHAT?!?!?!

Yes. Very nice.

Mmm Hmm. Even better.

Wow! Okay, I can't take it anymore. January 2009 can't come fast enough!

Is my decision making sense to you yet?

Thank You!

MEN!

HIM: Hey hon?
ME: Yeah?

HIM: What's that stuff in the blue bowl in the kitchen?
ME: Cake batter.

HIM: Oh.
ME: What?

HIM: Are you still using it?
ME: No. I already made enough cupcakes out of it.

HIM: Okay, good.
ME: Why? What happened?

HIM: Well, I ate it all.
ME: WHAT?!?! (Laughing) You ate it ALL?!?!

HIM: (Laughing) Yeah. It was good.
ME: OH MY GOSH! That was a lot of cake batter.

HIM: I know.
ME: Well thanks for eating it all and THEN asking me!

How We Discipline

Mission: Get Chloe to eat at least three bites of dinner.

Strategy: Promise her a cupcake if she eats three bites. Count out loud with entire family and make big clapping scene in between each bite.

Back Up Strategy: Re-enact a Mexican stand off scene and DO NOT back down at any cost!

Description of proceedings: Chloe eats two bites and shuts down. Completely. Back up plan put into play.

Wanna see a picture of this real live Mexican stand off?

Bam!

Bam!

There you have it!

As you can see from this photo, Chloe made an unexpected surrender and was released from her high chair prison. Why we have to re-enact historical battles to get our children to eat is beyond me, but I'm now reading a book about WWII to get some ideas for dinner tomorrow night.

A Tale of Two Sylvies

There are two Sylvies in my house. At first I thought maybe it was just one girl with two personalities, but now I'm quite sure it's two different children, both Sylvies.

Here's Sylvie #1. She's extremely helpful and sweet.

Here she is going to help Papa clean pools for the day.

And here she is making chocolate milk for her baby sister.


Then, there's Sylvie #2. The very thought of her makes me shudder. It's an altogether different sort of creature...the kind that sneaks up on you while you're engrossed in a project and you are completely focused on what you are doing - in another world almost when suddenly you turn and are faced with ....

THIS! And you gasp in horror and it responds with "I a wobot, mommy". And you think, "Well, it said mommy, so maybe it's a good creature after all".

But within less than a half hour, you're making your way to the kitchen for a nice glass of ice water and as you turn the corner, you nearly bump into...

THIS! She's got her tools and she's on a mission. I don't even want to know what she's plotting next. By the way, that pacifier - came out of nowhere. She has NEVER, EVER in her life taken a pacifier. Not even as an infant. She just found this thing in our house somewhere, amongst some old boxes and adopted it. This is how I know, without a doubt, there are two Sylvies in this house. This one is not the baby I birthed and brought home. This is some sort of spawn. I don't know if we got it wet and it multiplied or if the radiation from the microwave and television did it, but something has duplicated my darling daughter. I'm just afraid of what the spawn of this creature will be like...

AAAAHHHHHH!!!!

(Panting) Oh John, it's just you. You cannot DO that to me right now! I'm right in the middle of talking about the spawn of Sylvie and I'm a little jumpy right now, OKAY!?

Whew! Sorry, it's just that I was conjuring up visions of...

THIS! See? You'd be jumpy too. I bet you're freaking out right now as you read this.

That's Gonna Cost You!

This afternoon I was hunched down by the kid videos, looking for a good one to entertain the kids for a bit. Just then I heard a little voice behind me.

E: Ummm....Sister Coppee. If you want me to fix you, I can, but it's gonna' cost you a lot of money.

ME: Ew. A lot? Like how much?

E: (Scrunching her face up and thinking hard) Like...ummm....ten million hundred zillion million dollars....and fifty cents.

ME: (Sweating profusely) Oh wow! I don't think I can afford that.

E: Well, you're gonna have to die then because you're really sick.

ME: Okay, I guess I'm gonna have to die. (SIGH) Oh well....

E: (Guilt setting in) Well....okaaaay. I can fix you for three dollars.

ME: Whew! Okay. I can afford three dollars. (I'm suspicious. She really knocked a lot of money off there and I didn't even really have to bargain with her. This can't be good.)


I handed Dr. E. three dollars (Not really, because truthfully, I don't even have THAT right now. But fortunately, she humored me and accepted my "air" money).

I then turned to the DVD player and inserted "Little Mermaid" for the kids to watch. That's when Dr. E. seized the moment and proceeded to pull out a toy syringe and stab me (very unexpectedly) in the left breast.

ME: Yowch! Right in the boob!?

E: (Giggling) Yep.

ME: You were gonna' charge me more than 10 million dollars just to stab me in the boob?

E: (Laughing hysterically) Yep!

ME: MAN! I thought OUR health care system was bad. I don't wanna' live on the planet you come from!

**Now, if you're one of the mothers who sent her kids over to play today, I'm not posting this to tattle, so don't call me and ask if it was your kid. I've changed the names to protect the innocent. I just think kids are hilarious and today yours wins the prize...whoever you are.

KNOCK! KNOCK!

Who's there?

MRSA. (Pronounced Mer-sa)

MRSA who?

MRSA who?!
What do you mean, MRSA who?
MRSA that's been killing off your husband for 1 1/2 years.
That's WHO!!

Oh. Oh yeah. I was trying to forget you existed.

Hey, listen lady!
Just 'cause you ain't heard from me in two weeks,
doesn't mean I don't exist.
I'm stickin' around 'til my job's complete.

Your job?

That's right.

That being....?

Killing off your HUSBAND!!!! HELLOOOOO!!!!

TRUE STORY

One week ago, Bertrand stopped off at a Circle K to get a drink. He was going to be working on a pool repair job out in the heat and he stopped in for some hydration. He pulled his truck into the parking space and as he climbed out, he glanced into the truck parked next to him and saw an old American-Indian lady sitting there, looking back at him. He smiled at her and then continued up the walk toward the front doors of the store.

Just then he heard an old lady's voice calling out to him.
"You're sick", she said.
Bertrand whirled around and stopped, "What did you say?"
She eyed him up and down and said, "I see a bug inside of you. You're very sick."
Bertrand just stared at her, eyes wide open, mouth agape.
Just then an American-Indian man exited the store and saw the two staring at each other.
"What's going on here?", he asked.
Bertrand turned around to the man and said, "This woman is telling me I'm sick".
The Indian man spoke in Apache to the old Indian lady. Then he turned to Bertrand. "Is this true? Is there something wrong with you?", he asked.
Bertrand nodded, "Yeah. Actually, I've been diagnosed with MRSA and I have been told it's killing me".

"Then you should listen to her", said the Indian man.
The old lady spoke in Apache to the Indian man and then turned around and walked back toward the truck.
The Indian man turned to Bertrand and said, "She has something for you."
The old Indian lady returned with a necklace. It was an Apache tear. She told Bertrand to wear it always. She said it would cleanse him.

He hasn't taken it off since.

Green Weaves

I LOVE this purse! So cute! One of the many unique purses my friend, Marylou, makes for her business GreenWeaves.com, which offers a variety of gift, home decor and personal items all fashioned from recycled materials. This purse is made partially from recycled newspaper.

Now you may be thinking - how does that hold up? It's very durable actually. I've tested one out. She has a special process she uses with this newspaper, but it's top secret, so I won't say another word about it.

Her website is new and under construction, so she only has three purses displayed on-line so far, but I highly recommend her work. It's inspired by the Brazilian craft (she's from Brazil).

I'm really excited for her. She has shown her work to galleries and boutiques and interest is sparking, so I wish her much success and I know I'll definitely be one of her clients. She's making me a purse for my birthday. I'm SO excited!!! I can't wait to see what she comes up with next!

I've started a new list on my blog. It's called "Shout Outs". I know a lot of you out there are very crafty. I know who some of you are. Some of you are still a well kept secret. I'll be seeking you out, promoting you on my site, and adding you to my list. If you have a website you'd like me to promote, just post a comment on this blog with your site and I'll do a story and add it.

So many talented people!

Fall Fashion

It's time for the fall fashion line up. House Of Sylvie is at it again - this time trying for bold and edgy.

Now, I know what you're thinking - where are the pants?

Right?

That's the bold, edgy part - THERE ARE NO PANTS!!

Think it won't catch on?


It already has.

It already has...

Are You Kidding Me?

Forgive me, but I must vent. Jennifer Garner Affleck is up for "Mother Of The Year". I'm not kidding. Celebrityland is posting it everywhere - magazines, celebrity news shows, etc. Now, I love Jennifer Garner. Well...not LOVE...but, you know what I mean - I like her. I respect her. I'm sure she had nothing to do with the nomination. She might even agree with my rant.

Anyway, I decided to do a little research and find out what the big fuss was about. I came to discover that Jennifleck (Couldn't use Bennifer - that was wasted on J.Lo) is being nominated because:

1. She takes her daughter to the park.
2. She doesn't use a full-time nanny.
3. She takes her daughter to the park. (I know, I already said that - I'm proving a point)
4. Her daughter always looks so happy.
5. She takes her daughter on set and spends time with her in between takes.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!?! THAT'S what it takes to get a "Mother Of The Year" nomination?

(Violet is cringing because even SHE knows that's just wrong!)

Well, heck! I'm up for Mother of The Universe for:

1. Taking my kids to the play area at the mall three times a week.
2. Not using a nanny or a babysitter or anything because I can't stinkin' afford it!
3. Taking my kids to the play area at the mall THREE TIMES A WEEK!
4. My kids always look happy - 'cause I let them eat fruit snacks three times in a row just to get them off my back so I can get some typing done for a second!
5. I have to work a full time typing job with two toddlers destroying my house and fighting with each other all day long and I haven't killed them yet!!

Here, Jennifleck! Here's a little poem I wrote about my life to help you understand why I laugh at the idea that you're up for Mother Of The Year! Try this on for size:

When mommy has to work
The kids destroy the house
I never know they're doing it
They're quiet as a mouse

When John John goes to see his dad
The dishes don't get done
The trashes don't get taken out
'Cause those are not my job

My job is just to sit here
In this office chair and type
And type and type and eat and type
And type all day and night

I'm trying not to go insane
From all the children's "FUN"
But when mommy stops dead in her tracks (with disbelief and her head starts to tic and her eye twitches and her jaw drops)
The children better RUN!!!!!!!

As you can clearly see - they're not afraid of ME!

A Memorable Day

Time to be serious. But only for a minute.

My son, John, turned 12 on July 26th and received the Aaronic priesthood on Sunday, July 27th. He was ordained by his Grandpa Done and Bertrand got to stand in the circle, as well as Grandpa Poulsen. John was so excited to have his family on all sides there. Some of them had to travel quite a distance (1 1/2 hours), but we were so happy to have everyone there on his special day.

(John with Grandma and Grandpa Done)

(John with Grandma and Grandpa Poulsen...and Sylvie because she wouldn't let go of Grandma's hand.)

I am so proud of my son. He's my oldest. I always wanted a boy first because I envied friends who had a big brother. I wanted a big brother to be an example to his younger siblings. And a protector. He has proven to be both. His little sisters on our side and little brothers on his dad's side look up to him and love him to death! He's so great with his little brothers and sisters.

On our end, I can say he's a HUGE help at home. I often say, "I couldn't do this without you, John". He's my right hand man. He keeps the ladies in order and aids in getting drinks and helping them out of predicaments. Most of all, he loves to chase them and wrestle them and also jump out at them and make them scream in fright, which sometimes gives me that psychotic twitch in my eye, but as long as they're all having fun, I guess I can deal with it.

John got a full weekend of birthday fun.

On Thursday we met up with Aunt Sonia, Ashton, Dalton, Sutton and Peyton at Chuck E. Cheese for 2 1/2 hours of pizza and fun! Whew! It was fun to see the cousins all running around together- having a blast. The only downer was Sylvie-Faye asking non-stop, all the way there, "Chuck E. Cheese not bite me, huh mommy? He nice, huh mommy?" After the 20th time and John John sighing and rolling his eyes and holding his head in his hands and moaning, and me responding with "He won't bite you" (20 times), I answered, "YES, SYLVIE-FAYE - HE'S NICE! OKAY!?!?!?!" Luckily he did not make an appearance. Thank you, Chuck E. Cheese, for saving me from insanity.

On Friday night he and I met up with some Queen Creek friends, including his friend, Nate, who turns 12 four days after him. We watched the new Batman movie at the IMAX...and had to take potty breaks - some of us more than once (not me). Then we went for dinner at Chili's afterwards, which was followed by a trip to the bathroom to purge because we ate WAY too much. On top of free large popcorns at the IMAX, we ate a full meal afterwards. YUCK!

THEN came night number two - Batman at the IMAX with John, me and Bert. Again - free large popcorns all around and large drinks to accompany. And yes - bathroom breaks AGAIN! (Hey, it's a 2 1/2-hour movie!) We presented John with a pocket watch with his initials engraved on the front and a little message on the back. He's been begging for this for two years. I'm not kidding. It was pricey and could be a family heirloom for him, so I told him he had to wait until he turned 12 and received the priesthood. I was excited to finally present him with it.

Oh, it's not over! SUNDAY morning, he woke up to a room full of balloons. It's become a tradition. I stay up until 1:30 AM the night before blowing up as many balloons as I can until I break my first blister and then I stop. This time I made it to 47! Pretty impressive. A little better than last year's numbers. Then, he got to go with his dad and the Done family after church and have cake and presents.

I love my boy, John. He's a good kid. Very smart. Very handsome (Duh! He looks like me!). Very kind. Very obedient. Almost perfect, except for the fact that sometimes when I want to spank him for encouraging Sylvie to spit, he won't let me and he's stronger than me and he won't let me win, which he should because I'm the mom. Anyway, it's fine. I'm working out and kick box training, so things will change one of these days.

Happy Birthday, John!

Oh, The Things We Inherit!

My girls just love music! We pretty much have it playing 24/7 around here. It plays while we clean (makes it more fun), plays while we eat (we don't want to have to actually talk to each other), plays while my girls sleep, plays the second the car turns on (sometimes before the A/C button gets pushed - Bertrand - yes, I'm referring to you)....

Here they are doing a duet.

It seems they've inherited our love for music.


And here they are jamming with their daddy - practicing to be in a band someday.

Oh my! That smile is positively frightening, my dear.

Yikes! There it is again.

AAHHH!

And again! It really is scaring me now.

Honey? Is it possible to smile without baring all of your teeth like that?

Just once?

(SIGH) That's what I was afraid of.


I'm sorry, babe. It's just that you look like a cross between Jack Nicholson in "The Shining" and...


...The Joker....also played by....Jack...Nicholson....

Hey! Wait a minute! Are you two related? Is that like one of those secrets you've been keeping from me that you're going to surprise me with later? He's your uncle, isn't he? I guessed it, right?

He was probably like Jacques...Nico....or Notre Dame...or something like that. Something French. And Hollywood was all, "Umm, you're gonna have to change your name" and so they just made him into Jack Nicholson.

I figured it out! HA! You just didn't want me to know right now because I'd sit around thinking about all day it instead of cleaning the house and making you food and stuff. And he could probably live for like another 20 years with all the fancy stuff rich people have access to these days.



I mean, look at Mick Jagger. He's like...what? 250 years old? Something like that. Anyway...older than anybody else on this earth.

Okay, can you stop looking at me like I'm stupid? Thank you.

What was that? Did you just call me an idiot?

Oh, that is it! I'm telling your mother.

I know she only speaks French! That's why I'm signing up for French 101 at MCC and then on the first day of class I'm asking the teacher how to say, "Your son called me an idiot" in French. And then I'll drop the class and get my money back. DUH!

Anyway, that's beside the point.

The point is - you were gonna' surprise me one day when Jack Nicholson died and I read about it in People Magazine. I bet you were gonna' let me read the whole article and then be like, "Hey. Guess what. He's my uncle. We just inherited 50 MILLION DOLLARS!"

(Sigh)

I knew it! I knew we wouldn't struggle forever!

What?

Why are you mad?

You DO look like him. That cheesy smile of yours is a dead ringer...

Oh, I'm a jerk now, huh? I'm a jerk?

Fine!

Well, at least there's plastic surgery.

When Jack Nicholson dies and we get that big inheritance someday, you can probably get some cosmetic procedure. Not a face lift, though. That will probably just exacerbate the problem.


You don't wanna' look like THIS, do you?

WHAT?!?!?!

My GOSH! You're so sensitive!

I can't even talk to you anymore. You get so mad about everything!

(SIGH)

There he goes. He's ticked. I was just trying to be helpful. GEEZ!!

How do you say sensitive in French?

Fine! Don't tell me! I'll just ask the French teacher THAT one too!

Okay, I'm sorry. This always happens. We end up getting into this random fight. I'm so sorry you just had to witness that.

ANYWAY...

Luckily that's one things our kids didn't and hopefully won't inherit from him - the cheesy smile thing.

NOOOOOOOooooooooooooo! DANG IT! I spoke too soon.

I should have known that was asking too much.

Oh well, at least they don't do it while they're sleeping. (Note to self - only take pictures when Bertrand and kids are sleeping so as not to scare people.)

Birthday Wishes

Okay, so my birthday is next month and my husband is going to be asking me soon what I want for my birthday. So, I decided to make a post about what I want 'cause I know he totally reads my blog, and then that way he can just give me what I want without having to ask and then it will be like he just knew what I wanted. And then it will feel like something out of a movie and then I can be like the happiest housewife in all the land.

So, with the help of Victoria Dollington, her husband, Kenneth, and their adorable twins, I have created a display of my perfect birthday surprise.

(Gasp) Breakfast in bed? Oh, darling, you shouldn't have.

Wow! You're taking the kids out for the whole day? You are the BEST! Have fun! Look at him run! He really wants to hurry up and let me have the house to myself.

Ohhh yeaaahh! Now THAT's what I'm talkin' 'bout! I know it's a lot of food, but I'm watching the entire Roswell series. It's three seasons long. It's gonna take awhile and I don't wanna' have to keep getting up.

Woo hoo! Giddyap, horsie! Hey! Don't knock it 'til you've tried it!

Wheeeeee!!!! I love birthdays!

Oh, also I would like dinner out at my favorite restaurant followed by a gondola ride at Gainey ranch and a new wardrobe from my favorite on-line rocker chick store! YAY! Thanks in advance, honey. Love ya'.

Lessons Learned From Toddlers

Yo! Yo! YO! What's up, my people? Super-Fly GMC in the hiz-ouse! (Sylvie-Faye Gretchen Marie Coppee, that is. Yes, my parents actually did that to me. Five names. It's amazing I'm so well adjusted. What are we - royalty? Geez!) Today I'm gonna' show all you happenin' "tods" what's up! It's time for Surviving The Toddler Years One-Oh-One! There's five key points in this first lesson and I'm using the help of my annoying baby sis, Chloe "Laryngitis" Coppee to help me demonstrate these new concepts, yo! (Well, she should have laryngitis with all the screaming she does. It's amazing she still has vocal cords intact!)

1. You can never get too close to the TV.

2. If you can't play a game by the rules...

...change 'em.

3. Swimming pools are lame.

4. Office chair rides through the house rule!

5. And finally, if mom says "no" to the third packet of fruit snacks, just go grab it anyway when she's not looking and lure your baby sister under the kitchen table with you.

Then, play nice and giggle a lot (especially make the baby sister giggle a lot)

Hearing this will put mom in an exceptionally good mood (most likely because you and baby sister have been screaming for two weeks straight and she's losing her nerve), and when she finally walks over and takes a peek...

..she'll find the giggling and hiding so darn cute, she'll overlook the underage scheming and give you want you want.

**She might even throw her head back and roar with laughter and then pull out her camera and snap tons of pictures. That's what my mom did anyway. That's how you got these lovely, full-color illustrations with the story, fool!

So I Think I'm In Love!

I'm sorry, but I'm obsessed with Chelsie and Mark from "So You Think You Can Dance". And I mean obsessed! I love that show. I live for that show right now!
They say they view each other as brother and sister, but I'm not buyin' it!

There is so much emotion in their performances and they have amazing chemistry. Brother and sisters don't have that. Come on! The tension between these two just builds week and after week and I am losing my mind!

At least it keeps me occupied until Breaking Dawn comes out because my obsession with the final book in that series is like ruining my life! So I need another distraction! Thank you, Chelsie and Mark, for making that happen!

Saturday Is A Special Day It's the Day...

You wake up in the middle of the night with a millipede trying to crawl into your eye.

Wait a minute. That's not how the song goes. But that's how it went for me Saturday night. Something was crawling all over my face. I finally woke up and smacked at my face. When I looked down upon my pillow, there was a big, juicy millipede! I screamed and Bertrand shot straight up in bed.
My husband rescued me and picked the critter up and tossed it in the toilet. He walked out a few seconds later and climbed back into bed. I couldn't sleep. I swear I felt things crawling all over my body. I was tossing and turning and scratching myself everywhere. I had the "heebie jeebies" big time!

I finally got up to use the bathroom and when I went in, I said, "Honey?"

B: What?
K: What did you do with that thing that was on my pillow?
B: I put it in the toilet.
K: Well, did you flush it?
B: No.
K: Well, I don't see it in here.
B: It's dead, hon. Come back to bed.
K: Well, I have to go to the bathroom and I don't see it in the toilet and you didn't flush it and I'm really worried. What if it crawled back up and got out or what if I go to the bathroom and it crawls on me?
B: Hon, it won't.
K: It might.
B: It won't.
K: I don't like that I can't see it. I need to know where it is.
B: (Growl).

He put his pillow over his head and tried to go back to sleep. LOL. Poor guy. I crawled back into bed. I laid there thinking "What WAS that thing exactly and HOW did it get on my face? WHERE did it come from?"

K: Babe?
B: (Muffled) What?
K: I'm sorry to bother you again, but how did that thing get in here?
B: I don't know.
K: Well, I just don't understand how a big, juicy creepy crawly ends up on my face. I'm just freaking out about where it came from.
B: It probably came in the window.
K: But it couldn't have. I mean, we have a screen up and I haven't opened the window in months.
B: Well, it might have gotten in the window somehow.
K: No. That's impossible. It got in here a different way. I'm just freaking out about how!
B: Babe, it's gone now. Just go to sleep.
K: Yeah, but what if there are more? What if another one gets on my face again after I fall back asleep?
B: It won't.
K: It might.
B: It won't.
K: Well, I'm going to freak out and scream again if it does.
B: (Growl).

House of Sylvie - Makeup Line

Hey there, unibrow.

Channeling Frida Kahlo this season, are we?

Very risky indeed. But why do I get the feeling this look won't catch on here in the US?

Anything You Can Do...

Ah, the magical ages of 1 and 2. And to top if off - the competitiveness of sisterhood!

I ate dinner alone with the girls tonight. John was off to his dad's for the weekend and Bertrand was still at work.

SYLVIE: (SIGH).

ME: What's the matter, Silb?

SYLVIE: Well, I not feel good.

ME: Okay. Well, no treats after dinner then.

SYLVIE: (Excitedly) YEAH! Want treats!

ME: Well, not if you don't feel good.

CHLOE: MOM! E! (She shouts it in two short bursts these days).

ME: (Gasps) Chloe doesn't feel good either?

CHLOE: Yeeaaaaaaah. (She always says this word like she's high. It's long and drawn out in a big sigh)

I start to feed Chloe another bite of food.


SYLVIE: Hey mom! Mom! MOMMEEEEE! Mom! Mom! Mom! (All in quick succession - not really giving me an opportunity to answer in between)

ME: (Sigh) What Silb?

SYLVIE: Wock on!

ME: Yeah. Rock on!


CHLOE: YA YOW! YA YOW!

MOM: Oh! Are you doing "rock on" too?

CHLOE: Yeeeaaaaaaah.

ME: Oh yeah, Chloe. Rock on!

Smithy

It's a new expression I invented...I think.

It's actually a word. It was used in the "olden days" (only because I don't know history and I'm too lazy to look it up) to describe a blacksmith's workshop, I think. I don't know. Do you wanna' look it up? 'Cause I sure don't. Here's a pic.

It just came out of nowhere one night when JJ and I were driving somewhere and this is how it went down:

ME: We need to buy you some new clothes.

JJ: Why?

ME: Don't you like buying new clothes?

JJ: No.

ME: What?

JJ: What's wrong with the clothes I have?

ME: I don't know. They're a bit Smithy, that's all.

JJ: Smithy? What the heck is Smithy?

ME: I don't know. It just came out, but I think it means "old and outdated - in need of refreshing or something..."

JJ: You're a freak, mom.

ME: I know, huh. (In British accent - for more spice) Smithy. I kind of like that. It's my new word. I've never invented a word before, but I think I just did.

JJ: Oh my gosh. Stop. Please.

ME: (In British accent) I'm feeling a bit Smithy right now myself.

JJ: Mom! You're embarrassing!

ME: Well, it's better than being (in British accent) Smithy.

There you go - a new word. Smithy. Using a British accent enhances it. Gives it more flavor. (Sigh) Why can't I have a job that employs my mind so I don't come up with random garbage like this? Well, I'm afraid it's stuck. Smithy it is.

What I Need!

My good friend, Michelle, had posted this on her blog and I thought it was hilarious. Plus, I was also curious about myself, so here's what you do - you Google your name and type "needs" after it. So, for example, I typed "Kristin needs" into Google. Then I typed "Bertrand needs" and here's what it came up with.

1. Bertrand needs a thesaurus (Oh my gosh! So true! He's writing a book and he's constantly consulting one)

2. Bertrand needs a whole lotta car (I know. I hear about it every day)

3. Bertrand needs five million francs (even just five hundred would help)

4. Bertrand needs a hug (Awww. Poor guy)

5. Bertrand needs some loyal supporters (He already has those, but maybe he could use more)

Now, my turn.

1. Kristin needs to move (Definitely, but not away from the ward)

2. Kristin needs her own show (Definitely)

3. Kristin needs a nap (Definitely!)

4. Kristin needs to be everywhere (Definitely)

Do I say definitely too much? (DEFINITELY!)

Try it. It's hilarious! I dare you all to post the results on your blog.

I'm Sorry....

Did I complain about living in Arizona? I take that back.

http://link.brightcove.com/services/link/bcpid823425597/bclid877032950/bctid1588489216

For David Cook Fans Only (If you're not, go away!)

http://new.music.yahoo.com/blogs/realityrocks/87152/best-idol-ever

What Say You, Sylvie?

SYLVIE-FAYE: Mommy? What's dat, mommy? What's dat?

ME: That's your dinosaur, honey.

SF: What? He's in da twash, mommy.

ME: I know. I put him there, okay?

(Sylvie scowls at me and shifts from left to right to left)

ME: Mommy's cleaning. I'm throwing dinosaur away because you don't play with him.

SF: Well. You naked.

**Just for the record, I was not totally not naked. Not even close. It was like she was trying to insult me with that because she was mad that I was throwing away her dinosaur toy. Yes, you read that correctly. The dinosaur was actually hers. No, I did not buy it for her. Somebody gave it to her because she really wanted it. Anyway, I'm doing some major cleaning out in their room and dinosaur was just part of the mess. She wasn't playing with him anymore.


ME: Something smells like bubble gum. Who smells like bubble gum?

SF: Well. I not, mommy. It's Chwoe.

ME: Chloe smells like bubble gum?

SF: Yeah. Chwoe do dat.

ME: Chloe did what?

SF: Chwo eat mommy's gub gum. (Turning to Chloe and pointing a scolding finger) No Chwoe, okay? No do dat mommy's gub gum. Want spankings? Huh? Wanna go time out?

CHLOE: NO! NO!

ME: Come here, Sylvie.

SF: What?

ME: Somethings bulging in your pocket. Come here.

I discover an entire pack of gum in there, which has been opened and a couple of pieces are missing.

SF: What's dat, mommy? That's gub gum.

ME: Yeah. That's mommy's. Where did you get that from ?

SF: Well...I not sure.

ME: You're not sure.

SF: Umm...Chwoe do dat.

I go to my stash cupboard (I've replaced candy with sugar free gum in all flavors, which entices the toddler). I open my stash cupboard wide.

ME: Is this where you got mommy's gum?

SF: Uh....YEAH! Dat's mommy's gum. Sylbie no touch it, okay?

ME: Sylvie-Faye Coppee! You ask mommy. You don't get into mommy's gum, okay? If you ask me, I'll give you a piece.

SF: Okay, mommy. (Raising her hand and staring intently as she tries to hold up fingers and count) I do one, two, free, four times and dat's all, okay mommy?

ME: No. You don't do two, three or four more times. You don't do it anymore.

SF: O! K!

ANNOUNCER: "The Heroes Have Entered The Building. I repeat. The HEROES have ENTERED the building."

Look at that! I can't compete. He is like their hero or something. He comes home from school and they just squeal and jump him every time. Look at Chloe just adoring him off to the side.

And then there's Papa! Chloe is actually crying because she has to share him with Sylvie. She hates when Sylvie gets to get picked up too. They want him all to themselves.

Nobody wants me....except when they need something.

Not So Random

I've been tagged. I apologize. I must give 8 random facts. And you all must suffer through one more round of randomness. However, I'm really not that exciting. Not very random. My life is pretty mundane and predictable, though I do try to make certain choices to throw things off a bit just for fun. THAT was random. Let's call that number one. And no, I won't go into detail.

2. I love dark hair and dark skin. Really wish I could have had that naturally. Instead I must dye my hair and sunbathe and explain to strangers on a regular basis that YES, the girls are in fact my biological children even though their coloring is NOTHING like mine because I'M TOTALLY FAKE! (All right. Got a little carried away there. Anyway....where was I....ah yes..)

3. I'm going to make a movie someday with James McAvoy. I know. Totally random. I'm not even in the movie making business. Not even close. But I will. Just watch. It's not IF, people. It's WHEN. Keep watchin'.

4. I used to wear wigs and go out on the town and put on an accent and pretend to be someone else. If you know me well, this doesn't surprise you. I KNOW! I should TOTALLY have gone into acting. I'm still going to. Check out #3.

5. My wedding ring is totally fake. HA! And I can't stop telling people that. My husband hates that I do that, but I think it's awesome. My ring is like HUGE! Totally fake. I mean, come on. I drive a Hyundai Elantra. Why would I have a REAL 5 carat ring? Seriously! I'm sorry, but when a doctor's wife complains that her ring is smaller than mine, I can't just stand there and pretend like it's true that her husband is a cheapskate, even though he probably is because most doctors are. But anyway, I can't let her go home and make her husband feel bad. My ring is FAKE! Just like me.

Oh thank goodness we're almost done with this torture. Are you hanging in there? You're still reading this? All righty then - I'm bringin' it. Here we go.

6. I love the color purple. A lot. BORING! I know. But there's more. One day I read an article that this lady loved pink so much that she dyed her white cat pink. So the other day I was like driving down the road listening to "Muse", which totally inspires me to write lately. But also, it inspired me to want to buy a little white dog or cat or something and like dye it purple. But then I was like, "Well, how would I do that? Because I think that lady did it with Kool-Aid, but then wouldn't that make the cat be all sticky and stuff? That's no good. The cat will just lick it off. I guess I could use food coloring. Wait. Is that safe? Aw, who cares. I can't believe I just spent 10 minutes of my day thinking about that. Never mind". The idea seemed fun, though....for about 10 minutes.

By the way, in case you're wondering - no. I'm not doing drugs right now. This is how my mind works and you're the innocent victim getting a, most likely, unwanted peek inside the madness.

7. If I could have a super power, it would be to become invisible so I could spy on people and not be seen. Okay, if you've had this conversation with me before, I said a totally different answer - the one I always use because it's safe - "I wish my super power was to be able to see the future because I'd find out the winning lottery numbers and WIN!" Sounds safe enough, doesn't it? But here's the awful truth - I am a voyeur. People fascinate me and I like to watch them. I wish I could be invisible and just stare at people and they wouldn't even know I was there. (I'm doing an evil laugh right now. You should be very afraid of me). It's totally true - I would rather spy on people than win the lottery and be rich. CRAZY!

8. I always wanted to be a goth chick. I just thought it would be cool. One of my good friends told me once that she's a former goth chick and I didn't believe her because she doesn't seem the type. Not at all. But she was. And now I'm kind of bummed I didn't get to have that phase. I think it's kinda too late for me now. I mean, I have kids and stuff. And also I'm 32. That's kind of lame. Maybe for Halloween....or not. I think I embarrass my kids. Well, not the 1 and 2-year-old. They don't know any better. But the 11-year-old....yeah! Definitely.

Oh, would you look at that! I gotta go. It's like 9:40 PM on a Saturday night and I totally need to go grocery shopping. Can't be breaking Shabbat now, can we? Nope. Not me. Have a good one. Hope you enjoyed the insanity. Buh bye now.

**Disclaimer: I was totally joking. This whole post was a joke.

What? You don't believe me? Oh. Okay then. Never mind. It was all true. I'm just feeling a little vulnerable, that's all. No big deal, though. We're all freaks, right? At least I admit it. Right? Hello? Okay, I'm thinking I should probably hide out for a few weeks. Let this all just pass.

Happy Sabbath To You Too!

Sylvie-Faye is quite the character. Lately she's been spewing out a few phrases that I'd like to be able to blame on other children or television or....just anything else besides the ugly truth - it came from me.

Here comes the big defense: Sometimes both girls scream and we're in the car, which is small and it echoes and they won't stop, so I have to resort to shouting "Shut up! That's enough! Shut up right now or I'm pulling over and you're getting spanked". Not only does this work, but unfortunately it's the only thing I've found that seems to work. My girls know I mean business, so when I threaten to pull over and spank, it's gonna happen no matter what. Now, you may be thinking, "Well, why don't you just say 'be quiet' or something like that?" Believe me. I've tried. 'Be quiet' doesn't work. 'Shut up' does.

SO, the other day Sylvie-Faye said, "Shabbat". I said, "What did you say?" She became sheepish and mumbled "Shabbat". I was mortified. I thought, "Oh no, my sweet little toddler is saying horrible things". I hyperventilated a little bit and felt really guilty. Then I stopped and thought for a second and said, "Wait a minute. What did you say, Sylvie?" She said, "Shabbat, mommy!"

"OOOOHHHH!" I replied. "SHABBAT. Now that's different. That's not shut up. That's shabbat, which in Jewish means happy Sabbath. Now THAT's okay to say". So now when she says, "Shabbat" I just reply with, "Happy Sabbath to you too, my friend". Man, that girl is smart! I did not know she was learning Jewish too! Wow!