It is hot

And I mean HOT. The kind of hot that makes you wonder if maybe you've been a bit more of a bad girl than you thought and that, you know, maybe this is that whole eternal damnation those crazed preachers on television talk about. Okay, maybe it's not *that* hot but it sure is sweltering and humid to boot.

The man on the television last night said the high was 86 here yesterday but I *know* that's a lie. The thermometer outside the house (that happens to be in the shade btw) as well as the one in the car clearly said it was in the high 90's. Of course in a house without air conditioning that means it's not much cooler inside. It's been record high temperatures for a week with more in site.

Every store in the southern half of the state seems to be sold out of fans, air conditioners and even those "Mister mister" things, you know the spritzy bottle with the little fan attached? Hey, I was desperate. The other night I managed to find two itty bitty oscilating fans on some odd shelf at Target. When I brought them home my husband laughed hysterically. He was right to laugh, unless you sit with the damn thing an inch from your head it doesn't do a thing.

Yesterday we all jumped in the pool to cool off (but only a little, it's been so hot even at night that it feels like a bath in there). 10 minutes later big black storm clouds rolled in and we had to get out but hey, at least a storm would cool it off a little, right? Right?! No, it never actually rained and the front passing over only served to make it more humid.

For now the kids are enjoying the constant flow of poscicles but I'm afraid of what's going to happen when the sugar rush wears off. I don't want to be here. Hopefully Mister DM will be home by then and I can bid a hasty exit to the nearest air conditioned starbucks or something.

Sleep Issues

The baby has "sleep issues". Saying that outloud makes me laugh because well, duh! She's a baby, of course she does. Really aren't "sleep issues" probably a more normal state of things than a baby who is a good sleeper? In this house that's surely been the case.

So what do you do with an 18 month old who suddenly refuses to go to sleep? If your my husband you take her down to the family room and have her watch interesting (boring) science television. Of course all that happens is he falls asleep and you are left as the sole defense against a little tiny fortress who refuses to yield.

You set about to complete your "before bed" tasks. You know, running the dishwasher so there are clean bowls for breakfast. Getting the coffee pot set to go so you are actually coherent enough to serve breakfast. Filling up sippy cups of milk so that your kids can help themselves at 0'dark hundred when they wake up, letting you sleep just ten more minutes (a girl can dream can't she?). The baby meanwhile is happily unloading the tupperware cabinent, banging plastic plates together and chucking the straws and lids of sippy cups that you searched for hours to find.

Finally, sometime after 11 you acknowledge that you can not actually complete the tasks you need to with little miss wide awake in tow and you realize that you have to go to bed. Of course shortly after this revelation your 3 year old will appear, wondering what all the ruckuss is. She will need a drinkie and to use the potty before she goes back to bed of course and by then she will want to sleep with you and since your husband is snoring away on the couch in the family room you figure why not.

20 minutes later when you are laying in bed with a sweaty baby who has finally fallen asleep on top you your arm in such a way you can not move and the 3 year old is digging her bony little knees into your back you remember "why not". You manage to fall asleep and have fitful dreams about camping and sleeping on top of that rock you accidentaly set your tent up on top of.

Sometime around 1 your husband will wake up and realize he is on the couch and will come POUNDING up the stairs which happen to share a wall with your bedroom. You are awake. The baby is awake and even the cat is awake. Confused and convinced it must be morning he positions himself at the foot of your bed meowing because he wants you to get up and feed him his daily allotment of wet food. Tough break cat!

Your husband seeing the collection of children in your bed (because oh by the way your 6 year old has climbed in at some point you don't remember) starts picking them up and shuffling them back off to their own beds so he can claim the place beside you he has rightfully earned. You lay back enjoying the feeling of a king sized bed with only two people in it, close your eyes and...you can't fall back to sleep. You are wide awake. You toss and turn for a good hour, looking at the clock every ten minutes or so until you finally fall asleep at some point. Right about the time you hit REM you are jostled awake by that little voice on the baby monitor yelling "Mommmmmie, mommmmmie."

You bring her back to bed with you and try to fall asleep again. You must at some point although it's not good sleep. It's mostly you lying there trying to convince yourself that your asleep. Sometime around 6:30 the three year old tells you it's time for wakey and asks you to turn on Nogin. Somehow you manage to stumble down the stairs to do this and then stumble back up to get coffee. You are intercepted on your way to the coffee pot by the cat who is now angry and DEMANDING his breakfast.

You finally get to pour that coffee and realize that while one child is occupied and the other two are still asleep you can finish all the stuff you couldn't last night. You figure the baby was up all night she's got to sleep until 8 at least! Then, you hear it, quietly at first. You think maybe it's just a bird. It becomes louder and unmistakeable. "Mommmmie, mommmmie, maaaahhhhhhmmmmmmeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiii."

You look around at the pile of dishes, the mountain of laundry and all the other things left undone. You go to get her, frustrated by the "sleep issues" wondering what the heck it is you can do to make the baby sleep. Then you see her. She's sitting in the middle of your bed playing with the covers. She looks up at you, holds her arms out and says, "Mommie!" That smile? I'd trade it for a lifetime of good sleep.

Ah, summertime

Warm weather, swimming pools, fresh peaches. What's not to love? I was sitting outside today watching the kids play in the sandbox and all I could think about was how nice the warm sun felt on my shoulders. It's so wonderful out there it's almost hard to drag yourself in to do the things that have to get done.

When fall arrives and it's just a bit too chilly to eat dinner on the patio every night the kids will be crushed. But right now? It's swimming all day and popscicles every night. Thank heavens for summer!

Did you know

that having a rock removed from your child's nose is considered "surgery", at least for insurance purposes? And if your child has this done your insurance will probably not pay for it if you haven't met your deductible, because, well, it isn't included in that "deductible be damned" copay only sick/well office visit benefit you get because it isn't *really* an office visit, even if it all happened in the office? And if that's the case you'll get a loverly note in the mail from said doctor's office and your insurance company saying, "Oh. So sorry. Please pay up now." This is most likely going to happen the same week you shelled out a small fortune for dental care, soccer sign ups and assorted school activities for said child.

Did I mention this was my SIX year old who should freaking know better than to go around sticking things up his nose?!

I love my son I love my son I love my son.

Yesterday was Saturday

and although we had grand plans of packing up the house for our upcoming move we were still in our PJs at 1. I finally made my way into the shower at 1:30 with my latte in hand (thanks mom!) ready to start the day before we blew it. We left the house at 3 on our way to buy cat food to keep our furry friends from staging a revolution.

We piled three kids into the van ignoring the complaints and whines. "I don't want to go!" they said. "Tough" was the only reply they got. Down the street we went towards petco while the kids quietly munched on granola bars and fruit snacks.

My husband passed the turnout for the shopping center. I looked at him with my eyebrow raised. There isn't anything else out there save the local airport and a few farms. Headed southwest he said, "I need to see the ocean."

So we did. Out to Port Hueneme we went, my husband hoping to catch a glimpse of the big ships in the harbor. No such luck, but we did find a nice beach with a swing set. It was chilly but sunny and we happily swung facing the ocean for a good 20 minutes or so. The kids screamed with glee as daddy pushed them higher and higher until they were so tired they wanted to go home. We walked down the beach in search of funny looking seaweed before heading back to the car and the daily chores we'd abandoned for an hour or so.

Sometimes we forget how close we are to the ocean. It's the reason we live where we do and the reason we put up with the ridiculously high cost of living. Sometimes the housing prices and the price tag on a gallon of milk make your chest feel tight, but the smell of the salt air and the sound of the waves reminds you just why you work so hard to stay put. I don't know what it is about the ocean that just seems to make everything right with us. We are connected to it.

When we got home we sat out back and had popsicles marveling that we live somewhere it's warm enough to do this at 5 PM in the middle of winter. The joy on the kids faces as they slurped at their popsicles made me feel...full. Things have changed a lot in the 6 years since my husband and I became parents, and really, they just keep getting better.

6 years ago this morning I woke up feeling...funny

I tapped soundly sleeping Mr. stb dangers mom and said, "Honey, I think I'm in labor." "That's nice darlin," he yawned before rolling back over. "HO-NEY I said I think I'm in labor!" He sat up rubbing his eyes with obvious amusement. "You heard the doctor," he said, "We have at least two weeks, you aren't even due for three." "Well, be that as it may I feel...funny."

I got up to take a bath realizing the contractions were contractions and they were coming faster. I spent the next hour in and out of the tub and shower while my amused husband made phone calls to his office to let them know I didn't think it was a good idea for him to go to work today.

Sometime around 10 I realized I really really wanted to go to the hospital. I think my husband was actually starting to take me seriously at this point because he started throwing things into a bag with a simple okay. Just when I finally thought I was getting out of there the doorbell rang. "Delivery!" How appropriate, our new baby's furniture had arrived. I had to wait another 15 minutes scared out of my mind while they hauled the furniture up two flights of stairs and into the small nursery we'd lovingly painted yellow with multicolored moons and stars.

Finally around 10:30 we left for the hospital. I'd been in labor for about 4 hours. We got to the hospital, found a place to park and made our way up to the maternity ward. My husband winked at the nurse and said, "My wife thinks she's in labor." She looked in her computer and said, "Well you aren't due for another three weeks (yes, tell me something I haven't heard TEN times this morning) but let's take a look. We go down the hall to a small examination room where she checks my progress. "Well?" my husband asks fully expecting to be sent home. "Hmm," she says, "She seems to be about 8 centimeters dilated"

At this point my husband nearly falls over. "I, um, need to go down to the car to get her stuff," he manages to say. "If I were you sir, I'd hurry."

Now on his way down to the car he is calling our family members and leaving messages about what's going on, one of which, the one he leaves for my mother, has become infamous. There is something about my husband stammering something about me being "eight cm didilated, I mean dilated" that can still send us all into roaring laughter every time we hear it.

Thanks to a doctor with a need to over manage and some complications it took 7 hours for little Danger to make his way into the world. He had his cord wrapped around his neck multiple times and meconium in his fluid which meant half the staff of the hospital was there to witness the miracle of his birth. It's amazing how that modesty goes right out the window while your sitting there spread eagle praying for a healthy baby to emerge from you.

And healthy he was and oh so small. I remember being afraid I'd break him if I hugged too hard. My normally stoic husband was reduced to a pile of tears. "He's just such a little dubba!" He exclaimed, a nickname that stuck.

It's hard to believe the 50 pound 5 year old I sent off to school with 2 dozen cupcakes was a 7 pound 8 ounce baby just 6 years ago. He's turned out to be a funny intelligent little kid with sparkly dark brown eyes and a smile that doesn't end. He was once a tiny squeaky newborn who relied on me for everything and now he is a not so small person who plays soccer and baseball and insists on getting his own cereal.

6 years ago I became a mother, a journey that has had its ups and downs, its thick and quite a bit of thin. It's a journey that has changed me in ways I could never imagine. I wouldn't change any of this, not for the wide world.

Can it really be 6 years?

6 years ago today a very pregnant stb dangers mom and a very stressed Mr. stb dangers mom finished moving from a tiny cold beach duplex to a slightly less tiny two bedroom condo in West Los Angeles. I remember it was raining (as it usually is this time of year) and cold and all I wanted to do was sit on the couch and moan about my sore swollen feet. It had taken 4 days to move the 2 miles already and even though the fish tank we were moving was the last bit I knew there was the cleaning and unpacking still to go.

I wasn't due for another three weeks so there was plenty of time. We'd planned it close but not too close so we'd have time to unpack and set everything up for this new stage of our life. Like most expectant parents we were excited but nervous. We didn't really know what to expect, we didn't know what parenthood would be like. We didn't have much experience with babies, my husband had never held a newborn and I'd only held two, the children of close girlfriends just after birth.

That night I had my 37 week prenatal appointment. The baby's heart rate was a little low so I had to drink some apple juice and sit there hooked up to the fetal monitor to make the doctor happy. It came back up and I left with a lecture about eating more regularly and the doctor's assurance we had at least 2 weeks to go. In the car I got a second lecture from Mr. stb dangers mom about not eating enough and had to explain to him that unless water gave him heartburn he couldn't possibly understand. We stopped at the market where he ran in and bought every snack food known to man for me to munch on then went back to our old place to pack up any other small things that were left behind.

When we got there I realized I was actually really hungry and had a huge hankering for some spicy beef and broccoli from the Chinese restaurant next door. Mr. stb dangers mom was just so glad I actually wanted to eat that he rushed right over there to get it. The two of us ate our last meal in our well loved first home together then turned off the light, closed the door behind us and stepped into the next chapter of our lives together.



To be continued tomorrow....

Another year older another year wiser?

Today is my birthday. I’m not going to give away too much, but suffice it to say it’s one with a zero on the end. People keep asking how I’m doing because apparently zero birthdays are supposed to bring a lot more angst with them than the other number variety. I’m doing okay I guess, though I did notice a few more grays when I was at the hairdresser the other day. Now that those bad girls are all covered up I’m fine, crisis averted.

Last night we had the pre-birthday dinner with the in-laws. Of course there was a cutesy gift of assorted goodies in groups of *insert zero birthday number here*. Soda, candy and one-dollar bills (which is great because I need the speculation that I’m a stripper when I go to spend those suckers) all wrapped up in their own little goodies bags. Of course I was a bit disappointed when that big heavy gift turned out to be cans of soda, especially because I drink diet, but I managed to contain myself. My MIL has a zero birthday coming up, think she’d appreciate if we did something similar?

Truthfully I didn’t think I cared about another year behind me, and maybe I don’t. I have a lot to be thankful for and not many regrets. I have accomplished a lot in my years on the planet and I have a lot to look forward to. I have all the really important stuff. A husband I love and who loves me, three wonderful healthy children, my own health and that of my family.

I can’t help reflecting on what I have and haven’t accomplished though, and I realize there are things I planned on doing by now that I haven’t. I’m not sure how much this bothers me since there are things I’ve accomplished that I didn’t think about or plan on. I’ve traded some goals for others and weeded out the ones that didn't seem so important after all. There are some I did put on the backburner to care for my kids and I do think they need to be revisited.

Maybe I will set some goals for my next “one” or “two” birthday. Perhaps some of those things that were put on the backburner while I nurtured my young family can come back now. Perhaps what I really need is a little more time and attention for me. Instead of thinking of this as the end of an era it can be the beginning of better things to come. Perhaps bettering oneself is what getting older is really all about.

What we seem to have here is a failure to communicate

Last night my girlfriend came over in tears, bottle of wine in hand. It seems her husband, ever the sensitive guy he is, had suffered from another bout of "open mouth insert foot" syndrome. She was already feeling slightly frail after celebrating her 40th birthday last week and his comments, though likely innocent in nature, stung.

Since my own big sensitive guy is traveling this week and my son is skiing with grandpa, we are a house sans men right now. That's a bonus when comforting a hurting friend who is mad at her husband. So we had a few glasses of chardonnay and we talked it out.

She went home at the end of the evening to a concerned husband. She'd driven her car and parked it around the block so he didn't know she was just down the street. He thought maybe he'd finally gone and done it this time without really knowing what it was he did. He almost stepped in it again by suggesting this wasn't the first time she'd overreacted to something he'd said. She pointed out that if she'd left in a huff every time he said something stupid they wouldn't spend a whole lot of time together.

You are all probably wondering just what the heck my point is. Just this. Sometimes we hurt each other with our words. Sometimes we are all careless with each other unintentionally. My friends you are all very special to me. If I have hurt you with careless words I'm sorry. If I have ever made you feel there is something you cannot tell me forgive me. I am human and sometimes I speak without thinking it through. Please keep in mind that I would never try to hurt you intentionally and I will try to remember the same goes for you. Please tell me when I've stepped on your toes and I will try to make it right. I hope I can do the same with you.

This morning my husband was attacked by humming birds

I almost drove off the road laughing when he called to tell me (which is of course just proof that I shouldn't talk on my cell phone while driving). Apparantly humming birds don't like each other very much and my husband ended up in the middle of some sort of turf war between 4 of them. Their constant divebombing and buzzing around his head made him spill his coffee which he found not very funny at all.

Who's on first?

My grandfather loved to tell this joke. I don't know if he was a big Abbott and Costelo fan, but he told me this joke often enough during my childhood that I can't hear it without thinking about his scratchy face and his breath that smelled like mouthwash.

A few weeks ago my grandfather died. He was an amazing man. He was a war hero and an amazing engineer with over 200 patents. He grew up the youngest son of a dirt poor widow who had to deliver groceries for pennies to help support his mother and 7 brothers and sisters but he died a millionaire. And most importantly, he was my Pop pop.

My father (asshole) and his brother (bigger asshole) are now involved in some sort of sick nickle and dime game that involves sucking up as much of the financial goodies my grandparents left behind as they can. It kills me because I know he thought the money he left behind would help make things easier on us all and he did his best to make sure of that that. He didn't want any of us to ever have to suffer the way he and his siblings did. But now there are just two very small very greedy men who care more about their father's bank account than they do his legacy.

I sit here with my copy of his book of patents on my lap thinking about what it would be like to be small again and have him crush me up against him in a giant hug, scratchy face and all. I wish I had listened more when he talked about the things he invented. I wish I hadn't rolled my eyes at some of his war stories or his lectures about the times when a quarter bought an entire meal and then some. I grieve that due to the complicated messed up nature of my family my kids didn't get the chance to know him. I'm angry that my father essentially stole that from them, from all of us.

Rest in Peace Pop pop. Thank you for embracing me and letting me know I was always a part of your family. Thank you for the skinned knees you bandaged, the grilled cheese sandwiches and the lipton instant sweet tea. Thank you for the birthday checks with the note to buy something fun that never stopped, even when I was a grown up with kids of my own. You will always be remembered and loved.