Turn Back Time Tuesday (Because I Missed Memory Monday)

This one is for Jakob, because I recently found out that he's being picked on at school again this year.  Sheesh.

I was a nerd growing up.  Okay, I'm still a nerd.  The only difference now is I've come to terms with it.  I was also very smart growing up.  It's not like I was the smartest kid in class.  There were other kids that were just as smart, if not more so.  But I think I became known as "Brain", because of the whole nerdiness.  Maybe it was my appearance.  In 6th grade, the year this story takes place, I had awesome feathered bangs (which were in style), a fabulous perm (also very "in"), an A-line hair cut (NOT cool-and yes, a permed A-line is a not-so-great combination), glasses the size of half my face (seriously, whoever came up with that concept needs to be shot), and a super cool headgear.  I also had braces on my front four teeth, but you couldn't see them under the headgear.  I had to wear the headgear thing pretty much nonstop, too, which meant during school.  Yee-haw.

So, basically, with the combination of the glasses and braces and headgear and big perm and feathered bangs, I don't think you could touch any skin on my face without some serious maneuvering.

Good times, my friends.

Anyway, we did a rotation in 6th grade, and Mrs. Nickerson was our science teacher.  Oh man.  Back in the day, I always thought "how old is this woman?"  She had neat 70s polyester pants.  She had a big chin wart complete with sprouting hairs.  And her hair was always a shade of blue, purple, or pink.  I think there's a theory that when you get gray hair, if you dye your hair with an undertone of one of those colors, then you don't look as gray or something.  Which is true.  You just look like you have blue, purple, or pink hair instead of gray.  (Now when I think about Mrs. Nickerson, I realize that's probably what I'll look like in the future.  Though, having never dyed my hair, I don't think I'll ever be convinced to do "gray with a pink undertone".  I'm hoping to get gorgeous silver hair like my grandpa, or platinum white hair like my grandma.)

Now, science has never been my strong suit.  I've had one class where it kind of sort of made sense to me.  Two of my sisters got all the science proficiency in our family.  So, even though I was known as "Brain" to my classmates, I really did not deserve the title when it came to science.

For some reason, Mrs. Nickerson thought it was a really good idea to read our test scores out loud after they were all graded.  If you got below a 70%, though, she wouldn't read it out loud.  How merciful.  I usually did well, but there was one test that the info just was not clicking in my mind. 

So, she went down the list, and...I got a 70% spot on.

Now I'm sure my little 11-year-old self blew the reaction of my classmates way out of proportion, but I saw everyone turn and stare at me, and whispers of "Brain got a 70???"  "Natalie did so bad!"  "Wow, I can't believe it!"  I sunk down in my chair, but the taunts kept coming.  And, because I'm a girl, I started crying.

And then I ran out of the room.

I know-take something not so bad and make it into a huge deal, right?  Right.

I ran into the bathroom, and just cried and cried.  I was so embarrassed, not only for the bad test score, but now for running out instead of blowing it off like no big deal.

Anyway, I waited out the rest of the class period, which wasn't super long.  When the lunch bell rang, I decided to go back.  Luckily, there were a couple of girls that were nice enough to come looking for me, and assured me it wasn't a big deal.  And there was one boy that was super nice to me, too.  So that made me feel better, that people would make sure that I knew that no one really cared what my test score was, that being upset was okay.

So Jakob, if you ever read this, know that it's okay to want to get good grades.  And know that you get your perfectionism from me.  And hopefully, you have some little friends at school that will take your side and put their arms around you and make you feel okay.  Also, you will live through the bullying, and hopefully be a stronger, more compassionate person because of it.

It's Been a LONG Week

It started with Jakob's sickness. Which spread quickly to Brock. Then Troy, who never actually threw up, but he had a few diaper blowouts. Ivy was next, and she got double lucky with blowouts and the barfies.

Next was me. Yee-haw. It's one thing to take care of sick kids, but to try and take care of sick kids while sick, well, that's fun in and of itself. I'm sure you've all been there; heck, I've been there before. But when you're going through it, it's like it's a new thing, and you don't know how you're going to manage or balance or even find the strength to change the sheets or run the laundry.

Luckily, mine only lasted for about 24 hours, where I felt mostly good by Sunday night. Still nauseous here and there, but not bad. And I never did throw up, but just felt like I was going to at any minute.

On top of the sickness, I've come down (up?) with some sort of rash. It started on Friday, with my tummy, then has spread quickly to my back, and now it's going down my legs, my arms, and up my neck. I have no idea what I came in contact with that gave me a rash, and neither did the doctor. Now I have medicine to hopefully clear it up, but it's starting to itch. Fun times at the Nat Pack's house.

Oh, and Pete got sick yesterday, after we went to the Wolverine movie. Good movie, by the way, at least what I heard of it. We took all the kids during Ivy's nap. The poor girl got shots that morning, and against my better judgment we took her to the theatre, where it was a wrestling match the whole time. I'd finally get her to sleep, go to sit down in my squeaky chair, and she'd wake up and start wailing in my ear, until I stood up again with her. At least we only disturbed 5 or 6 other people besides ourselves.

Adding to the sickness, or maybe because of the sickness, I've just felt...inadequate. Or sad. Or tired. I'm not really sure, and right now is probably not the best time to figure it out as I've had little sleep during the night. (Up with Ivy and Pete, and then the medicine kind of makes you stay awake, too. I'm going to be loving this coming week, I can feel it!) It's like, I can't do anything right. Case in point: the kids wanted to swim on Saturday, so I got the pool out, but then started feeling sick and didn't bother to lotion up their little backs. I have three lobster children now. That's bad parenting for you right there. Or I'm getting food for the kids, but I'm not getting it fast enough. The whining and fighting and yelling... I feel like I've been constantly cleaning my kitchen, but it's still a mess. Don't even get me started on laundry; I think Ivy's whole wardrobe is downstairs in the laundry basket. It's seems as if every time I try harder to get on top of my cleaning, or be a loving mom, or be a great wife, the worse it becomes, the more I fail. Like walking uphill in sand.

Well, I need to get going. I have a few bathrooms to clean, and groceries to buy, and clothes to fold. I just wanted/needed to complain for a bit.

Things I Can't Get Enough Of Today

The Good "Can't Get Enough" List:

Butterfinger. Curse you, Pete, for buying them! (But not really, because I had Ramen for lunch. I need something of substance in me today.)
Kristy's writing. I don't know why this girl isn't published yet! She's posting a story right now. She's put up 4 of 5 parts. Here is part 1; here's part 2; here's part 3; here's part 4. Seriously. Can't get enough!

And the "I've Definitely Had Enough" List:

Troy's messes. The kid just doesn't stop.

The whining. "Mom, I'm just hungry!" "You ate 10 minutes ago, though." "But Mooooooommmm..."

Holding Ivy until she falls asleep, then one of the boys coming over to me and waking her up, then she starts crying and won't go back to sleep. It's awesome.

(At least I have my Butterfinger(s) to help me out today.)

A Two-Coke Day

Otherwise titled: It's My Blog, and I'll Cry if I Want To
or titled: Sometimes the Non-Squeaky Wheel Needs a Little Oiling, Too

I have this recurring dream, where people are in danger, and I have to tell them, and I'm yelling and screaming at the top of my lungs, but it only comes out in a whisper. Once it was a tornado, and I saw it coming, and no one else did, and I was trying to tell everyone to get below ground, and no one could hear me, and then when they finally did they didn't believe me.

Maybe I have issues. But that's for another day. Today I just want to vent. And don't you dare attribute my rant to hormones. For some reason whenever I feel like speaking my mind, people dismiss it as PMS, or wonder if I need anti-depressants. Um, neither. I just want to speak my mind, is that so bad? Why can other people speak their minds or yell and scream, and people "poor baby" them, but I get the "sheesh, what's her problem?" No fair.

Sometimes being a parent sucks. Don't get me wrong, overall it's super awesome, otherwise I wouldn't have 4 kids. But today I wish I didn't have those 4 kids. For instance, Troy decided to climb on our bouncer. I was hoping it would last through this last child of ours, but alas. He totally broke it. Like, gotta throw it in the garbage, can't glue it or duck tape it together broken. Why is it that my kids have to play with all the things that aren't THEIRS to play with? Yesterday Troy got out my eyeshadow and dug little holes into the colors, so now when I want to wear eyeshadow I have to dab at it and try not to get too much on the brush but a lot is going to get on the brush because it's crumbling apart. Thanks, dude. They have a room full, I mean an entire room FULL of toys, yet they decide that using spatulas in the flour is way more fun.

Which leads me to my next whine. Messes. My walls downstairs are completely dinged up because of the kids (read Jakob) throwing their toys at other toys, which then bounce up and hit the walls. So cool. If we end up ever moving we'll have to completely redo some walls with spackling and texturing and paint, and hope the buyers don't look too closely.

And once again it's Troy that thinks it's totally cool to dump his drink onto his tray, clothes, hair, and floor when I'm not in the kitchen with him at meal times. While he was eating lunch today, I was downstairs feeding Ivy, and by the time I came back up (about 15 minutes later) he and the floor were a complete mess. Good gravy!

Oh, and did I mention I have the runs today? Which can be fun when my children insist on being in the bathroom with me, even when I tell them to let me be alone, and even when I close the door they have to be right outside the door asking me what I'm doing. Uh, what do you think I'm doing? Take a wild guess!

Though maybe they really don't know. I am SO SICK of changing Brock's poopy diapers. He tells me he wants to wear big boy undies, and recently is very interested in getting himself dressed. He's even tried to change his own diaper. But will he go pee in the toilet? Nope, not even for chocolate. Will he tell me he has to go? Nope. We tried a while back to potty train, and put him in big boy undies. He pooped three times-three times!-that day, and didn't give a rat's about it being in undies. I have three kids in diapers, and between buying those and formula we're going to be super poor for the next little while.

I wish I could just go on an all-expense paid vacation, where I don't have to talk to anyone, or do anything for anyone. My back is killing me right now-what I wouldn't do for a massage. And the hormones! I freaking can not get warm to save my life. Sure, I wake up completely covered in sweat when I get up to feed Ivy, which makes you think I'm too warm. But it then dries and freezes me out, and then I come back to bed and shiver until I fall asleep.

And for some reason Ivy thinks she needs to get up two or three times during the night, but only wants to eat 1 ounce, but wants to spend 45 minutes doing that. Why did you even bother waking up, dude?

And do I have to look at the same robot Jakob built, over and over and over, because for some reason in his mind it looks totally different, even though I know it's exactly the same?

I'm so tired of getting less and less for my money. Filling up my little Neon yesterday cost me $40. And in a week, we'll have to fill it up again! Groceries? Yeah, a can of Similac formula used to be $20 (this is a year ago, people), and now it's $25. And just when we get through a bunch of things (kidney stones, baby), and I start to think "Okay, we're doing okay, and now we can start catching up" (not getting ahead, but catching up), something else happens or comes up. For instance, we got a computer virus Friday, and luckily Pete rocks at computers and managed to get things worked out. But there was the possibility of having to get a new computer for at least $800. I mean, come on! Sometimes I just want to write to some famous person who gets millions of dollars, and say, could you spare $50,000? That's hardly a drop in their humongous bucket, yet would be such a windfall for me.

Okay, I think I'm done ranting now. I'm gonna get a Coke.

For Sale!

Who wants to buy a husband and three kids?

GRRR!

VOOM Revisited

Yesterday started out to be one of THOSE days. Tears from my oldest about preschool. Running away from my youngest when I say "Come here". Dawdling from my #2. Grrr. And of course, we were in a hurry. It snowed AGAIN, and the people that plow our road just push a huge lump to the sides of the roads, meaning huge lump in front of our driveway. By the time I saw said lump, I was stuck in it. The plow guy was working on the other side of the street and saw me, and I scowled and said naughty words in my head about him. But he stopped, and my neighbor came out too and they pushed me out. Then I was on a quest for my own personal Voom, a.k.a. a snowblower.

And guess what? Apparently everyone else wants this brand of Voom, because EVERY store in our entire city is sold out. There's not one snowblower to be had. I said more naughty words in my head at the people I saw that already owned snowblowers and were making snow removal so easy for themselves. No off-roading, please let me make it to my garage praying, carrying my kids through the now three foot deep lump because there's no way to even enter my driveway experiences for them. More naughty words.

BUT...Voom came to me yesterday, in four different forms. #1: fudge. Okay, it doesn't remove snow, but it boosted my mood considerably. I've been craving a specific kind found at Sarah's Candy Cottage called Black Dutch chocolate fudge. Oh, mama. This is the best fudge to be found. I bought a pound of it, knowing it wouldn't last very long in my household of chocoholics. Okay, so I always cut the biggest slice for me, but the boys and Pete have helped to already deplete the supply.
#2: my neighbor Arin. She's so stinking cute! She and her kids came out and started shoveling the lump for me. I came out and said she didn't have to, and she said she "needed the exercise". Yeah, right, the skinny thing! Mostly she's just a good neighbor, and we're very lucky to live next door to her and her family. I don't know if they feel the same way about us, but I'm pretty sure they'll get sent straight to heaven with all the service they've performed for my family.
#3: Mom and her snowblower. She heard my sob story and came to the rescue with her machine. And even though she had a major surgery 4 weeks ago, she insisted on snowblowing my entire driveway while I tried to look like I was helping. I did provide ear muffs. But she got our driveway cleared to the ice layer. Thanks, Mom! I've realized that, even as an adult, you'll always need your parents, and I'm so lucky to have such amazing ones.
#4: Ice Melt. This stuff works pretty good. I sprinkled this salt-like stuff over our whole driveway after the snowblowing, and it lived up to its name and started melting the ice. Of course, it will take a lot more of it to get rid of our rink, but it made a slight dent. I was pleased as punch by yesterday afternoon.

Of course, today the snow has returned and drifted. But at least I've combatted the elements (with a lot of help) once; maybe doing it again today or tomorrow won't be so bad.