sandy harbst, mother and person extraordinaire

it seems like every living soul has too many horror stories to share concerning their mothers, so go ahead and start resenting me now, because i don't have a single one.


my mother is perfect, and being perfect is perhaps her only imperfection. bias, you say. hardly. this mother of mine is nothing short of a modern day miracle. and not only that, but today is her birthday, so keep a lid on whatever psychological evaluation you would like to make about me.

it's a bit to live up to as a mother myself. a bit, i'm almost positive i've already ruined my chances of; the sort of patience my mother possesses is super-natural. i grew up with this sort of constant grace and calmness aimed at me in light of all my mishaps and bouts of ridiculousness. i knew there wasn't anything i could do that would stop her from loving me, or thinking the world of me. she verbalized and lived love and not only towards us her children and my father but towards everyone. my mother will not, nor has she ever uttered a word of malice or contentiousness towards another person. she sees the best in everyone and will only allow herself to be understanding, nothing less. it's amazing. she is amazing. i know only a handful of people who come somewhat close to the degree of selflessness and loveliness as her, and naturally, their either people my mother has influenced like my sisters and father, or, people i've seen this in and have either married or made sure to be best friends with. once you've known someone as beautiful inside and out like my mother, you become a junkie to be close in proximity, via physically or emotionally, to people like that. you want and hope it rubs off on you. you are forever loyal to them.


so today, mother, i salute you. i honor you. i love you.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!

Built to Spill, Historic Ashland Armory, 11/11/10

any other band and i would have stayed home, nursed my cold with hot tea, nyquil, and an early bed time. but those who know Built To Spill know, they're far from any ol' band. plus, it was my birthday present, the one i bought for my husband to give to me and it was the highlight of my turning of 31. whatever hardships i knew i was to encounter because of the late night and early rising child and cold that i was most likely going to aggravate because of the neglect i was going to have to give my body in order to go was going to be worth it. and it was.

ashland is weird though. i was hoping to find my new best friend there. me, her, side by side at the show drinking a beer, rocking out with our fists pumping then somehow a natural conversation would ensue as lead man, doug, tuned his guitar in between songs. we'd start chatting, buy each other a beer, realize how much we had in common ,exchange numbers, or maybe just look one another up on facebook- both amazed we both we're living in the same valley all this time and had never met, because, well, we're obviously made for one another. next thing you know we're going out for lemongrass margaritas on a tuesday night and having the time of our lives.

maybe i was standing in the wrong spot, because i spent the entire show by myself. no conversations in between songs. no "what are you drinking?". no euphony of similarities, or facebook searches later that night, or lemongrass margarita plans. however, oh however, their were plenty of pot smelling hippies swaying enthusiastically out of rhythm and numerous girls in a dance/aerobic circles who clearly weren't about the music but about showcasing their retardness and whoredom; there were middle aged men with 1998 goatees swarming underage hotties, and that's about it. or at least from where i was standing. which, since i was by myself and not going to drink enough to allot to my confidence quota for 'in the front fist pumping and bra slinging', i was in the back, in the middle where i know acoustics are there best, and they were.

i will admit, at first, i wasn't all too impressed. my first time to see Built to Spill was from the vantage of backstage; the air was charged, the sound perfect, and the view impeccable. it still stands as the best show i've ever seen (right under it is seeing Trail of the Dead at Clearview. holy !!!!. that show was off the hook awesome.) this time around however they seemed to get off to a sluggish start, totally void of that electric pulse in your heart you get at a truly awesome show. but a little half way through the set, it was on. and by the encore, i was ready to run my bra to the front.

this morning i'm hurting, but damn it feels good to be a cowboy. or, you know.

five minutes away is a little town no bigger than a hippie chic's armpit bush, that has every charm every parent dreams about raising their kids around. Main St. is only a few blocks long with a valley beyond it known for it's mom and pop wineries and idyllic afternoon drives. the town itself consists of a handful of special shops, a restaurant or four, a top notch outdoor music venue that looks across at the stark in comparison bare eastern hills that always it seems are illuminated with a blazing sunset, a post office the size of a public restroom, a richard scary style fire station, a park, a church, a school, and a library. the trees along the streets swoop down and around the cottage style homes, sometimes shabby chic and sometimes shabby socal. bambi and her family are familiar figures laying in front yards, or crossing the street, or dashing through the park. everyone it seems knows everyone. the crime rate is so low it measures invisible. and it was named one of the top ten coolest small towns to live in by yahoo, and yes it is, none other than, jacksonville.

since moving to southern oregon, and then a few short weeks later finding out i was pregnant, jon and i both knew jacksonville would be the ideal town to raise our family in. but that was at the height of the market, just before the bubble burst and home prices adjusted meagerly to the demographic median salary. at the time, a starter home in jacksonville would set one back close to half a million, and obviously, that was a LOL sort of notion for us.

we're still not much closer today than we were five years ago to the "dream" of home buying, which is more than fine with me, i'm not altogether convinced owning is better than renting anyways, but with conrad just half a year away from starting kindergarten, i am over our stint in medford and ready to materialize the intention of us in jacksonville.

otherwise, i want the beach.

potty training conrad was like a high five you already had your hand raised for. one friday morning i woke up and decided it was time. i told him it was time. i took off his diaper, pointed to the potty, and then to the glass jar of rainbow colored chocolate incentives. that was it. he was potty trained.

truman, on the other hand, is proving to actually needing to be trained....on the potty and not in his pants. prior to truman, and after conrads lessons in bladder mastery, there were all these other kids we knew, kids who were conrads age and constantly crapping themselves, or their mothers would have to ask them if they had to go, if they were going to go in a sanitary means. it was foreign and frightening to me- i didn't understand why the kids didn't just excuse themselves and go to the restroom when they needed like my all-amazing conrad.

on a typical day truman poops himself at least once. at first i threw away his training underwear not sure what to do with a cloth bowl of crap. or, more honestly, knowing what to do but beyond disgust to actually bring myself to deal with said crap bowl. after a few times i realized that wasn't very earth friendly of me nor was it financially beneficial. so i began running the stinky, messy 2Ts to the wash, or if we were out, to a plastic bag i had brought ahead and had tucked in one of the front zip-up pockets of my purse. that was a few weeks ago, and we are, slowly but surely, getting better. some days, he's perfect: accident, poop-pants, free. and then some days, i gain empathy.

(i'm going to go ahead and move past my reality this morning of truman having thrown up since 6am and that i'm pretty sure i reek of stomach acid and digested food, which is because after one of the many up chucks of what looked like the reminisce of pumpkin seeds and mac and cheese, truman attempted to wipe his nose when he began to throw up once more and then so proceeded to go ahead and rub the vomit all in his hands all over his face and then of course turn into me for comfort and place those hands full of bits and pieces of his dinner onto my sweater. in case you were wondering, life with little kids is fun. oh yes.)

i grew up with two sisters, me in the middle. we weren't necessarily girly-girls, though sure as a small child i lived for dresses that "danced" when i spun around and my most valuable belonging was a Hello Kitty picnic set, or that i spent many an afternoons under the slide at the park with my best friend Kristy Nugen talking about my deep love for Joey McIntyre, and/or playing MASH. otherwise, i was, as were my sisters, as tom boy as a tom boy can be with the previously stated clause taken into consideration. mud pies were a daily occurrence and so was arranging the backyard into an obstacle course for us to run our bikes into various obstacles. my favorite past time was hiking along the creek at Cedar Hill State Park looking as we went for critters of any kind, and evidence remains in a family picture album of my sweet little girl self poised with a dead fish, my hands in the guts.

none the less, none of my tom boy adventures and tendencies could have EVER prepared me for life with three boys. i often inquire from my husband if 'this' or if 'that' is normal- completely expecting him to inform me that our two boys are indeed crazier and wilder than other little boys. however, not once have i received a single confirmation to any idiosyncrasy, on the contrary. supposedly it's normal to, instead of making sand castles in a sand pit, make sand balls for a sand ball fight. and use tinker toys as make shift guns. and turn snuggle time into wrestling time.

i know i'm not ready. i don't know when i will be, but i can't help but think a baby sister is what is needed in order to bring a little civilization, and sand castles and pretty pictures of flowers, to this equation.

if ten years ago someone would have told me that ten years later i would be a housewife raising two little boys in a small town in oregon existing on one meager income, i would have laughed, then punched them in the guts for predicting, as i wold have seen it ten years ago: a boring and mundane life. i had dreams. head in the clouds, stars exploding in my eyes, fantasies on a simply fantastic and glittered life. however, by my mid twenties i began to realize the world was much bigger than i could have ever imagined, and i, compared to the greats i wanted to duplicate greatness and goodness from, were indeed leaps and bounds greater and better than i. so while reality gave me a heaping dose of itself, i began the pursuit of contentment and happiness.

in southern oregon there are mountains with foothills piled in front of them; there are rivers, wild and scenic and every other synonym that goes with the first two descriptive adjectives; there are vineyards that glow like a day dream at sunset and sunrise; there are sky blue lakes with fathers around the edges fishing with their sons; there are small towns that evoke norman rockwall scenes of good ol' america where kids in overalls (or appaman) ride their bikes to the icecream (or gelato) parlour and give reports to all the older folks passing by who know them and want to know how their doing in school. it's a far cry from where i came from, and yet somehow there are days i get sicker than the inside of a dead bloated pig on just how much i miss texas. sometimes it sneaks up on me in a wilco song, or after a bad experience at a mexican restaurant, or because i've stopped long enough to realize how greatly i miss connections with some of the best people, friends and family, in the world. other times it's because it's the month of may and i'm still cold and it's still raining. still.

not know however. right now it's the beginning of autumn, the air is cool and warm all in the same sensation, the bounty of trees here and there and there and here are all turning to electric reds and yellows and oranges; carved pumpkins litter front porches, and the promise of a great saturday or sunday at one of a dozen pumpkin patches sits in the back of the throat, like a tickle. kinda.

i'm 31 now. i started blogging when i was 23. this blogspot doesn't have the genesis of me as a blogger, that one i tossed after it had been used as a wet-one/and, or mop for a heart break i was at the time experiencing and just didn't want any memory of. of course i regret that decision tremendously now that their is no sting or gush of blood pouring from my heart. and here at 31 i now see, i don't have the best or the greatest nor do i need to be utterly content in the simple, and the simple doesn't have to equate mundane and boring just as glitter and exploding stars don't necessarily elude to fantasy. i suppose, without much further elaboration, if someone came up to me and repeated to me the facts about my life, i'd smile, then i'd keep on aspiring (and from time to time, missing my homestate).

Times

Maybe it's the fact we survive off of one meager paycheck, or maybe it's the fact we eat mostly organic, whatever the culprit may be, life is too expensive anymore. Food alone averages about $150 a week, and that's not taking into account the miscellaneous Target/Fred Meyer items: the diapers, wipes, socks, laundry detergent, dish washing detergent, winter hats, crayons, shampoo, deodorant, tylenol, rubber balls, vitamins, air filters, stamps, dvd-r's, batteries, fish food, sponges, soap, trash bags, ziploc bags, sippy cups, paint brushes, construction paper, lawn care equipment, tampons, band aids, meat thermometer, and a million other little things it seems life requires. It's all terribly exhausting, and not just the expense of it all but the acquisition of it all, the necessity of it all. At least twice a week my presence at said stores is required, and at least twice a week I walk out of said stores with a bag full of items it suddenly occurred to me while in the store my life can't go on without. I realize $8.00 isn't a lot, unless in our case it's $8.00 you don't have, but just this week while at Target that's what I spent on two very cute matching long sleeve shirts for the boys. I hate that I regret spending a mere $8.00 on t'shirts for the boys, or that I regret spending an extra $15.00 yesterday at Freddies on some organic snacks. It's the practical versus the sense of self-entitlement. We don't need SNACKS, and moreso, ORGANIC snacks-the boys would live without them, their little life's would go on without easy-to-offer yogurts and cookies. And that's where the sense of self-entitlement comes along and interfers with my rational train of thought, the part of the brain that insists : if you don't have it, you don't spend it, no matter how basic and worthy the cause is, and that families have been getting along just fine since the beginning of time without batteries and without meat thermometers and without cookies. Maybe not as conveniently and not as enjoyable, but somehow human kind has gone on.

And that's just the tip of the iceberg. There is gymnastic class, iced decaf mochas, haircuts, scones from Great Harvest, school books for Jon, car maintenance, birthday presents, and modest donations to Campaign for Liberty. There is credit card bills, auto insurance, furniture debt, medical bills, back payments to the IRS, rent, utilities, basic cable, and internet. How I would love to pack up and move to a hippie compound...but then again, i'm certain we would only be trading out one set of expenses for another, for things like patchouli, hacky sacks, a bongo, and self-help books.

All is lost.

I guess what we, like most families and individuals in America need to do is either start living within our means, or work harder. Of course, it's not always that simple. And in just writing that I start to think, maybe it is. Maybe that's the problem: a mentality we all have unique situations that warrant irresponsibility. That we all our due, some assume they are due more than others, and some assume a due with no effort for it.

M.Ward and Goliath
On the way to gymnastics class last Friday Conrad and I got into a conversation about one of the stories in his Bible-he told me how he climbed into the story, how he fought those philistines with his sword, how it made him so tired and hungry-he described to me the lunch he had after the fight, even the softness of the grass he sat on. I sit here now on the couch, children soundly asleep in their beds, husband zombie-like on the computer; i'm watching Austin City Limits, i'm closing my eyes and imagining myself stepping into the music, as i've done a million times before, encompassing me in a sort of lively, charged air, breathing it in while I move through it. Co-existing in the most meta-physical sense. And now in this moment, I'm fully aware where Conrad gets it.

blogging, once again

this can seem like a huge waste of time considering the little, often non-existent, time i have to get stuff done while the kids nap. then of course, knowing me and my birds size brain, if i don't put these days and their contents somewhere, they are sure to slip through the loose grasp of my mental aptitude. and these days, these days are amazing.

truman is practically fifteen months. i'm not sure how, though i've been told it has something to do with the passing of time. he took those first steps at 11 months and so by now he is running, attempting to jump, and dancing when the beat strikes him groovy. he is my dare-devil, my show off, and my little go-getter. incredibly independent, and knows exactly what he wants every second of the day. we are still breast feeding because of this, and breast feeding several times a day. he refuses milk, formula, and anything else that might resemble a substitute for his beloved breast milk. i often think how awesome it would be to have full control over my boobs again, but then i watch him nurse-how terribly content and happy is to be so close to me, to have me locked in his gaze knowing nothing in this world, apart from conrad swinging on the drapes, can peel my eyes away. truman is also my chatter box. unlike big brother truman started saying eligible words quite some time ago. now, at fifteen months, his vocabulary ranges from "shark" to "watch". it's quite impressive considering how young he is. on the dark side, truman is also insanely determined (also referred to as "stubborn" in negative circles). for instance, he has his mind made up he will not put himself back to sleep in the night, he insists i come in and nurse, and if i don't...there is hell to pay. hours upon hours of crying, to the point where our pediatrician suggested we let him cry for ten hours if that whats it takes, and to stop going in every twenty minutes and laying him back down and telling him we love him. and i do, i love him so much my heart feels like it could implode and send the cosmos into utter disarray. he is an angel, and i'm sooooo grateful God put him in our family.

a whole book, maybe even a trilogy, could be written about conrad. i'm already feeling a bit intellectually inadequate for him; his questions defy my high school level of education, and i've decided to start reading the encyclopedia from a-z to keep up. there are inquiries into what heaven will be like, the solar system, climate change, human behavior, and our judicial system here in the united states. he would be the perfect candidate for an upper manhattan family looking for a child to thrive in the elitist establishments of america. however, he is an eggert. and while i can not afford him private lessons in latin and violin, or tennis at the country club, i can however teach him his ABC's (which he can sing perfectly, so now we're working on writing them) and basic geography. and an eggert he definitely is; a few days ago he informed me he wanted to "study the Bible in college". i immediately called my dad, i know his heart melted when he heard. i should add, he also wants to be a race car driver and a jedi, and has used the word "catastrophe" correctly in a sentence ( that last bit has nothing to do with vocation. i'm just still beaming over it.)

conrad is still my sweetheart, a true gentle spirit. but no longer just sugar and spice, oh heavens! he is as boy, as boy gets: farts, bugs, buggers, dirt, climbing trees, and wrestling with any willing body who will oblige. these are a few of his favorite things. oh, and bubble gum. grrr, the bubble gum that was introduced to him this summer by his now favorite aunt michelle and uncle eric. that's all he seems to think about some days: bubble gum, bubble gum, bubble gum! it was enough to drive me so crazy the other day i threw half of his loot into the trash can.

and now that the overview is out of the way, to stories we find our way....

friday was the last known day we did anything; because friday was the day we meet some friends at wildlife images and in the process, caught their cold. since then we've been hanging low, blowing noses, making hot tea, reading "Bear Feels Sick", and sneaking cow colustrum in applesauce. i was really looking forward to the opening day at the ashland pool, and to getting all my t's crossed and i's dotted before our leaving for vacation friday, but alas. stinken germs. we're back to being backlogged. here is no exception.


pictures from friday:

truman looking the part.

conrad and zion running like wild animals at summer jo's.

conrad, probably being scolded by our nazi-like tour guide.

lavender lemonade, summer jo's. worth the trip.

conrad's photographic skills. not bad for an almost three year old.

Hanley Farm

if you go down hanley road, past a few vineyards and strawberry fields, before you get to the counrty store that sells "spaghetti on tuesdays", you'll find a still operating historic farm from the mid 1800's. i've known about Hanley Farm since i moved to medford four years ago, you see, once upon a baby free life, i met up with the volunteer coordinator of the jacksonville historic society about, well, volunteering. my duties would have included hoeing and egg collecting at hanley farm, that is if i hadn't got pregnant and a month later devoted myself to a toilet. four years, two children later i made it to hanley farm. this time, for a picnic under an old maple tree with my two boys, and the hanley farm dog, daisy.

we didn't bring all the fixins, but we had the essentials: a quilt, strawberries, blackberry-chocolate covered hazelnuts, hummus, pita chips, and water. the first order of business when we arrived was checking out the chickens, conrad informed me they weren't clucking, indeed not, they were laughing. which, i believe him. he seems to have a six sense about these things; many a times i have caught him talking to birds, snails, dogs, and his goldfish. whose to say he didn't hear those chickens laughing...not me.

after chicken watching and strawberry consuming, we made our way through the grounds, vigilantly inspecting every old tractor, petting every dog that came our way, chatted with every volunteer we saw, and read a few interpretive signs about when the giant willow tree was planted, and the such.

it was as pleasant of a thursday as thursday's get, and i can't wait to do it again.

this is wednesday, june 17th.

we missed story time this morning, but it had to be. truman woke up at 4:30am, a hour before his usual rise n' shine time, and couple that with a 45min. nap, i knew there would no way in hell he would graciously make it through both story time at the library and our wednesday picnic in the park tradition. here is what our day looked liked instead:

conrad requested cookies for breakfast, i compromised with blueberry bran muffins. i adore this age: their just as happy with nestle chocolate chips, sugar, and flour as they are with apple-sauce, honey, milk, and bran. i was surprised he wanted to help- i offered "bob the builder" dvd while i made breakfast. i trump bob!

truman was tuckered out after a lively crawl through the j'ville spray park; organic fruit mash ups on a blanket in the shade are the only way to unwind. ask any ten month old.

Thus Far:

our field trip of the day: the observation desk at the bustling medford airport.

conrad was determined to not look at me for this picture, obviously i won, all it took was a claim by me that i had sausages hanging from my nose ("The Three Wishes", for all of you who wonder how i came up with that one).

picked blueberries from our yard; in my defense, they looked alot more blue on the bush. i'm sure they'll taste fine in a pie with loads of sugar and topped with vanilla ice cream.

not featured: a cute little ten month old in an avitor shirt in a red stroller.

wish i could have caught on video: truman snuggling his sleeping daddy at 5:30am.

like all first kisses, there was eye lock, a hush in the air in fierce competition with the buzzing of an electrical appliance, a lunge, and then, alas, a big ol' wet slobber kiss that misses the mark and lands on the nose. except, it wasn't truman and mines first kiss, and as my memory did a little jogging back to recall this, i realized, i MUST START BLOGGING again.

truman is ten months, and to be quite honest, that's only a guess. i really don't know-i mean, i'm pretty sure, but stab me in the foot, because it's all a daze, from the first kiss months ago to the first time he sat up unassisted to the first time his thrusting on hands and knees actually propelled him forward on the floor. a dreamy like, give me caffeine and an extra two hours of sleep in the morning, daze.

conrad too. my word that little baby is a little boy now. almost three years old and toe to toe with three year old sort of behavior. he has kept that vigor for life and that gentle spirit displayed during infancy, the only difference now is, he knows how to speak his mind with great intensity. we've had a lot more challenging days than i ever would have anticipated 4 months ago, but i can't completely blame him for this-my patience has been at an all time low since jon started working 7 days a week two months ago, and i just haven't had the unction to tackle disciplinary situations the right way. ie, spankings done while still frustrated and lack of praise for good behavior. but despite this detour, he is, the most enjoyable child to be around-full of sweetness, silliness, curiosity, creativity, and farts. lord bless those farts of his, especially when wrestling and i get one right in the schnoozer.

one of my favorite parts of the time in our life right now is the interaction between the two brothers. i often let conrad feed truman in the highchair, he makes the airplane noises as the spoon full of mashed up mango dips and dives around trumans mouth, and truman acts as if it's the most wonderful thing in the world for his big brother to be feeding him. i've started to leave the room while there playing togather too because i've noticed this dialogue that happens when conrad thinks it's just the two of them; it's very sweet, full of great instruction and advice and encouragement for truman. truman just seems to be delighted his big brother pays attention to him, even if it comes in the form of being tackled to the ground.

and while today's blog was terribly vague, at least i'll have it documented, today was not our first kiss. some other day, i don't really remember, was.

file under: political

this quote comes from the Office of Intelligence and Analysis Assessment on "Rightwing Extremism: Current Economic and Political Climate Fueling Resurgence in Radicalization and Recruitment", under KEY FINDINGS, " The current economic and political climate has some similarities to the 1990s when rightwing extremism experienced a resurgence fueled largely by an economic recession, criticism about the outsourcing of jobs, and the perceived threat to U.S. power and sovereignty by other foreign powers."

watch out conservatives looks like you and soldiers returning home from war are susceptible to blowing up federal buildings. better put a zip on that lip of yours and keep your concern about the state of our country to yourself, or better yet, convert to socialism and let it happen, let the government be the largest private stock holder, let them be able to run private industry-fire and hire auto industry ceo's, let them drown us and future generations in deficit, let them take the us dollar off the gold standard entirely and turn the us dollar into a peso, let them praise castro and buddy buddy with chavez without showing an ounce of concern over such ill conceived plays, but most of all, let them know whats best for you and your family.

and for those who would combat this with an argument about the mishaps of the bush administration, please save your time, because that's not much of an argument-most intelligent americans know and realize the fallacies that happened under the previous administration, but the past does not negate the present, and this is about profiling those with certain political views, be they yours or mine or someone elses.

endorsing the hermit life

take away the most recent of illnesses and this past winter has still been an ass kicking. i'm not exaggerating in the least when i say we've been sick practically every other week since december, and the only culprit i can think of is that this winter, unlike last, we actually come out of our den a few times a week to practice social skills and to test my patience in public places.

but this whole being sick incessantly business is beginning to make rethink our necessity for human connections and sunlight. last winter was a bit dull, and at times, painfully lonely, but oh how healthy we were!

my last stop before moving us to a deserted island will be the healthy food approach, and i mean, the crazy people healthy food approach. i've already stopped by our hippie food store and bought cow colostrum, baby jarro wordicantspell stuff, flax oil, wheat germ, and buckwheat. but that's just the beginning of the agave icing. i plan on going all out, blending in spirulina into friggin asscakes if i have to. i might be divorced after jon finds soy bacon in the MEAT drawer instead of the good Lords intended pork bacon, but damnit if we aren't all as healthy as richard simmons circa 1980.

oh me, oh my.

the past week here was nothing short of Armageddon, except jon and me didn't have that moment where we layed in basking sunlight as he ate animal crackers out of my navel, which would never work anyways because, first of all, i have neither an innie or an outie, it's really the perfect belly button, and if i were to name 2 favorite parts of my body, it would, hands down, be my legs and that weirdly perfect navel of mine. and second of all, as pertaining to why jon and me didn't have that Moment, is as plain as, i feel very convicted that food should only be eaten off plates and my childrens head (and that because sometimes when holding them while eating, i miss my mouth and say, noodle, lands on their head).

so last monday was when our world began to unravel-it started with the stomach flu, one of the worst cases of stomach flu i have yet to live to tell about, and it happened to all of us except truman. jon was thankfully done vomiting his brains out when conrad and me began unloading ours all over the carpet and sofa, in conrads case, and all in the bathtub, in my case. after surviving that, the very next day conrad started acting VERY sick and a trip to the doctor later i was told he had a double ear infection, pneumonia, and the obvious, diarreha. which leads us to a trip to the ER on thursday night when conrad started projectile vomiting and screaming of abdominal pain. there we learned he didn't have pneumonia but RSV and loads of gas, and the rest to boot. the vomiting, diarrhea, crying in pain lasted up till yesterday but then on saturday truman started coming down with RSV symptoms and by yesterday I was back at the doctors office with him. there hasn't been much sleep, and of course, jon has a cold and conrad is still dealing with the RSV.

i know i'll look back on this one day, but i highly doubt i'll ever laugh about it.

New Years Resolution: Be More Russian.

happy b'day Jesus

i'm officially hooked on christmas. we drove up yesterday afternoon in the rain and then finally, in the snow. after the best christmas eve dinner at jon's aunts, we came back to his folks house. conrad opened his christmas jammies and wanted to change into them right there on the spot and then put the snow boots i bought him yesterday for this trip back on-he has been wearing them since i pulled them out of the shopping bag, even requesting to wear them to bed and in the bath. the two of us cuddled up on the chair next to the roaring fire and read "The Night Before Christmas". after reading the book we got cookies and a glass of milk for santa and put it next to the fireplace then went upstairs and said goodnight.

watching conrad open his presents has made the day even more magical. at first he opened slowly, playing with each thing as if it was the only thing, but half way through it he finally began to get it. tearing into each festive wrapped package, ohhhing and ahhing. though when he tore into his Wall-E toy- a toy he has been eyeing at blockbuster for months now, and even though it's been out of the store for awhile now, every time we go there he wants to go look for it- at first sight of what was inside, he let out a loud WALL-E!!!!

after presents conrad and i got a cookie sheet from gramma and went outside to sled down the hill; we threw snowballs at one another-i just want to say it's a lot harder than it should be not to peg your own kid has hard as you know you can-made snow angels till our clothes were damp and our noses wet.

now truman is sleeping and everyone has gone back over to aunt ruth's for the roast beast.

i've had so much fun this holiday season making gingerbread men and snowflakes that we hung in the window and driving around looking at christmas lights in the ghetto (they're better there. both jon and i agree: the tackier, the better) and drinking hot cider while watching National Lampoons Christmas Vacation that i think i'm going to prolong christmas for a few more weeks.

merry chistmas.

ho ho snow

i really tried to do christmas cards this year. i picked up a catalog from kinkos, bought christmas clothes for the pictures- we even went to the mall and forced our children to sit on a stranger's lap, which conrad was quite pissed off about. but two days till and i have nothing but a bad jpg to show for it. discussing this with a friend, a mother of two, i was relieved to hear that when her two kids were at the age juncture of mine, she too never got to it that year. maybe, hopefully, possibly, but probably not, i'll send out a new years card.

tomorrow morning we're heading out to salem, a three hour drive north. last night jon's dad called to warn us that they have 18 beautiful inches of snow and we best pack man vs wild style just in case our car should get buried under an 18 inch avalanche and we have to drink our own urine to survive.

i can't say whether or not the rest of oregon is crazy, but here in medford they sure are. last week we had a few days of barely there snow- snow that melted as soon as it hit the ground, soon as the sun came up, soon as children started getting excited about making snowmen-and for like 3 days straight school was cancelled or post poned. give them a good rain storm and they start shitting bricks and doing their hail mary's. my first year here i experienced the craziness first hand when at the library and it started to rain more than a drizzle; i wasn't paying much attention to it, being from texas and being use to ignoring tornado warnings for the cause of lettuce wraps at chilis, i was taken back when i looked up from my book and saw everyone in the library glued to the giant windows that surrounded the back wall. i refrained from shouting out that everyone should get away from the windows and take shelter in the basement. i was afraid they would do it.

i'm not too worried about the snow. jon is going to buy snow chains tonight. plus, if we have to eat each other for survival, i'll be last thanks to my lactating breasts.