A stay at the Madhouse...

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Ever since I can remember, I've loved to laugh.  Humor is one of the best things on the planet.  That quality is what attracted me to my funny husband, it's what drives most of my friendships, and it's what makes my kids tick.  The more outlandish, the better.   You know that moment when you're laughing so hard your belly hurts and you're a kegel away from peeing yourself?  Best. Moment. Ever.  I love those.

When I'm having a crappy day, when I feel like my kids might be driving the bus I'm taking to the insane asylum, there's a blog I can retreat to where I know I'll find something crazy to laugh about.  Sharon runs the fantastic blog Moms Madhouse and the tales are just what the title describes.  Just when you think her house can't get any more chaotic, it does.  She's the mother of six kids.  SIX.  Daredevils, princesses, sneaky kids, young men who seem hungry a lot.  Sharon writes with a dry wit that I adore, and while I don't think you could pay me enough to spend a day in her shoes, what I wouldn't give to hang out around her home for a day to be witness to the madness.  If you haven't had the chance to read her blog yet, get ye over there right now!

Drive-by post...

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I'd love to stay and chat for a while, really I would.  I'm typing this while also attempting to get my gear together to head to the theater, wrangle the kids' stuff for the pool for then the sitter arrives, answering emails and trying to stretch.  Oh, and add "trying not to throw my daughter's monitor across the room because she defiantly avoids nap on the day I most need it."  I'm thisclose to starting my period so I'm a hormonal mess.  Child #2 is on my hit list for the day....

Gone are the days when I could relax and pamper myself on show days.  Prior to kids, I would try to sleep in, take a nice long hot shower, eat a late lunch, maybe get a massage, make sure I had adequate hydration, do some yoga or something before heading to the studio.  

Today?  Let's see...   I've been up since the crack of dawn; dropped my son off at camp; took my daughter to dance class; spent an hour taking her on errands (all the while fending off pleas of "I want this...I need that..." ; made lunch for Miss P, our bird, and finally myself - Doritos were the most nutritious thing on the menu...; put P down for a nap that she didn't take; and avoided a colossal meltdown (that would be MY meltdown, not anyone under the age of 6).  I have yet to do one thing to prepare myself for this grueling show ahead.  I will be stretching in the car.  I have just had my first few sips of water for the day at 3:30pm.   There's a big box of Target box wine on the counter with my name on it, and if it's gone by the time I get home tonight, hell hath no fury like a PMSing mother. 

As they say in the dance world before a show...MERDE. 

Merde indeed...

Paris Colorado is burning...

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I'm sure by now you've heard the news, but we have some pretty scary fires blazing right now in my state.  Large, uncontained fires destroying homes and displacing thousands of people.  There seems to be no relief in site, especially when the temperatures look like this lately:

My family is no where near danger, but I really feel for all of those who have lost their homes.  And I can't phathom what the firefighters are going through right now.  There are so many fires burning right now that I keep thinking that if anymore pop up, there won't be any responders to spare.  I know we're not the only state going through this in this area either.  We need rain, badly.  More like a hurricane than a sprinkle.  Call in the Rain Dancers, this is a serious matter. 

Our views of the glorious mountains are blocked by hazy smoke.

And yesterday, tech-ing my dance show up in Boulder, we all opened the theater stage door during our break to find this:

The closest I've ever been to a forest fire, and as close as I ever want to get.  The drive back home to Denver had an eerie feeling, with the smoke billowing over the highway, giving the late afternoon sun a brown glow to it.   I fear this new fire won't be the last new little pocket of flame popping up around the area.  If you're the praying kind, do so for those in Colorado.  If you're not, please send the best thoughts and vibes our way. 

7 things learned living in Temporary Housing...

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We've been in our temporary apartment for three weeks now, with a little over two weeks left to go.  Honestly?  It hasn't been as bad as I thought it would be.  In terms of square footage, it's about as big as our old house was.  But the layout is totally different.  For as big as the upstairs is, and for the space the kids have in their rooms, we don't stay up there to play much.  It's hotter up there, and I guess the action always stays near the kitchen.  So now we spend most of our time in a space smaller than your average hotel room.  Go figure.  I'm sure once we move to our 4500 sq. ft. home, the situation will still be the same, regardless of the ginormous playroom the kids are getting. 

I'm not so sure I'd want to do this Temporary Housing/Moving Twice thing again, but if I ever do, I certainly have learned some things from this experience.  Here's what's worked and what hasn't...

1)  Before we moved out of our home, I gave each of our kids a small moving box and told them they could fill it with whatever they wanted.  I put it in their room a week before we moved, so that they could take their time filling it, then reasess their selection if they needed to.  I supplemented it with what they hadn't packed but I thought they might need.  My son has played with almost everything he packed.  Miss P on the other hand, hasn't touched about 70% of her stuff.  I've just written it off to the fickleness of a preschooler, because what she packed were things she was obsessed with before we moved, and now she has no interest in them.  Sure, Jon and I are suckers and have caved in to buying a few smaller treats since we've been living here.  And our plan is to use those boxes the kids brought to ship things ahead of our departure.   

2)  No matter how organized I was upon our arrival, or how much I painstakingly designate places for every single time in our temporary home, it took my family all of .2 seconds to make it appear as if a tornado struck the inside of our home.  Temporary housing falls closer to the Hotel spectrum than Home Sweet Home in that there is a certain abandonment of normalcy and routine. Which, for my kids, equates to dragging all of their toys from their upstairs bedrooms to the small living room downstairs and leaving them strewn about like an episode of Hoarders.  Lately, in order to maintain my sanity, I've taken to just leaving out large reusable shopping bags to throw all of their toys/crayons/books/dolls/plastic food in at the end of the day.  Sure, it might never actually make it back to it's place, but at least I'm not staring at it all night, wishing I had some sort of magical laser beam eyes that would incinerate it in a millisecond.

3) Though I felt we had brought along everything I thought we could possibly need, there were still some things we needed to purchase because we forgot or thought the apartment would have but didn't.  It was things like small toss-n-go Tupperware bowls and snack bowls for the kids, small cups they could drink out of, a dish brush, measuring cups, and outlet extenders for the kids rooms because there wasn't enough reachable outlets for night lights and sound machines.  Nothing bank-breaking, but frustrating nonetheless.  I consider myself a Worst Case Scenario Packer, but even with all of that, there were still things I forgot or didn't think of.  

4)  Guess what?  The sun comes up early in the morning in the summer!  I had no idea!  Our rooms were in a different orientation in our old house, with the windows facing north, so we never got that blinding direct sunlight first thing in the morning.  In this place, the sun comes up over our bedroom at the ungodly hour of 5:30, seeping light in to the kids rooms about an hour later.  It's been a killer to our sleep routine.  More so for me than for the kids.  The first few days, the kids were waking up with the sun (and so was I), and I had happened to bring along push-pins to the apartment.  Using extra sheets, I pinned them up along the windows of the kids' rooms to give a little shading and encouraging them to sleep in a little bit.  And as an added bonus, it makes their rooms a little less hot in the late afternoon.  As for me, I had to make a run to Bed Bath & Beyond last week to purchase a sleep mask.  Though I look totally ridiculous and my hair is insane in the morning, at least I'm getting in a few more zzz's.  

5)  The library has become our best friend.  We packed some books to take with us, but after a week, we all got sick of them.  And that's the great thing about the library, it can revive our reading menu as often as we need it.  Now, if I can keep track of all the books...is this one that I found underneath the couch overdue?

6)  Thank the Temporary Housing Gods for granting us a complex with a great pool.  Though it's chilly, there is a small pool for little ones, then a bigger one that both our kids can stand in up to a certain point.  Plus a hot tub.  We've spent a lot of time there the past couple of weeks.  Being in an apartment has made me realize how much we took our backyard for granted.  Just the simple act of being able to send the kids outside while making dinner is something I really miss.  And they miss it too.  Somehow the creativity the conjure in a backyard is unparalleled and can't be duplicated inside.  

7)  LEGO's + Shag carpet = Severe Foot Trauma.   We're not used to this kind of plush carpet at home.  And being that we have a gigantic storage unit of LEGO's, we threw a bunch of them in a Tupperware container so that Mr. B could still continue to leave them all over the house build to his creative heart's content.  And man, if those little tiny pieces don't make me shriek and curse when I step on them.

So, all in all, not too terrible of an experience.  The location of this place is nice in that we're close to a grocery store and a cute little street with shops.  And there's a wetlands creek behind us that we've taken to in the evenings for walks and deer spotting (feeling reckless and rebellious as we have to sneak through a hole in the fence to get access to it).  But we're far from most of the things we usually need to get to, like daycare and camp, the studio where I rehearse, my therapist, the mall, etc.  However, things in our new home in Ohio will be even further away from things, so it's a good transition.  And while I feel like I'm starting to get a little sad and panicky at the thought of leaving, of saying goodbye to this beautiful environment and weather and all of our wonderful friends, I'm also tired of feeling like we're living in purgatory and am anxious to begin our new adventure.

The results are in...

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And it appears that all my stress was for naught.  In my loopy stage yesterday afternoon, I think I heard that I checked out fine.  I still have gastritis, and who knows where that 'roid went, because she didn't find anything in the scope.  But I'm not dying of cancer, I don't have some debilitating bowel problem, and I don't have to do this again until I'm 50.  Thank goodness.

For those of you who haven't had the pleasure of getting a colonoscopy, let me warn you...the prep work sucks balls.  Starting Sunday morning, I could eat an egg and a piece of toast, and then it was nothing but "liquids" for the rest of the day.  Liquids. Meaning water, sports drinks, clear soda, chicken broth, popsicles and jello (just not red or purple).  And let me stop right there for a second.  If you know me, you know that I'm an Eater, in love with the act enough to capitalize it.  I am not one of those folks that "forgets" to eat breakfast or lunch.  I don't skip meals, and I'm known to eat both Breakfast and Second Breakfast.  So just getting through 24+ hours without eating?  Shear torture.  By Monday morning, I was hangry (a term a friend told me once, that vicious combo of anger brought on by hunger). 

Then, to top it off, I had to take this industrial-strength laxative drink.  To describe this vile concoction wouldn't do it justice.  But I would liken it to super salty and slimy grape juice, with a horrific aftertaste that really activates a gag reflex.  I had to drink 16 ounces of this stuff at noon.  It took me almost half an hour to get it down, and it was all I could do not to barf it up.  A few hours later found me in fetal position on my bed, cramping and cursing my GI specialist.  Then the fun began.  There's this video on the internet by comedian Billy Connolly that gives a pretty accurate depiction of this process, and I won't scar you with it if you're against certain language.  But THIS?  Hilariously funny and is exactly what happened to me on Sunday.  Just when I thought I was done, I had to swallow another 16 ounces of the prep drink at 10pm.  While I gagged on the last ounce, I got through most of it and stayed up until almost 2am in my "office."  At least I got to catch up on some reading that night! 

Yesterday morning was hard to get through.  All I could think about was how starving I was, how thirsty I felt, and how much I wanted to get this all over with.  Sure, my abs were nice and flat due to a pretty intense cleanse, but I felt dehydrated, fatigued, and wanted to sleep.  The procedure itself was pretty harmless.  They gave me a sedative before they began, and I was off to LaLaLand.  Next thing I knew, I was in recovery, fully dressed, with the doctor talking to Jon and me about how the procedure went.  Biopsies were taken, I'd hear back Friday, and that's about all I recall.  I don't remember making it to the car, or getting home, making it in to bed.  How the hell did I get dressed?  Jon didn't dress me.  So, then, who?  I guess they had to give me a Big Girl dose of sedative because the first dose didn't take effect.  And man, did I feel it.  I slept like a rock for about 3 hours, ate a bowl of buttered pasta, then sacked out again.

Today, I feel good.  Relieved, less neurotic.  A bit lighter in the loafers.  My stomach isn't too happy with anything that isn't bland right now, and I have a wicked case of heartburn, but I hope to be back to normal tomorrow.  Incidentally, I had to make it to class and a rehearsal today, since we have our big show of the season next week.  And I'd have sworn as I tried to make it through barre that I might have been still a teensy bit drugged.  Not having much in my tank, it wasn't ideal.  But I got through it, just like I got through yesterday.  And this stuff, compared to the load others have to shoulder?  It's a blip on the spectrum.  I really feel for those people who are going through really serious medical stuff, trying to deal with all of that as life continues on around them.   Believe me, I'm grateful for my clean bill of health.

Cleaning pipes...

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WARNING:  Imma 'bout to discuss something kind of gross.  Related to bodily functions.  If you have no desire to read on, I won't hold it against you....

As if I needed anything else to cram in to the next few weeks were here in town (besides my last dance performance, coordinating camp drop off and such for Mr. B while filling Miss P's free time, setting up utilities in Ohio [and those utilities companies?  What complicated bureaucracies, don't get me started...] and getting in doctor and dentist and eye doctor visits in for all of us), I've gotten thrown another wrench.  If you remember way back in January, I posted about some of my digestive issues.   And in general, I'd been feeling a bit better, though at times relying a bit more on my prescription of Zofran more than I'd like.  I cut back to one (one!) cup of coffee in the morning, been avoiding spicy foods, yada yada yada.  But I still don't feel...right. 

A few weeks ago, I kept thinking I maybe strained an abdominal muscle or did something quirky to my psoas, so I had a massage therapist friend dig around there after class one day.  And her reaction?  That's not a muscle that's tender and irritated, that's my colon.  A word-for-word replay of what my doctor said at my last annual exam in March.  To top it off?  (Here's were the gross part comes in, avert your eyes, ye who are squimish about potty talk)  I gots me a fire in the hole.  A 'roid.  I can't bear to actually type the clinical name here.  But #2 has been awkward going, I've got some bleeding going on, and I figured I might as well get this checked out before we move. 

I went in to a GI specialist yesterday who listened to my story, did an exam, then determined that, along with my family history, it might be a good idea to go in and get things checked out.  From Both Ends.  I go on in Monday for an Upper Endoscopy AND a Colonoscopy.  DOUBLE WHAMMY!  The good news is that at least I'll have some more information about what's going on after all of this.  And I've been thinking of going on a cleanse anyway!  Hahaha...I kid.  The worst part, I hear, is the prep.  So I will be spending most of Father's Day in the can.  At least I'll be able to catch up on some reading, eh?  I'm trying to laugh to keep from crying, because I'm a nervous wreck.  To say I'm scared sh*tless is an understatement.  I don't know what I'm more terrified of, the prep stuff, the actual procedure, or finding out the results.  My mind wants to wander to some dark, scary places.  Places that start with a big C.  Trying to shut that down and live normally through the next few days is difficult.  Sure, people get these things all the time.  Right?  And there could be a host of pretty small things that could be going on that are no big deal.  But at the same time, I think of Farrah Fawcett and lose it a little bit.  Tell me to shut up, will ya?

Letting go...

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I can't seem to let my kids grow up just yet.  They are 6 and 3 years old, and while I'm enjoying some of the things that come with having older kids (like banishing diapers, being a little more lax with screen time limits, not cutting grapes anymore, un-babyproofing the house...), I still can't bear the thought that my kids, my spawn, aren't babies anymore.  We took the protective railing off of Miss P's big girl bed in the week before we moved, and I felt a flash of panic.  Once we took it off, there was no going back.  Luckily she hasn't fully explored the freedom that comes from being out of bed jail, and she hasn't fallen out of her bed yet either.  Truly it was her that was ready for a while and it was me that was holding her back. 

I'd like to say that my hesitation to let them move on from infancy stops there.  But it doesn't.  Please tell me I'm not the only mom that still washes their preschooler and 1st grader's clothes in Dreft?  Because man, I love the way their clothes and bedding smells when I do.  It makes my boobs ache a little bit just smelling it, like the smell of their first few newborn days at home with us.  I still bathe them in J&J's lavender baby bath soap.  Again, because of the smell.  And out of sheer laziness.  It's soap AND shampoo!  I will pony up the moula to bring home those big full-sized chamois bed sheets from Pottery Barn Kids because its all the kids have ever known to sleep in.  A cocoon of the softest fabric in the planet.  The kind that you touch and want to sink in to, resurfacing from slumber only to get a snack.  Sure, they can sleep on regular sheets.  But then I'd have to face the fact that they could maybe do without the cozy sheets they've had since they were babies.  And if they can get by without those sheets, if they can withstand regular adult laundry detergent and normal shampoo and soap, what else can they get by without?   Mommy cuddles in the morning or when they're sad?  Holding my hand for no reason?    Kisses to booboo's in lieu of a bandaid?  Do I have to give all that up? 

Last-ing impressions...

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Well, it's done.  Movers came and packed up our belongings on Monday, loaded it on a truck on Tuesday, and Wednesday night we handed over our keys to the buyer, taking a few minutes before she arrived to say goodbye to our house.  The house that kept us safe and warm and dry and cozy for the past six years.  

In the week or so before we moved out, it felt like we tried to cram in as many "lasts" of things that we could.  For starters, we had our last Lemonade Stand.  While we weren't treated to a fleet of firefighters like last year, it was still successful.  And a bit bittersweet, as we finally got to meet some of our neighbors.  The conversations were a bit awkward, as the parents of kids our kids' ages seemed eager to get to know us, and we'd have to answer with "yeah, we're outta here in a week."  Still, it felt like a great sendoff to the 'hood.

Mr. B, being the kind soul he is, agreed to use the proceeds from his hard-earned selling to donate to our local firefighters.  We walked over to the firehouse a few days later, $22.70 swaying in an envelope, and B mustered up the courage to walk over to a very sturdy fireman and say "I raised this money for you."  The firefighter looked down at Mr. B, a little touched by the gesture, and said" Ah, buddy, that's sweet, but we can't take your money."  I guess they can't directly take a donation, so we're going to bring it over to the Denver Firefighter's Museum and donate it to restore their antique fire engine that caught fire in early May.  Still, the guys were pretty nice, talked to the kids a little, and even gave them some plastic hats.  I'm always amazed at the level of patience, compassion, and generosity these firefighters have. 

We also got in one last picnic in our nearby park, spending the day with good friends, finally letting Miss P and Mr B take a ride in the paddle boats they'd been drooling over all spring, and even letting them fling themselves in to the creek that I swore I'd never let them touch.  Thankfully, we escaped without a case of giardia...

Monday and Tuesday were a blur of boxes and fast food, and it only feels like in the last day or so, we've settled in to our temporary apartment.  It's not too shabby of a place, a 3-bedroom, 3-bath town home that has enough space to sprawl out for the next month.  I took a bit of time on Wednesday rearranging the furniture in the kids' bedrooms to give them space to pull out their toys and play, and it feels a bit more comfortable now.  The complex has a pool, a pool!  Surely we'll be spending most of the next month there.  Still, I miss being able to send the kids out to the back yard when they need to burn off some energy and I need to be removed from screaming.  I know this next month is going to fly by before I know it, and it's all I can do at this point to hold on to keep from falling off the ride. 

Oh Oh It's Magic!...

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We had Mr. B's 6th birthday party a couple of weekends ago, and since then, the moving train has taken off like the high speed bullet kind, which is one reason why I haven't had much time to post.  If you read about my crafty preparation for Miss P's party, then you've probably figured out that Mr. B's party was no exception.  I had printed out all of these old vintage sings for magicians, made some funky signs with magician phrases, made some cut-outs for the kids to take pictures in, decorated a bunny popping out of a hat on a giant cookie, and vomited helium balloons and streamers all over the party space.  

Mr. B had to add his own signage...

For his party, we hired a magician to come entertain 25 kids, mostly 6 year olds with a smattering of 3 year olds.  Yes, you read that right.  25 kids.  Most of them dropped off.  We had some leftover Adult Beverages from Miss P's party that I brought along for the parents that remained, and it took every ounce of willpower not to crack open a beer during the party.  But, being the responsible person I am, I made sure to wait until that last kid was picked up.  And then it took all of .2 seconds to have a cold beer in hand. 

We had the party at this gorgeous clubhouse that a friend's friend's mom reserved for us.  Y'all, this place was so nice and fancy that I was tempted to move in.  It had another side room where we set the magician's show up.  And since Schlotzsky's is Mr. B's favorite sandwich, we ordered a tray of food, threw some chips and popcorn in to some magic hats, and let the paid magician do the rest.

The show itself?  Rip roaring hilarious.  A bit animated for my adult palette, but perfect for little kids.  Magic Rob didn't seem to mind all the shrieking and cackling that went on at ear-piercing decibels.  At one point I was worried we might get asked to leave by the apartment doorman, but no one came it to tell us to turn it down.  And no child left a puddle of urine on the floor from laughing so hard, as sure as I was that it might happen.  Mr. B got to help out with quite a few tricks, and amazingly all the kids sat and watched the entire 45-min show.

And even though I was exhausted at the end, my ears might have been bleeding, and I think I even gained another gray hair to add to my collection, I'd do it all over again.  There's nothing quite like the joy you experience in watching your child have a fantastic time.  Seeing Mr. B feel celebrated by his buddies, singled out by the magician as a helper, and even showing off his own magic trick before the show began, I was filled with maternal pride.  Here was my little boy, living in the moment, his moment.  This little kid who scared us when he was born with how tiny he was, now standing before us completely confident and loving life.  Presto Change-o indeed...